Maggie Bean Stays Afloat

by Tricia Rayburn

  “Here we go.” Summer came into the room and carefully placed a tray on the coffee table. “Whole-wheat, low-sugar banana bread and iced green tea.”

  Tossing the remote control from her lap, Maggie took a small piece of bread and chewed thoughtfully. If nothing else, she could certainly use the distraction. “So, Summer. What’s this camp of yours like?”

  6.

  “That’s the soccer field where I scored the winning goal for Team Stingray. And that’s the tennis court where I hit the ball so hard, I dented my racket. And that’s the obstacle course that I can finish faster than any other camper my age—girl or boy.”

  “Wow,” Maggie marveled, following Summer’s finger as she pointed out each important landmark. “I had no idea you were Camp Sound View’s MVP.”

  “Three years running,” she said proudly. “There’s Lulu!” Squealing, she sprinted across the lawn toward an unsuspecting girl with two long braids hanging down her back.

  As Summer practically knocked over her friend in a very excited hug, Maggie turned toward her mother. “Why do I feel like this is just the practice round for switching schools in September?”

  “What do you mean?” Bringing one hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun, her mother scanned the clusters of kids and parents.

  “I mean everyone knows everyone. And not only that, these very happy reunions indicate that everyone has known everyone for a very long time, and that they’ve been looking forward to seeing one another since last summer. That’s ten long months of excited anticipation. How on earth can I compete with that? Who’ll want to have lunch with the new girl?”

  “You’re here!”

  Maggie looked behind her when a very tall, very cute, very official-looking guy seemed to rush in her direction. She’d barely turned back when he was standing in front of her and taking her hand.

  “Thank you so much for filling in on such short notice,” he said, smiling and pumping her hand up and down.

  “It’s no big—”

  “It is too a big deal. Maggie Bean, the district’s 400-meter freestyle record holder, dropped everything to be Camp Sound View’s newest junior swim instructor. Normally, there’d be a whole hiring process complete with official swim test and evaluation. But given your sister’s outstanding performance year after year, your mother’s glowing recommendation, your school swim team credentials and, frankly, the emergency-like nature of our situation, I’m just going to have you jump in the lake for a quick go-round for our aquatics director.”

  “Go-round?”

  “You know, doggy paddle, crawl—whatever it is you swim types do. As long as you can keep your head above water, we’re thrilled to have you. Welcome to Camp Sound View!” Squeezing her hand once more, he spun on one sneaker and dashed across the field.

  “That was Adam,” her mother explained. “He’s the camp director. Deals with a lot of kids, and drinks a lot of Red Bull.”

  “I guess that explains it.”

  “But, see? He’s certainly excited to see the new girl.”

  “Great. The camp director is summer’s teacher equivalent. If I sit with him in the cafeteria I’ll be socially destroyed for the next three months.”

  “Mags!”

  She’d seen Aimee two days ago, when she’d been forced to vacate the couch and go out for low-fat frozen yogurt, but Aimee ran at her now the way Summer had just rushed at Lulu. Bracing for impact, she held out her arms and took two steps backward when Aimee landed in them.

  “I’m so happy you’re here!”

  “There’s the camp nurse,” her mother called over her shoulder as she started across the lawn. “I have to drop off your health forms. Be right back!”

  “This place is crazy,” Maggie said, squeezing Aimee tightly.

  “It just looks like a lot of people because we’re all crammed on one field. Once groups are assigned and everyone disperses, you can actually see the grass.” She pulled away. “This is going to be so good for you, Mags. You’ll see.”

  Maggie stopped her eyes from rolling. She really didn’t enjoy when other people thought they knew what she needed more than she did, but Aimee meant well. When Maggie had finally filled her in on the events that took place while she barricaded Arnie in a bathroom and forced him to analyze the texture of terry cloth, Aimee had said absolutely everything a best friend should—like it was his loss, and maybe it wasn’t right for now but it would be later, and it was okay to feel a little sad, and that Maggie was a beautiful, smart, talented girl who should have absolutely no regrets because if nothing else, Peter was just a warm-up for the main event that was sure to come.

  “There are so many cute boys here,” Aimee said, hooking one arm through Maggie’s and surveying the crowd. “By the end of the day, you’ll be saying Peter Apple-who?”

  But Maggie didn’t want a main event.

  “I can’t wait to help you find the cutest cute boy for this summer,” Maggie said. “But I’m done. Give me a habit and guitar, and call me Maria.”

  “You don’t play the guitar.”

  “I might if I had one.”

  “You know Maria falls in love in The Sound of Music.”

  “I meant pre-governess, singing-in-the-hills Maria. Because after she makes the mistake of falling in love, they’re forced to plot an elaborate plan to escape from the Nazis in the middle of the night. That’s exactly the kind of aggravation I want to avoid.”

  “Okay, sweetie.” Coming up from behind them, her mother wrapped her arms around their shoulders and kissed their cheeks. “I have to get to the office. Summer’s already with her group. Do you want me to help you find where you should be before I go?”

  “I’ll take care of her, Mrs. Bean,” Aimee offered.

  “Okay, then.” Her mother smiled. “Have a wonderful, fantastic, amazing time. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  Maggie turned slightly to watch her mother walk to the car, and wondered if she’d made a big mistake. She could’ve been home eating cereal and watching the Today show or Saved by the Bell in her pajamas. She wasn’t a camp person. She’d never been a camp person. Her parents couldn’t afford it when she was younger, and by the time they could, years later, she thought she was too old—and, eventually, too heavy. Who’d want to weave pot holders or go canoeing with the new, chubby girl when old friends were everywhere? And while she’d occasionally wanted to be a camp person, like every time Summer came home with various arts and crafts, bubbling about her friends and waterskiing around the lake, Maggie had accepted that just wasn’t who she was.

  “Welcome, everyone—”

  Maggie turned back to see Adam the camp director standing on top of a picnic table, trying to get the crowd’s attention with a faulty megaphone.

  “We’re so excited to be back in our favorite place in the world, with our favorite people in the world—”

  “That’s Tillie, Morgan, and Sonia.” Ignoring Adam like everyone else was, Aimee waved to a circle of talking, giggling girls their age. “We’ve been in the same group for five years. You’ll love them.”

  “Can’t wait,” Maggie said, hoping her voice didn’t give away her mild jealousy. Aimee, like the hundreds of other campers swarming around, already had her group, her friends. They probably wouldn’t even see each other except for Aimee’s group’s swim time. And then when they did, how weird would it be when Maggie was helping oversee campers—and, therefore, Aimee—with the other swim instructors?

  “And that’s Finn, Alex, and Carter.”

  Apparently, Aimee was comfortable enough that she didn’t share Maggie’s concerns. Maggie eyes followed the direction of Aimee’s slight head tilt to a cluster of boys in matching orange Oakley sunglasses. They stood apart from the rest of their group, arms crossed over their chests, not talking.

  “The place is crawling with cute boys, but they set the standard, and they know it.”

  “Good. Now that I know who they are, I can totally forget about them.”


  Aimee looked at her, eyes wide, as though it were breaking some sort of Camp Sound View rule to not want to know the Trio of Ego. “No boys,” Maggie reminded her. She didn’t care one bit what they looked like—they weren’t worth the trouble.

  Before Aimee could protest, two long, sharp whistles cut through the conversations buzzing across the field.

  “Here’s to you, Camp Sound View!” Adam yelled into the megaphone before pumping both fists in the air.

  Maggie winced as the air filled with screams and cheers, Turning to joke about the less-than-original camp slogan, her chin dropped when she saw Aimee dashing toward Tillie, Morgan, and Sonia.

  “Green shirts!”

  Maggie shook her head.

  “Green shirts!” Aimee yelled again, jogging backward. “That’s the swim crew! See you soon! Have fun!”

  Maggie spun around, suddenly noticing clear color divisions as campers gathered in their groups and moved to their first activities. Summer had worn a yellow T-shirt that morning, and now Maggie spotted her with a dozen other ten-year-olds wearing yellow T-shirts heading for a baseball diamond. A younger group in sky blue T-shirts shuffled toward an obstacle course. Other groups in purple, red, orange, pink, and teal T-shirts, led by counselors in white T-shirts with STAFF printed on their backs in big blue letters, migrated to tennis courts, basketball courts, yoga mats, the soccer field, and a log cabin whose sign hanging from the porch railing read ART IS LIFE.

  The field was clearing quickly, and she was about to panic and hurry after Adam and two other clipboard-carrying, official-looking staff members for directions when she caught a flash of lime in the corner of her eye.

  Three guys and two girls in green T-shirts with SWIM TO WIN printed on their backs in big white letters reached the woods at the edge of the field and started down a narrow trail.

  Maggie sighed. She hated running. She hated everything about it—the competition, the sweat, the pressure on her knees and, most importantly, the fact that she was no good at it. There was only one thing in the entire world that she hated more than running, and that was not meeting other people’s expectations. In this case, that meant being late, so she allowed herself one deep breath before sprinting across the lawn and down the trail.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Are you lost?”

  “Can we help you?”

  Maggie tried to smile around her panting as she emerged from the trail and forced her feet to cross the final distance across the sand. The swim crew had beaten her to the beach by minutes and stood in their bathing suits near a lifeguard station, concern clouding their faces as she approached. When Maggie didn’t respond right away (because she couldn’t, because of lack of oxygen), a tall girl with a long brown ponytail grabbed a first aid kit and stepped toward her.

  “I’m fine,” she finally managed, resisting the urge to double over and put her head between her knees.

  “What group are you with, sweetie?” another girl with a short blond bob asked, flipping through pages on a clipboard. “We’ll get you in the right place.”

  “I’m in the right place,” Maggie said. “I’m here to win.”

  The three guys stopped fiddling with life preservers and kick boards and joined the girls in looking at her curiously.

  “Swim to win?” she clarified meekly. “On your shirts?”

  “Speaking of shirts...” The girl with the long brown ponytail eyed Maggie’s white tank top.

  “I’m Maggie Bean,” she said before their suspicion caused them to whistle for camp security. “Adam just hired me last week to be a junior swim instructor. No uniform yet, but if you tell me where to go, I’ll run right up and—”

  “You’re Maggie Bean?” Long Brown Ponytail’s mouth fell open as she exchanged looks with Short Blond Bob. “But … you’re a kid.”

  Maggie shrugged, unsure of what to make of that assessment. She guessed Long Brown Ponytail to be about seventeen, and the others around that or a year or two younger, but she didn’t know why this was shocking news. “Yes?”

  “But Adam said Maggie was a 400-meter freestyle-award winner with a flawless record.”

  “That’s true.”

  “But how were you hired?”

  “Adam was talking to my mom and said that you guys were one instructor short, and in a bind.”

  “So your mom got you the job. That’s cute.” Long Brown Ponytail laughed.

  “I know it was fast, but—”

  “Are you CPR-certified?” she asked, her smile vanishing.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Have you ever taught swimming?”

  “Not really, but—”

  “Have you ever attended Camp Sound View?”

  “Not exactly, but my sister—”

  “Have you ever attended any camp, anywhere, ever?”

  Maggie paused before shaking her head.

  “Sweetie,” Long Brown Ponytail said, her voice thick with artificial sugar as she grabbed a walkie-talkie from the lifeguard chair, “I know Adam meant well, but we take our jobs seriously. And if we entrusted just anyone off the street with our precious campers, we wouldn’t be doing our jobs. I’m sorry you wasted your time, but I’m afraid we don’t need you.”

  “Erin.”

  Long Brown Ponytail turned abruptly toward one of the guys, thumb poised just over the walkie-talkie button.

  “We could use the help. And Adam’s so stressed, letting her go might send him over the edge.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Ben. She’s younger than half the campers here, and with no experience. We all know what it takes to be a Camp Sound View swim instructor, and she clearly doesn’t have it.”

  “Erin,” Ben said again, cocking his head and giving her a small smile. “She’s a junior swim instructor—she’d work alongside one of us. We can even have her help only with the youngest kids, if the age thing is that big an issue. Give her a chance.”

  Maggie watched this exchange, heart pounding in her ears. Part of her—the part that still wanted to be home eating cereal in her pajamas—wished Erin would hold firm in her decision to fire Maggie. The other part—the part that liked a challenge and to be the best at whatever she attempted—hoped that Ben’s cute grin, freckles, and easy manner melted Erin into submission, so Maggie had the chance to prove her wrong.

  “Fine.” Erin tossed the walkie-talkie on the lifeguard chair and faced Maggie. “Twenty laps. Four each of crawl, sidestroke, backstroke, butterfly, and freestyle.”

  “Twenty—”

  “If you can do that without stopping,” Erin continued, cutting off Short Blond Bob, “we’ll talk.”

  “Erin, don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” Ben asked as the other instructors exchanged looks that were a combination of surprised and amused.

  “It’s fine.” Maggie walked closer to the water’s edge. The roped swimming section wasn’t any longer than the school pool. Twenty laps meant forty lengths, a qualifying test that seemed rather unnecessary to help teach little kids how to doggy-paddle, but was one she could pass. She looked at Erin over her shoulder. “Do I have a time to beat?”

  When Erin consulted her clipboard instead of responding, and when the others chuckled, Maggie turned back to the water. She knew they were watching her, but she kicked off her sneakers and shed her socks, shorts, and tank top quickly and easily. If she’d been on the beach a year ago, in her skirted bathing suit, she never would’ve made it off the sand, preferring to remain fully clothed so that no one could see what was underneath. But she’d spent a lot of time in her bathing suit over the past year, and any discomfort she might’ve felt not looking like Jessica Simpson or Halle Berry was outweighed by the strength she felt in the water.

  Besides, since she’d sworn off boys, she no longer had to care what they thought of how she looked. That was going to make life much easier, in general.

  The Sound View Lake water was colder than the pool she was used to (though still not as frigid as Mud Puddl
e Lake had been last October, when she’d trained for Water Wings tryouts), so she waded until it was deep enough, and then dove underneath. Resurfacing, she started paddling out to warm up and loosen her muscles. When she’d swum far enough out that she could still feel sand if she lowered her feet (reassuring since, unlike the nice, clean, chlorinated pool, she couldn’t see the bottom), she paddled to one end of the roped section. She glanced at the shore and saw Erin watching from the water’s edge, arms crossed over her stomach, whistle dangling from one clenched hand. The other instructors looked up occasionally as they inflated inner tubes and beach balls.

  The audience was intimidating, but not nearly as much as the enormous red numbers on the school pool’s clock. No one timed her now; she simply had to complete the laps in proper form.

  She started with the crawl, her arms and legs cutting through the water easily. The hardest part, she quickly found, was not rushing. She was used to propelling her body as fast as physically possible—and sometimes faster—but if she propelled now, she’d peter out by the fifth lap. Trying to keep her mind off of her body, she started mentally listing every state in the country, alphabetically.

  Alabama. Breath. Alaska. Breath. Arizona. Breath.

  By the time she reached Wyoming, she was only on her third lap. Rewinding back to the beginning of the alphabet, she began mentally listing every state’s capital.