Learning Not to Drown

by Anna Shinoda

  embraces him.

  “Ma.” The muscles in Luke’s arms tense, showing

  me how tightly he holds her. When they finally let go,

  Mom pulls his hand to her lips and gives it a kiss. She

  doesn’t glance down to see if I’ve gotten the stains out

  of the carpet, leaving me wondering if she knew Luke

  was coming home today or if she just wanted to keep me

  busy.

  “Come on,” she says, leading him toward the couch.

  “I want to hear about everything. Sit, sit! You too, Clare.

  Put the cleaning supplies away, then join us. Grab us a

  few glasses of lemonade while you’re up, please.” She

  can’t take her eyes off Luke. “So, Luke,” she says. “How

  is everything?”

  “Good. It’s great to be home.” As I pour the lemonade, I take in every note of Luke’s deep voice. Trying

  to bottle it in my ears. It sounds so different in real

  life than it does over the phone. And since my parents

  never let Peter and me go with them when they visit, this

  is the first time I’ve heard it in person in close to four

  years.

  I’m back in the living room with three lemonades as

  fast as I can.

  “Tell us about your job,” Mom says.

  Luke’s smile droops for a second. Then he tries to

  pull it back up. “It didn’t work out. There was another

  guy there, interviewing the same time as me. He’d been

  through a similar training program. And, you know.

  His record was clean. But the boss said that he’s gonna have a bunch of openings in about six months on some big high-rise they’re building.” He grabs his lemonade

  and takes a long, slow drink.

  “That sounds very promising,” Mom says, looking

  to me and nodding, but I know what she’s thinking.

  It’s really hard to get a job out of prison. And when he

  has one, he does so much better. Is clean for longer.

  Stays out for longer. What is he going to do with himself for the next six months? What if he doesn’t find

  another job immediately?

  As she takes a drink, an awkward moment of silence

  descends on the room.

  “How long are you staying?” I ask.

  “Well, that depends. Ma, do you think I could hang

  for a while? You know, just until I can get a job and

  some money saved? My PO says he’s got some other

  leads for me.”

  Suddenly I’m twelve years old again. We are all sitting on the couch just like we are now, Luke saying the

  same sentence. And even though I can’t remember, I’m

  sure he has said it every time he’s been released. “Of course,” Mom says. “You know you’re always

  welcome here. This is your home. And, come to think

  of it, I have a few chores I can pay you to do. The house

  needs painting. And the basement is a disaster. I can’t

  pay much, but it’ll be something.”

  “Thanks.” Luke reaches out and squeezes Mom’s

  shoulder.

  “But.” My mother pulls out her serious voice. “If you

  want to stay here, there are a few rules that you’re going to have to follow. I want you home by midnight, every night. No booze or drugs. I tell you which friends you can bring to the house. And you can stay here long

  term only if you get a job.”

  “Okay, okay. You got it, Ma.” Luke’s voice is as serious as hers. Then, smiling, he stands up and kisses her

  forehead. “I’m not gonna disappoint anyone this time.” I almost flinch when he says that. I really, really want

  to believe it. But it feels like he has jinxed his chances by

  letting those words escape his mouth.

  “Hey, Squeaks, wanna go for a walk?”

  I look to Mom. She’s beaming. “Okay, but be back

  by dinner.” I wish I could make her smile like that—all

  teeth and bright eyes—by just walking into the room.

  It’s still raining, but the thunderstorms have passed. Luke and I walk close together under our umbrellas. He smells like the road, probably a few days since a shower, his body odor barely covered by a spicy deodorant.

  There’s a nervous silence, like both of us are scared of offending the other by saying the wrong thing. Asking him about prison is impossible, although I wonder a lot about it. Since I was never allowed to visit him there, I have only movies and the Internet to refer to. I hope that the meals were okay, there was a lot to read, and good TV. I hope it’s not as bad as I’ve been led to believe. Most of all I hope he has never been . . . Stop. I won’t even think about that.

  “Have you been to Craigen’s Hilltop?” he asks. “No. The only way to get there is through the mayor’s property, and he and his rottweiler aren’t so keen on people frolicking through his yard,” I say, thinking of the large trespassers will be shot sign.

  “I can show you how. No trespassing needed. Completely legal.” Luke leaves the road and walks into the bushes. Completely legal, huh? I want to see this. I follow, my jean shorts getting soaked as leaves and branches brush against them. A trail starts, out of nowhere, like it was placed there just for us, and weaves up the hill.

  “Man, I missed this place.” Luke takes in big breaths and releases happy sighs. Raindrops slow to drips.

  “We used to party on this hillside all the time,” he says. “In high school I’d hide booze in these bushes. Hang on a sec.” He pulls aside the branches of a huge juniper bush and presents a canning jar, half-full of clear liquid. “Wow! Still here. I can’t believe it. I used to pour vodka in jars like this, out of Ma’s stash, then fill her bottle with water. You know she and Pop don’t drink the stuff, and they never have people over. I don’t even know why they even keep it.” He opens up the jar. Sniffs it.

  “Wheeeew. That’s some strong drink,” he says, grimacing. “I wonder if Ma’s vodka is still all water.”

  “Not all of it,” I joke.

  “My li’l sis isn’t drinking out of Ma’s cabinet, is she?” He pokes me in the side.

  “No, I don’t have to resort to that. I have Peter.” Now that Luke’s not promising anything, we’re getting back into our brother-sister rhythm.

  “Well, then, here’s to Peter.” Luke holds up the jar in a toast, then swigs the age-old vodka. He coughs. “You got any water, Squeaks? This stuff’s terrible.”

  He dramatically twirls and grabs at his throat, and I laugh. The rock in my stomach is breaking down.

  “We’ll leave this right here.” He closes the jar and slides it back under the bush. “It’ll be like an experiment. See how long it can stay here, and how much stronger it gets. No swiping, okay?” He laughs.

  “Yeah, after that reaction the thing I want to do is drink that poison.”

  We continue our hike. I can see him as a teenager meeting his friends here. Pulling jars of different liquors out of the bushes, getting drunk in the woods. I’m trying to imagine who he fit in with, who partied up here. Just Luke and a couple of friends, or the whole school, including a different generation of Cranberry Hill girls?

  Then we’re at the crest. I’m in awe. Who knew our crappy little town had a magical trail that led to this? A green valley, almost glowing against the gray sky, with trickles of water running down the mountainside to a stream far down below.

  “You should see it in the winter with all the snow.”

  “Can we hike down there?” I say.

  “Nah. Not from here. Don’t get too close to the edge, Squeakers,” Luke warns. “That’d be a bad fall down.”

  He’s right. Maybe this is why we don’t drink here. That and the hike.

  “I can’t believe this is here. Pretty amazing,” I say.
<
br />   “This town has a lot of shit in it, but there are some good surprises, too. I’ll have to show you a few more. Later. Now we’d better get home. Ma’ll be waiting,” Luke says. “What do you think she made for dinner? All I can think about is her beef Stroganoff.”

  “I’m sure that’s what she made.” It’s Luke’s favorite. There is no doubt in my mind that my mother practically ran to the kitchen to start on it as soon as we left.

  Back on the road Luke is stopped by a shout.

  “What’s up, old buddy?” It’s his friend that I saw in the woods. Ugh.

  “Just got out.” They do a three-part handshake that ends in a fist bump. I stand to the side. Silently watching. Silently wishing. Please, Luke, don’t get involved with him again.

  “Party tonight. You should come,” the guy tells Luke. “I’ve got a good hookup in town now.”

  “Nah, Dan. Not tonight. Family time,” Luke answers. Dan’s eyes creep over me.

  “You can bring your sister.” His mouth is in a wide, ugly grin.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Luke warns.

  “Okay, okay.” Dan backs up, holding his hands high. “Have fun with the fam, Luke. And come by sometime; I have something that you might be interested in.”

  “Sounds good. See ya soon.” Three-part handshake again. I want to say, “What are you doing, Luke? Whatever Dan has, it can’t be good. Don’t do something that will put you in jail again.”

  Instead I fume silently for the rest of the walk home.

  The smells of fried onions, garlic, and meat, and something sweet—maybe brown sugar and peaches— have floated through the house all the way to the street. It wraps Luke and me in the feeling of home. We race to the door.

  Dad flings it open to greet Luke with a hug.

  “Just in time,” Mom shouts as we enter. “Wash up and come eat!”

  I catch Peter’s eye as we walk through the living room. He looks at Luke cautiously and gives a stiff “Hey.”

  Luke grabs him and crushes him into a hug. “What? No love for your brother?” he asks as Peter wrestles his way out of his arms and heads toward the dining room.

  Mom has added a chair on my side of the table, crowding my seat closer to Dad’s. When Luke and I sit down, my shoulder brushes with his upper arm, causing a brief moment of the two of us shifting a bit apart, finally finding a comfortable spot.

  My parents lead the conversation. Questions for Luke, Peter, me, each other. They don’t allow the discussion to sag or turn awkward. Even Peter starts to loosen up by the end, joking a little and affording a couple of laughs. As I look around the table at my whole family, together, smiling, thoroughly enjoying each bite of dinner, complete with a peach pie for desert, I have only one thought. Grab your camera, Mom. You’ll want to scrapbook this. It’s what perfect looks like.

  Chapter 18

  Floating

  THEN: Age Eleven

  It was sweltering—the thermometer said it was one hundred degrees. All I could think about was the icy cold lake, but Mom insisted I was too young to go by myself.

  “You could drown. Besides, you are not supposed to be at the lake without an adult until you’re at least thirteen.” My friends had all left for family vacations, Peter wasn’t home, and Luke was at the job he’d had for the past three months. So I lay on the cool kitchen tiles, feeling the breeze of the fan and listening to it hum, turning to speak into it occasionally, my robot voice my only entertainment. Until the front door burst open.

  Smelling of sawdust, baloney sandwiches, and beer, Luke was home from work early!

  “Get Bike-a-saurus, Squeaker,” he said. “I’ve worked hard today, and the lake’s gonna feel great.”

  Luke pedaled his bike fast. I pedaled faster. In minutes we were there. Kids were everywhere, splashing and screaming, and from the picnic benches their moms’ craned their heads to see who had just arrived. Skeleton joined them, leaning in to hear the chitchat, slapping sunscreen onto his white bones, looking concerned. “Last one in is a rotten egg!” Luke ran for the water.

  I was always the rotten egg.

  Watching me wade my way to him, Luke asked, “When are you gonna learn how to swim right?”

  “When are you going to teach me?” My feet sunk into the soft bottom.

  “Right now,” Luke said. “By the end of this summer, I expect you to be racing the boys and beating ’em.”

  I didn’t care about beating the boys. I just wanted to be able to go into the deep end with my friends. Drea tried to teach me, but after three failed lessons with me not even managing to float, I was pronounced hopeless.

  “First you need to trust the water to hold you, Squeaks.” Luke lay on the water like a raft was underneath him. “See.” He popped back up to standing.

  “Okay, now lie back.” His hands held me up. “And relax. You’ll float. I promise. And even if you don’t, I’ve got you.”

  My arms and legs felt stiff. I held my breath, tight, in case I sunk.

  “You’re not relaxed.”

  “I can’t. I’m going to drown.” I was scared the water would pull me down.

  “I won’t let you drown. Stop holding your breath. You can’t relax if you aren’t breathing. Close your eyes. Do you hear that? Frogs. Remember us winning the Frog-Jumping Contest?” I could hear them croaking even with my ears underwater, and the more I thought about them, the less I felt like I would be pulled down.

  “Notice anything different? Anything missing?” Luke’s hands. They weren’t on my back anymore! My butt instantly plunged deep underwater, pulling my legs, arms, and head with it.

  I didn’t get a breath.

  Slimy lake weeds drifted like little fingers against my thighs. Grabbing at me. Trying to keep me underwater. I’m sure I screamed.

  My feet found the bottom. I pushed up.

  There they were again: Luke’s hands looped under my armpits. He stood me up on both feet.

  “Clare? You okay?” Luke hunkered over me, pushing hair from my eyes.

  I was coughing so hard, I thought my heart might fly out and land onshore.

  “Get it out, Clare. Get the water out.” He smacked my back, hard.

  “Why”—cough—“did”—cough, cough—“you let go?” I sputtered, gasping, pushing him away.

  “Because. You were doing it! All by yourself. Just floating along without me.” Luke smiled wide. “You can float!”

  I could? I could. Wow. I’d been floating. All by myself.

  “Hey, next time, don’t try to sit up. It doesn’t work that way. Ready to try again? By the time I’m done teaching you, you’ll be fast like a shark! Best swimmer of all time!” He raised one of my arms high above my head.

  Then I was back on the water with Luke’s hands securely below me, looking up at the sky and listening to the frogs, I felt his hands slip away. And this time I didn’t sink.

  Chapter 19

  Hex

  NOW

  I pedal across town on Bike-a-saurus. Maybe I should ask for a real bike for Christmas this year. If this thing wasn’t way too small for me and the rust patches weren’t turning the green paint into some kind of toxic camouflage, it might actually be enjoyable to ride the mile and a half to the lake. But it doesn’t matter—I will be driving to work in just six more days.

  When I arrive at the lake, I’m surprised to see a car in the lot. Mandy’s. At seven forty-five a.m., I am usually the only one there, except the week when Ryan showed up early to paddle. Why would Mandy be here this early?

  She’s got her camera on a tripod and, with the lake in the background, has set up some bikini photo shoot for herself. She’s leaning across a large rock, her head back, long red hair grazing the sand, her mouth open in a stupid fake laugh. She runs behind the lens, pushes buttons before taking another pose, crawling like a cheetah toward the camera, twisting her face into some sort of sexy growl. She runs back. Pushes buttons, readjusts. This time she’s close to the camera, her lips in a pout. Could s
he possibly be more egocentric?

  I toss my bag down, strip to my bathing suit, and dive into the cold water. Why do I have to share my quiet time in my lake with Mandy?

  After my first lap I notice the camera has turned and the lens is now on me. What the hell is she doing? Probably taking pictures for her dartboard or to burn in some private popular-girl voodoo ceremony. I can’t keep swimming knowing she’s taking pictures, so I dive underwater and stay under for as long as possible. Popping up next to my bag, I jump out and wrap my towel around myself before she can snap another photo. I grab my stuff and disappear behind the Snack Shack. Part of me wants to confront her and demand that she erase the photos. But what good would that do? She won’t erase them. It’d just be another argument with Mandy. Another confrontation. Another bout of her and the Cranberry Hill girls talking, pointing, glaring at me. I’d rather just hide.

  By eight thirty a.m. I am in my lifeguard chair, watching Mandy, who’s still snapping pictures of anyone and everyone. If she weren’t so positively evil, I might be curious enough to ask why.

  Drea should be here at some point today. She doesn’t even know that Luke is home yet. None of my friends do. At least I don’t think they do. But, then again, word travels fast around here.

  Around eleven a.m. my friends start to show up, plopping down on the grass next to the lifeguard stand. First Drea. “He’s back? What happened to his job and staying with a friend?” Then Omar. “You finished all your AP English assignments. And the history ones too! Man, I am sooo jealous!” Then Chase. And Skye. “Why is Mandy going cuckoo crazy with the camera? It’s like she suddenly has a goal other than shopping.” And Lala.

  “I have this new boy. I know it’s early, but it might be serious.” And then Luke.

  Luke. Followed closely by Skeleton in sunglasses, matching his swagger, step by step. Why did he have to come here?

  Luke takes a seat in the middle of my group of friends, removing his black T-shirt to reveal his defined muscles and tattooed arms, the Virgin Mary on his left, a long cobra wrapped around his right, both all blue with wavy freehand lines. His arms and chest ripple as he tosses his shirt to the side. My brother, the incredible hulk, just released from prison. I feel awful, but I can’t help thinking it: Could he look more stereotypical? Skeleton shrugs, flexes, and points to his humerus, is disappointed when the bone doesn’t bulge.