That elicited some soft booing from the stands.
"And for heaven's sake, Sam, stop bouncing!"
The audience snickered.
When the students had finished several circuits, they gathered at the deep end of the pool, beneath the high dive.
"Eyes here," their teacher commanded. "You're not with me." Leaning close to them, he said, "This is a lesson in enunciation and concentration. I'll find it unforgivable if any one of you lets those groundlings distract you."
At that, nearly everyone in the class glanced toward the stands. The pool door opened, and more spectators entered, all of them guys.
"Are we ready? Are we preparing ourselves?"
For the exercise, each student had to memorize at least twenty-five lines of poetry or prose, something about love or death-"the two great themes of life and drama," Mr. McCardell had said.
Ivy had patched together two early-English love lyrics, one funny and one sad. She silently ran over their lines. She thought she knew them by heart, but when the first student climbed the thin metal ladder, every word went out of her head. Ivy's pulse began to race as if she were the one on the ladder. She took deep breaths.
"Are you okay?" Beth whispered.
"Tell him, Ivy!" Suzanne urged. "Explain to McCardell how you feel."
Ivy shook her head. "I'm fine."
The first three students delivered their lines mechanically, but all of them kept their balance, bouncing up and down on the board. Then Sam fell in. With arms wheeling like some huge, strange bird, he came crashing down into the water.
Ivy swallowed hard.
Mr. McCardell called her name.
She climbed the ladder, slowly and steadily, rung by rung, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Her arms felt stronger than her shaky legs. She used them to pull herself up onto the board, then stopped. Below her the water danced, dark wavelets with fluorescent sparkles.
Ivy focused on the end of the board, as she had been taught to do on a balance beam, and took three steps. She felt the board give beneath her weight. Her stomach dropped with it, but she kept on walking.
"You may begin," said Mr. McCardell.
Ivy turned her thoughts inward for a moment, trying to find her lines, trying to remember the pictures she had imagined when she first read the poetry. She knew that if she did this simply as an exercise, she would not get through it. She had to perform, she had to lose herself to the poems' emotions.
She found the first few words of the humorous poem, and suddenly in her mind's eye saw the pictures she needed: a glittering bride, stunned guests, and a shower of rolling vegetables. Far below her, her audience laughed as she recited lines about the silliness of love. Then, continuing her jumping motion, she found the slower, sadder rhythm of the second poem: Western wind, when will thou blow, The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms And I in my bed again!
She jumped for two beats more, then stood still at the end of the board, catching her breath.
Suddenly applause rang out. She had done it!
When the cheers died down, Mr. McCardell said, "Nice enough," which was high praise from him.
"Thank you, sir," Ivy replied. Then she tried to turn around for the walk back.
As she started to turn she felt her knees buckle, and she quickly stiffened herself. Don't look down.
But she had to see where she was stepping. She took a deep breath and attempted to turn again.
"Ivy, is there a problem?" Mr. McCardell asked.
"She's afraid of water," Suzanne blurted. "And she can't swim."
Below Ivy the pool seemed to rock, its edges blurred. She tried to focus on the board. She couldn't. The water came rushing at her, ready to swallow her up. Then it receded, dropping away, far, far below her. Ivy swayed on her feet. One knee went down.
"Oh!" The cry echoed up from the spectators.
Her other knee went down and slipped off the board. Ivy clung with the desperation of a cat. She dangled, half on, half off the board.
"Somebody help her!" cried Suzanne.
Water angel, Ivy prayed silently. Water angel, don't let me fall. You helped me once. Please, angel..
Then Ivy felt movement in the board. It trembled in her arms. Her hands were damp and slippery. Just drop, she told herself. Trust your angel. Your angel won't let you drown. Water angel, she prayed a third time, but her arms wouldn't let go. The board continued to vibrate. Her hands were slipping.
"Ivy."
She turned her face at the sound of his voice, scraping her cheek on the board. Tristan had climbed the ladder and was standing at the other end. "Everything is going to be all right, Ivy."
Then he started toward her. The fiberglass plank flexed under his weight.
"Don't!" Ivy cried, clinging desperately to the board. "Don't bend it. Please! I'm afraid."
"I can help you. Trust me."
Her arms ached. Her head felt light, her skin cold and prickly. Beneath her, the water swirled dizzily.
"Listen to me, Ivy. You're not going to be able to keep holding on that way. Roll on your side a little. Roll, okay? Get your right arm free. Come on. I know you can do it."
Ivy slowly shifted her weight. For a moment she thought she was going to roll right off the board. Her freed arm waved frantically.
"You got it. You got it," he said.
He was right. She had a good hold, both hands squarely on the board.
"Now inch up. Pull yourself all the way onto the board. That's the way." His voice was steady and sure. "Which knee is your favorite knee?" he asked.
She frowned up at him.
"Are you right-kneed or left-kneed?" He was smiling at her.
"Uh, right-kneed, I guess."
"Loosen up your right hand, then. And pull your right knee up, tuck it under you." She did. A moment later both knees were under her.
"Now crawl to me."
She looked down at the rocking bowl of water.
"Come to me, Ivy."
The distance was only eight feet-it looked like eight miles. She made her way slowly along the board. Then she felt a hand gripping hard on each arm. He stood up, pulling her up with him, and quickly turned her around. Ivy went limp with relief.
"Okay, I'm right behind you now. We'll take one step at a time. I'm right here." He began to move down the ladder.
One step at a time, Ivy repeated to herself.
If only her legs would stop shaking. Then she felt his hand lightly on her ankle, guiding it down to the metal rung. At last they stood together at the bottom.
Mr. McCardell glanced away from her, obviously uncomfortable.
"Thank you," Ivy said quietly to Tristan.
Then she rushed into the locker room before Tristan or the others could see her frightened tears.
In the parking lot that afternoon, Suzanne tried to talk Ivy into coming home with her to the Goldstein house.
"Thanks, but I'm tired," Ivy said. "I think I should go… home." It was still strange to think of the Baines house as home.
"Well, why don't we just drive around some first?" Suzanne suggested. "I know a great cappuccino place where none of the kids go, at least none from our school. We can talk without being interrupted."
"I don't need to talk, Suzanne. I'm okay. Really. But if you want to just hang out, you can come home with me."
"I don't think that would be a good idea."
Ivy cocked her head. "You would think you were the one who'd been stranded up there on the diving board."
"It felt like it," said Suzanne.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd fallen from the ladder and hit your head on the concrete. I just invited you to Gregory's house."
Suzanne fiddled with her lipstick, rolling it up and down, up and down in its case. "That's just it.
You know how I am, Ivy-like a bloodhound on the hunt. I can't help myself. If he's there, I'll get completely distracted. And right now you need my attenti
on."
"But I don't need anybody's attention! I had a bad time in drama club and-" "Got rescued."
"Got rescued-" "By Tristan."
"By Tristan, and now-" "You'll live happily ever after," said Suzanne.
"Now I'll go home, and if you want to come with me and start baying at Gregory, fine. It will keep us all entertained."
Suzanne debated for a moment, then stretched her freshly darkened lips. "Did I get it on my teeth?"
"If you didn't talk constantly, you wouldn't have this problem," Ivy said, and pointed to a smudge of red. "Right there."
When they arrived home, Gregory's BMW was in the driveway. "Well, we're all in luck," said Ivy.
But when they got inside the house, Ivy could hear her mother's voice, high and excited, being answered quickly each time by Gregory's. She and Suzanne exchanged glances, then followed the sound of the voices to Andrew's office.
"Is something wrong?" asked Ivy.
"That's what's wrong!" said her mother, pointing to a silk-covered chair. Its back hung in shreds.
"Ouch!" Ivy exclaimed. "What happened to it?"
"Perhaps my father was filing his nails," Gregory suggested.
"It's Andrew's favorite chair," said Maggie. Her cheeks were quite pink. Her sprayed hair was falling out of its twist in grasslike wisps. "And this fabric is not exactly cheap, Ivy."
"Well, Mother, I didn't do it!"
"Let me check your nails," said Gregory.
Suzanne laughed.
"Ella did it," Maggie said.
"Ella!" Ivy shook her head. "That's impossible! Ella's never scratched anything in her life."
"Ella doesn't like Andrew," Philip said. He had been standing quietly in the corner of the room.
"She did it because she doesn't like Andrew."
Maggie whirled around. Ivy caught her mother by the hand. "Easy," she said. Then she examined the back of the chair. Gregory watched her and examined the chair himself. It seemed to Ivy to be too finely shredded-a job too convincing for Philip to have pulled off. Ella must have been guilty.
"We're going to have to declaw her," said Maggie.
"No!"
"Ivy, there are too many valuable pieces of furniture in this house. They cannot be ruined. Ella will have to be declawed."
"I won't let you."
"She's just a cat."
"And this is just a piece of furniture," Ivy said, her voice cold and steely.
"It's that, or get rid of her."
Ivy folded her arms across her chest. She was two inches taller than her mother.
"Ivy-" She could see her mother's eyes misting over. That was what she had been like for the past few months, emotional, pleading, insisting with tears. "Ivy, this is a new life, these are new ways for all of us. You told me yourself: For all the good things that are happening, this isn't a fairy-tale ending. We all have to try to make it work."
"Where is Ella now?" Ivy asked.
"In your bedroom. I closed the hall door, and the attic one too, so she wouldn't ruin anything else."
Ivy turned to Gregory. "Would you get Suzanne something to drink?"
"Of course," he said.
Then Ivy went up to her room. She sat for a long time, cradling Ella in her lap and gazing up at her water angel.
"What do I do now, angel?" she prayed. "What do I do now? Don't tell me to give up Ella! I can't give her up. I can't!"
In the end, she did. In the end, Ivy couldn't take the outdoors away from Ella. She couldn't leave her fierce little street cat vulnerable to anything that would take a swipe at her. Though it just about broke her heart, and Philip's too, she posted the adoption ad on the school bulletin board Thursday afternoon.
Thursday night she got a call. Philip was in her room doing his homework and picked up the phone. He somberly handed it over to her. "It's a man," he said. "He wants to adopt Ella."
Ivy frowned and took the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hi. How are you?" the caller asked.
"Fine," Ivy replied stiffly. Did it matter how she was? She immediately disliked this person-because he hoped to take away Ella.
"Good. Uh… did you find a home for your cat?"
"No," she said.
"I'd like to have her."
Ivy blinked hard. She didn't want Philip to see her cry. She should be glad and relieved that someone wanted a full-grown cat.
"Are you there?" asked the caller.
"Yes."
"I'd take good care of her, feed her and wash her."
"You don't wash cats."
"I'd learn what I have to do," he said. "I think she'd like it here. It's a comfortable place."
Ivy nodded silently.
"Hello?"
She turned her back on Philip. "Listen," she said into the phone. "Ella means a lot to me. If you don't mind, I'd like to see your home myself and talk to you in person."
"I don't mind at all!" the caller replied cheerfully. "Let me give you my address."
She copied it down. "And who is this?" she asked.
"Tristan."
Chapter 7
"But you're a dog person," Gary said on Friday afternoon. "You've always been a dog person."
"I think my parents will enjoy a cat," Tristan replied. He moved quickly around the living room, clearing piles of stuff off the chairs: his mother's pediatrics journals, his father's hospital chapel schedules and stacks of photocopied prayers, his own swim schedules and old copies of Sports Illustrated, the previous night's tub of chicken. His parents would wonder why he had gone to all the trouble. Usually the three of them sat on the floor to read and eat.
Gary was watching him and frowning. "You think your parents will enjoy it? Does the cat have a disease? Does it have a religion? If your mother the doctor can't cure it and your father the minister can't pray for and counsel it-" "All homes need a pet," Tristan cut in.
"In homes where there's a cat, the people are the pets. I'm telling you, Tristan, cats have minds of their own. They're worse than girls. If you think Ivy can drive you crazy- Wait a minute… wait a minute…" Gary tapped his fingers on the table. "I remember an ad on the bulletin board."
"That's nice," Tristan said, and handed his friend his gym bag. "You said you had to get home early today."
Gary dropped his bag. He had figured out what was up. "And miss this? I was there the last time you made a fool of yourself; why shouldn't I stay for the fun this time?" He threw himself down on the rug in front of the fireplace.
"You're really enjoying my misery, aren't you?" Tristan murmured.
Gary rolled over on his back and put his hands behind his head. "Tristan, me and the guys have been watching you get all the girls for the last three years-no, for the last seven; you were hot even in fifth grade. Darn right I'm enjoying it!"
Tristan grimaced, then turned his attention to a coffee stain that seemed to have tripled in size since he'd last noticed it. He had no idea how to get something like that out of a rug.
He wondered if Ivy would find his family's old frame house small and worn and unbelievably cluttered.
"So, what's the deal?" Gary asked. "One date for taking her cat? Maybe one date for each week you keep it," he suggested.
"Her friend Suzanne said she's very attached to this cat." Tristan smiled, rather pleased with himself. "I'm offering visitation rights."
Gary snorted. "What happens when Ivy doesn't miss the old furball anymore?"
"She'll miss me," Tristan said, sounding confident.
The doorbell rang. His confidence evaporated.
"Quick, how do you pick up a cat?"
"Buy her a drink."
"I'm serious!"
"By the tail."
"You're kidding!"
"Yup. I'm kidding."
The doorbell rang again. Tristan hurried to answer it. Was it his imagination, or did Ivy blush a little when he opened the door? Her mouth was definitely rosy. Her hair shone like a halo of gold, and her green eyes made him think of warm, tropical se
as.
"I've brought Ella," she said.
"Ella?"
"My cat."
Looking down, he saw all kinds of animal paraphernalia on the porch beside her.
"Oh, Ella! Great. Great." Why did she always reduce him to one-word sentences?
"You're still interested, aren't you?" A small line of worry creased her brow.
"Oh, he's interested all right," Gary replied, rising up behind Tristan.
Ivy stepped into the house and looked about without putting down her cat carrier.
"I'm Gary. I've seen you around a lot at school."
Ivy nodded and smiled somewhat distantly. "You were at the wedding, too."
"Right. Me and Tristan. I'm the one who made it all the way through dessert before being fired."
Ivy smiled again, a friendlier smile this time, then she got back to business.
"Ella's litter pan is outside," she said to Tristan. "And some cans of food. I also brought her basket and cushion, but she never uses them."
Tristan nodded. Ivy's hair was blowing in the draft from the door. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to brush it off her cheek and kiss her.
"How would you feel about sharing your bed?" she asked.
Tristan blinked. "Excuse me?"
"He'd love to!" Gary said.
Tristan shot him a look.
"Good," said Ivy, failing to notice Gary's wink. "Ella can be a pillow hog, but all you have to do is roll her over."
Gary laughed out loud, then he and Tristan brought in the pile of stuff.
"Are you a cat person?" Ivy asked Gary.
"No," he replied, "but maybe there's hope for me." He leaned down to peer into the carrier. "I mean, look how fast Tristan converted. Hello, Ella. We're going to have a great time playing together."
"Too bad you'll have to wait till next time," said Tristan. "Gary was just leaving," he told Ivy.
Gary straightened up with a look of mock surprise. "I'm leaving? So soon?"
"Not soon enough," Tristan said, holding open the front door.
"Okay, okay. Catch you later, Ella. Maybe we can hunt mice together."
When Gary left, the room grew suddenly quiet. Tristan couldn't think of anything to say. He had a list of questions-somewhere-behind the sofa where all the other stuff was jammed.
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