Heavenly Bodies

by Rochelle Allison

  His smiles drops. “No beaches anywhere?”

  “Well, in Savannah. There are beaches, just not where I lived.”

  “I’d feel landlocked.”

  “I never thought about it, I guess.” I wade a little deeper. “Okay, the water’s not so bad now.”

  “When we have two-a-days, I have to be at the pool by five thirty to practice before school. It’s freezing.”

  “Sounds awful.” I tip my head back, wetting my hair. It helps me adjust, and I relax.

  “It is, but it’s over the second you start swimming.” He drags his hand through the water, creating ripples. “Give me a minute, okay?” He puts his goggles on and dives beneath the surface, re-emerging when he’s far away. I back up until it’s shallow enough to sit, and then I watch him swim laps, back and forth, alternating strokes each time. Something brushes my thigh and I glance down, surprised to see several little fish swimming around me. Tiny and silver, they dart like they're made of light. I watch them, slowly lowering my hands to play with them.

  The sun is a gold coin turned copper, minutes from dropping beneath the horizon. It’s probably time for me to go. If Rigel doesn't swim back soon, I’m going to have to get his attention somehow. But, as if he senses it, he makes his way back, cutting rapidly through the water. I think he’s going to swim right up to me, but he keeps his distance, treading water as he wrestles the goggles from his face. He wipes water from his eyes before running a hand through his hair, the setting sun shining through his darkened curls.

  “Swim out,” he calls, tossing me his goggles.

  I reach out instinctively, not wanting them to sink. “I’m okay here.”

  “Come on,” he urges, coming a little closer.

  “Nope.”

  “Isla.”

  “Why are you always pushing me?” I’m not really complaining, though. I like that it matters to him.

  “Someone has to, city girl,” he says, splashing water my way. “You’ll be fine. It’s not that deep.”

  I wrap the goggle straps around my wrist, considering.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says.

  “I know you won’t.”

  The sun is behind Rigel, so it’s hard to see his face, but I know mine is clear to him. I wonder what he sees. A girl that’s brave? Taking a deep breath, I leave the safety of the sand. I panic for a second as the salty water closes over my face, but then my lessons kick in and I resurface, paddling my arms and legs. I close the distance between us quickly, surprised when his arms close around me. Catching my breath, I squeeze the water from my eyes.

  His skin is so soft. When he tutors me at school he has to be close, obviously, but this is different. We’re not at school; we’re alone at the beach. It’s seconds from dusk, and the last of the sun casts everything in bronze. Shivering with nerves, I almost ask if the girl Camille told me about is someone I should consider before doing what I really, really want to do…but I chicken out. I’ll ask later, because I’m selfish and all I want now is to kiss him.

  Rigel floats us back to where we can stand, his arms tightening around me as my feet hit the sand. “Hey.”

  Resting my hands on his shoulders, I stare at the freckles on his neck. I can’t look at those eyes, not this closeup. But he ducks down and kisses me, pressing his lips gently to mine. “I have to know,” he whispers, mouth so close I feel his breath. There’s a tiny, curved scar right above his mouth, marring his smooth skin.

  Everything else fades: the music down the beach, the sway of the warm water, the squishy, wet sand beneath my toes. Clasping my hands around his neck, I kiss him back, letting him in when his tongue touches my lips. His kisses are slow, like he’s taking his time and memorizing my mouth. And then he switches gears, trailing his lips over my jaw and down my neck. It feels so good that I know we need to stop; I can feel myself tightening up with feelings way too intense for kisses on the beach. I run my thumb over his cheek and his eyes open.

  He blinks, looking at me. The lust fog clears.

  “We should go,” he says quietly, nodding.

  “Yeah.” It’s the last thing I want to do, but I let go of him as he lets go of me. Newly aware of how public the beach is, I peek around, but we’re alone. We walk out of the water together, as if we’re leaving the version of ourselves who kiss behind.

  My mind races as we towel off on the beach. I think again of his ex, and how she’ll probably be around at some point, and does she even matter to him? Are there other girls he likes? He could have anyone. Is my appeal in my new-ness? Am I the shiny new toy?

  But, oh man. My lips still tingle. I stifle the urge to touch them, anxious at how much I want this. How much I want him. His eyes flash to mine, and we share a smile. If there was any doubt in his mind before, it’s gone now. I obviously like him. But he likes me too, enough to make a move the way he just did.

  “You gonna get in trouble?” he asks as we walk to his truck.

  “Maybe. Probably.” I shiver as the breeze picks up. It’s almost dark. Whoops.

  “Here you go,” he says, handing me my camera and keys. The branches he’s parked under shift restlessly, leaves whispering as they touch.

  “Thanks.” I immediately text my mother, letting her know I’m on my way, and then drop the phone into my bag. I don’t need to see her response to know she’s annoyed. Sliding into my flip flops, I peek at Rigel. He’s brushing sand from his feet, quiet. I try, but it’s hard to control the inner crazy: does he regret it? Did we rush? Are things going to be awkward now?

  It occurs to me that I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I’m being just as quiet as he is.

  “Well,” he says, straightening up. “Sorry I kept you so long.”

  “It’s...quite all right.” I laugh a little, shaking my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “You asking or telling?” He comes toward me, towel slung over his shoulder.

  “Asking,” I say. “You tend to skip sometimes.”

  “Naw, I’m going.” He rests his hand on my hip. My heart skips. “Where did you park?”

  I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “In the lot.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  Sleep is a hard won battle. I lie awake forever, mind running wild with possible scenarios. What’ll it be like at school tomorrow? At the meet? Does Rigel expect me to photograph all of his meets? Just when I’m feeling warm he’d want me to, I have a paranoid thought; what if he thinks I’m stalking him? I should probably veer on the side of caution and have Megan cover a couple meets.

  I go through my morning rituals in a daze, eating oatmeal and brushing my teeth by rote. I kiss everyone goodbye—Grandpa Harry and Mama and even Alex, who clasps my cheeks with sticky fingers—and head to school, my stomach a knot of nerves. Camille pulls in right after I do, sticking her tongue out at me, and we walk in together, chatting about a quiz we have in history. She’s in a way better mood than yesterday, but she never mentions Kyle. I suppose we all have secrets this morning.

  Nando talks my ear off during homeroom, trying to get advice on a girl he likes, and then we’re walking to history. Seconds later Rigel breezes in. He’s perfect in jeans and a black t-shirt, eyes downcast as he takes off his hat. I expect him to drop into his usual seat a couple of rows up, but he gives me a lazy little smile as he taps Nando’s shoulder.

  “Hey, man,” Nando says, looking up. “‘Sup?”

  “Let me sit here,” Rigel says, dropping his backpack.

  A look of confusion crosses Nando’s face for about a split second before he glances at me. Smirking, he shakes his head and moves. Rigel takes the seat beside me, resting his feet on the rung of the one front of him.

  Relaxing back, he aims his gaze at me. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, just getting ready for this quiz.”

  “Did you study last night?” He smiles suddenly, dimples and all. “When you got home?”

  My heart stutters, and I grin back reflexively. “A lit
tle this morning. I feel good about it.”

  He nods, tapping his pencil against the desk.

  I lean closer, wanting to ask him about his meet later, but the bell rings with finality, ending the conversation. We get our quizzes right away, and I breeze though, glad I took a moment to go over the material at breakfast. I steal a peek at Rigel, remembering with great clarity his lips parting mine, his tongue sweeping my mouth.

  The thought of it nearly steals my breath, and when he looks back at me, his gaze darkens, like he knows.

  The sky is cloudless today, as clear and blue as the pool. Sunlight ripples dreamily through the turquoise water, reminding me of one of my favorite photographers, a girl who creates stunning underwater vistas. I’m lost in thought, wondering how much underwater housing costs for cameras, when Rigel eases into the water beside me.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

  Before I can even respond, Archer is looming above us. “You’re late, Rigel.”

  “Sorry, Coach. Had a phone call.”

  “Not my problem,” she says. “The only reason I’m not making you swim laps is because that would waste Isla’s time.”

  Rigel nods. “Won’t happen again.”

  “I hope not.”

  “I really am sorry,” Rigel says to me once Archer’s gone.

  I turn to him, hiding a smile. “Phone calls at school?” I tease. “Tsk, tsk.”

  “Yeah, I’m a real rebel.” He comes closer. “I thought we could work on diving today.”

  Guess we’re getting right down to business. “Diving?” I echo, cracked skulls and bloody water coming to mind.

  “Diving down from the surface, like this.” Taking a breath, he ducks beneath the surface and kicks off, propelling himself down until he touches the pool floor. Then he floats slowly back up, wiping water from his eyes. The whole thing takes maybe ten seconds.

  “Is that part of Archer’s curriculum?” I ask, shading my eyes from the sun’s brightness.

  “No, it’s part of mine.” He sweeps his hair back, squeezing water from it. “If you can master this, the rest is cake.”

  That makes sense. It’s being submerged, not swimming along the surface, that sets me off. Still, having a panic attack in front of Rigel isn’t something I feel like going through. I can’t say for sure that won’t happen if I go that far underwater. ”I’m gonna have to put my foot down and say no.”

  “You have to face it eventually,” he says.

  “Eventually is not today, Rigel.”

  “At least try,” he says. “You need to conquer this.”

  Leaning against the side of the pool, I fold my arms. “Maybe, but not to pass this class.”

  He folds his arms, too. “You’re seriously not going to try.”

  “No.”

  “Isla.”

  “I said no!” I send a wave of water his way, splashing the incredulity off his face.

  “You sound really Southern right now,” he says, wiping water from his eyes. “You must be really vexed with me.”

  I cut my eyes at him. “Vexed?”

  “You’re bigger than your fear, Georgia.”

  “And you’re a swimmer, not a psychologist.”

  Our classmates are running drills now. I watch them for awhile, wondering how long we’re going to go without saying something. But when I sneak a peek at Rigel, he’s floating peacefully, staring at the sky.

  Eventually Coach Archer walks over. “Everything okay?”

  I begin to explain, but Rigel beats me to it. “Everything’s great. Isla refuses to do anything, so I get to relax for the rest of the class.”

  “That’s not true,” I say, pushing off from the wall. “He’s deviating from the curriculum.”

  She looks from me to him and back to me. “What?”

  Rigel gets to his feet, pushing his dripping hair back. He looks the way he did at the beach yesterday, and my breath catches. “I’m just trying to teach her how to dive down. You know? Basic.”

  Ouch. “Basic? For you, maybe.”

  “You won’t even try.”

  Archer clears her throat. “Isla, he’s right in that you should try, but you’re right in that’s it’s not part of the curriculum.” She pauses, looking regretful. “Just stick to the strokes, Ri.”

  “All right.” It’s a victory I guess, but it feels crappy. “Thanks.”

  “Got it,” says Rigel.

  “We still have twenty minutes,” she says, pointing to her watch as she leaves. “Get moving.”

  Rigel and I look at each other. “Backstroke,” he says. “You know how to float, so we’ll start there.”

  “Oh, is that basic enough for me?”

  His face falls. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Just...teach me the backstroke, Rigel.” Without waiting for a response, I ease onto my back and float.

  Today’s meet against Hamilton High, one of our main rivals, is well attended. Camille, Jasmine and I sit squashed together near the front, chatting as I ready my camera.

  I haven’t seen Rigel since the end of our awkward swim session. We separated on good terms, and by good I mean bullshitty and polite. I’m a little embarrassed I freaked, but mostly, I just wish he hadn’t pushed me. I’m well aware of my inadequacies in the water, and no one’s as bothered by them as I am.

  “I need a swimmer in my life,” Camille announces. The smell of her popcorn is making my mouth water. “I mean…look at them.”

  “Trust me, girl, I’m looking.” Positioning my camera, I take a couple experimental shots before adjusting the settings.

  “Yes, I know you are,” she whispers, tapping my knee.

  Camille’s not stupid, so I decide not to insult her by feigning ignorance. Instead, I simply shrug and nod, squinting through my viewfinder. Rigel’s zoomed-in gaze stares back at me, and I lower the camera, caught. He gives me the subtlest wink before getting into position up on the starting block.

  Not subtle enough, though. Camille sighs, leaning into me again. “Mhm. What was that?”

  I’m surprised by how relieved I feel that Rigel and I are okay. “What was what?”

  The race starts with a bang. Camille passes the popcorn to Jasmine. “You know what.”

  I smile. The swimmers reach the wall and flip; I snap a picture of Rigel in the lead.

  “Looks like we have some catching up to do, Georgia,” Cam says.

  Rigel’s nickname for me. I blush. “Maybe we do.”

  Mama’s not around when I get home.

  “She took the lil one to the store,” Grandpa Harry says. He’s in his Lazy Boy today, bush tea at his side as he keeps an eye on the weather. “Wanted to stock up before the storm.”

  As Jasmine said, the storms seem to come and go with little consequence. The latest one has been worrisome, though. “Has it gotten a lot worse?”

  “Well, it’s been upgraded to a Category 1.”

  “Oh, no.” Dismayed, I look past him to the TV where the Weather Channel is discussing several of the storm’s potential paths.

  “Don’t vex yourself, dahlin. That ain’t nothing,” he says, patting my arm. “We’ve had much worse around here.”

  I’m not sure if that makes me better or worse. We can’t even evacuate if things get bad. Dropping my backpack on the couch, I lean in to give my grandfather a hug. “How was your day?”

  “Not bad. Helped Macho put away the patio furniture, get the place ready.” He sighs, settling back. “Doesn’t take much wind to make a mess.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy,” I tease.

  “All I do is take it easy,” he says, glaring at me over his glasses. “I can’t stand around picking my nose when there’s work to be done.”

  “That’s true.” I pick up his empty mug. “Did you want more, Grandpa?”

  “Thank you,” he says, nodding. “You going out today?”

  I know why he’s asking; he’s got quite the penchant for lottery tickets. �
�I was thinking about it,” I say, smiling slyly. “Need me to pick something up?”

  “Look in the drawer beside the bed, take a twenty. Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, Grandpa.” I give him a hug, careful not to squeeze too hard. He’s frailer than he was. I suspect, also, that he’s much more indulgent with me than he ever was with my mother or Aunt Greta. “Powerball, right?”

  Trading my backpack for a purse, I head out. Because of the swim meet, I’m heading to Rainbow a little later than usual. The bar beside the beach looks about half full, buoyed by a reggae cover band. Ignoring the dusty parking lot across the street, I pull up to where Rigel had his truck yesterday. If he doesn’t come within the half hour, I’ll grab my grandfather’s lottery tickets and go home. There are plenty of reasons I shouldn’t be here: homework, an overdue Facetime session with Morgan, the storm...

  …and Rigel might not even show up. For all I know he’s at home, celebrating his wins with his family.

  I climb onto the trunk of my car, swinging my legs as I look around. Down on the rocks, jutting into the water, sit the silhouettes of two men fishing. I watch them for awhile, thinking about my father, wondering what he’s up to today. I text him: I miss you!

  The far-off rumble of bass jostles me from my thoughts, growing louder and louder as a black truck comes down the road. Parking behind my car, Rigel steps out, fixing his baseball cap. I slide my phone into my purse as he approaches. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He stops inches away, playing with his keys. “I knew you'd be here.”

  “I’d knew you’d be here, too.”

  He smiles and comes closer, his jeans brushing against my legs. “Predictable, huh?”

  “Well, it is your spot…”

  “We can share.” Another step brings him between my knees.

  My stomach dips. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “I wanted to talk to you, too. Be a lot easier if I had your number, though,” he says, retrieving his phone from his back pocket. “What is it?”

  I tell him, and seconds later my phone buzzes in my purse, letting me know I have a new message.

  “I take it you're not swimming today?” I ask, nodding toward the water.