Courage

by Barbara Binns

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Katherine Lydia, my beloved daughter, and the real diver in our family. Also to the Chicago Park District, which believes that every child should learn to swim.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter

  One

  CHLORINE FILLS THE AIR, THE stinging odor so strong it bites all the way down my throat. I am in the pool area of the Sports and Wellness Center at Windy City Community College, the place people who live on Chicago’s South Side call W3C. Many of the high school graduates from this part of the city attend this college after graduation. The school sign declares they are dedicated to providing higher education for people from diverse backgrounds through teaching, research, service, and community development. Once a month, on Saturday afternoons, the college holds Family Day for Windy City students, employees, staff, faculty, and their families. No one else is allowed inside at this time.

  I’m here with my neighbor and best bud, Dontae Morrow. He adjusts his swim trunks and puffs out a chest with skin a few shades darker than mine. Since his parents want him to stay in the warm water pool, I mostly hang there too. The older people who laze around there don’t mind when I swim a few laps for practice. Right now, Dontae and I are heading for the concession stand.

  “You were eating up that water, T’Shawn,” Dontae’s mother says, handing me a lemon snow cone, my favorite. Mrs. Morrow has the same hook to her nose as Dontae does and big dimples in her cheeks that widen when she smiles. She works in W3C’s Food Service Department, one of her two jobs, which means I get to come as part of her “family.” Since she’s running the concession stand right now, it also means I get a free snow cone, and Dontae gets handed a bag of apple slices. “Who taught you to swim like that?”

  “My brother,” I say, before I remember that he who should not be named shouldn’t even be mentioned. My father’s twin brother drowned when they were kids. Dad taught my older brother to swim so he wouldn’t die the same way. My brother taught me for the same reason. Someday I’ll teach my little sister, Rochelle.

  Dontae and I move to a table where we can eat and watch the water action in the main pool filled with cold water. He grimaces as he eats the apple slices. “You never told me you had a brother.” Dontae shouts directly in my ear. It’s the only way to be heard over the shrieks echoing around the crowded pool. “I wish I had a brother or sister. I hate being an only.”

  I shrug. “I haven’t talked about him since I lost him.” I pick my words carefully. I know he’s going to think my brother is dead. That works just fine for me.

  I know I’m not the only kid with a family member in prison. Doesn’t mean I go around boasting about it. Heck, there are days when I forget I ever had a brother.

  Not many days, but I’m working on it.

  “Did you ever think about having your birthday party here?” Dontae says between bites. He changed the subject to something happy, just as I expected.

  “No way. My mom could never afford renting a place like this.” Three pools: a ten-lane, fifty-yard pool; a separate diving well; plus the smaller warm-water pool. No way. “I am thinking a superheroes theme, with me going as Black Panther.”

  He almost chokes while laughing. “From super geek to superhero in one year?”

  “The power of thirteen. Black Panther is pretty geeky too, the smartest superhero ever,” I remind my friend. This year Mom promised I could pick the party theme. For my twelfth birthday, she did the science lab thing. I lost a lot of friends over that one, and lots of people still call me Nerd. Science is awesome but not for a birthday. I want to play the part of a king, genius, and superhero all in one. And the costume will cover my too-thin shoulders. But it won’t be here. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve sat through Mom’s we’re-not-made-out-of-money speech, usually when she’s paying off another bill from the mountain of medical debt. She says she hopes to have something special for me this year. Our pastor, Dontae’s father, says prayer can work wonders. I don’t want her getting the idea I would think a birthday here was something special.

  “I can’t imagine having a birthday on Friday the thirteenth,” Dontae says. “You should think about skipping this year and spending the day safe in bed under the covers.”

  “You’re just jealous because you have to wait three whole months before you get to be thirteen. I only have a few weeks.”

  “On Friday the thirteenth, the unluckiest day in the whole world.” His hoarse laugh makes people nearby turn and stare.

  “I don’t believe in unlucky. I will officially be a real teenager. There’s no way that can be anything but good.”

  Dontae sticks the last apple slice in his mouth. He almost has muscles, and he’s taller than me too. Sometimes people mistake him for an eighth grader. How does he manage that when he’s the one in the modified gym program? Because he has sickle cell, his parents want him to keep relaxed and hydrated all the time and to keep out of the cold-water pool. Sometimes I think he only comes for the free snacks.

  I come for the snacks too. And to swim, the only sport I don’t hate.

  And for the girls in swimsuits.

  Well, for one girl, at least.

  Carmela Rhodes.

  She’s the brown-skinned mermaid in a shining blue-and-black swimsuit with a white swim cap. She’s already thirteen and is the prettiest girl in my seventh-grade class. (If there is any question on that, you can ask her or one of her satellite besties—Marianne Smith, Fantasia Grey, or Linda Murhasselt.) Linda is at the pool with her today, only she sits in the bleachers. Carmela stands beside one of the diving boards. I have one goal that I’m aiming for—a birthday kiss from Carmela Rhodes. My first real kiss ever.

  A line of kids snakes up to the diving board. Carmela is talking to some older guy standing near the front of the line. I bet he’s in high school.

  “Earth to T.” Dontae waves his hand in front of my eyes. “Stop the puppy panting.”

  “I’m not a dog.”

  “Woof, woof!”

  I playfully push him aside. “Get lost.”

  “You need to get real,” he says. “Carmela’s not the only girl in school.”

  She’s the only one that counts. “I wish she’d look at me sometimes,” I mumble.

  “It’s like that with girls.” Dontae sounds like he’s some kind of expert. He claims he had a ton of girlfriends back when he lived in Florida. His family moved to Chicago a year ago. I might believe him if he didn’t have a
face full of pimples. “When girls really, really like you, they get snotty and try to act like they don’t care.”

  “But what if she really doesn’t?”

  “Then get over her.”

  “You just say that because you don’t care about girls.”

  Dontae shrugs. “Friends and family are important. Girls are just girls.” He stares at my snow cone, raised eyes silently asking me for a lick. He’s not supposed to, but his life is unfair. Besides, a little can’t hurt him. I hand him what’s left and move a little to shield him in case his mother looks this way. He grins and finishes it off in two bites. He licks his fingers, gets up, and runs toward the warm-water pool.

  “No running, Dontae!” his mother shouts from behind the concessions counter.

  He slows to a fast walk. He has to stay where his mother can keep an eye on him. He jokes that he’s only allowed in the pool because his mom is around to make sure he doesn’t get to do anything fun.

  I think about following Dontae but instead head for the diving well. Carmela is still there, standing next to her guy friend. It’s weird. Like most of the guys, I barely noticed girls last year, and when I did I just made jokes. This year there’s something different. I move in behind Carmela. I want to say something cool, but nothing pops in my head, so I just stay close, moving forward when they do.

  The guy reaches the ladder. He climbs up and stands on the board. Carmela steps to the side, watching the way I do. He moves exactly like the divers on sports shows. Running down the board, bouncing at the end, he flies high in the air, twists, and somehow goes into the water hands first with barely a splash. Then the show-off swims to the side and pulls himself out of the pool without even touching the ladder.

  Carmela laughs and claps like he won a trophy. She turns to me in a move so sudden I step back and bump into someone. I start to turn and apologize, but Carmela speaks first.

  “Do you dive, T?”

  I don’t say anything for a minute, surprised Carmela is actually talking to me. “Uh, yeah, it’s my favorite thing in the world,” I say, trying my best to sound cool.

  “Are you a good diver?”

  “I’m better than good.” What else can I say, except that I’ve never even been on a diving board? I’ve jumped in, dived, and cannonballed off the side of the pool. How different could it be on a board only a few feet higher?

  “Move it!” Someone shoves me in the back.

  I stumble and turn. An Asian kid with neon-green trunks is glaring up at me. Long, black hair falls onto his forehead all the way down to his eyebrows. He’s short, with a thin face, but muscled and with a deep voice. I can’t tell if he is older or younger than I am.

  “I’m sorry,” I begin.

  Carmela steps closer to the kid, her lips tight. “Calm down, Sammy. Wait your turn.”

  “He needs to hurry up and do his dive. I hate waiting,” Sammy insists.

  My dive? I look around and see several people lined up behind this boy, Sammy. He thinks I’m at the head of the line and about to dive.

  “Go on, T. You’re next,” Carmela says, looking at me with expectation. “Show me what you can do.”

  “But I . . . I’m not . . .” I clutch the ends of my towel. “Sorry, I . . .”

  “Come on! I can’t wait forever.” Sammy’s lips twist into a tight scowl. “Dive already.”

  People all around stare at me. I know what they are thinking, that I’m a gutless fake. It’s one thing to play around in water. To submerge my head and stroke and kick and make it to the other side . . . This is different. I should step aside and let him go up the ladder. But I can’t back down, not in front of all these people. And definitely not in front of Carmela. I’m trapped, like a prisoner on the pirate’s plank. I can be brave and walk off the end of the board myself or act like a coward who needs to be poked in the butt with a sword and forced off the end. A quick death or an embarrassing one.

  I step forward and grab the bars on each side of the metal steps. They are smooth and so cold my hands slip. One step, two, three, then I’m up on the board. It bounces so much I almost fall right away. The board’s rough surface scratches the bottoms of my feet. I take a deep breath and look over the side. Major mistake.

  The water looks like a solid blue wall waiting for my fall. My stomach punches up and bounces around in my throat. I look across the pool to the warm water where Dontae is splashing around. Inside my head, I yell for him to do something. Call me, say you need me. He never even looks this way.

  “You’re not going in with your towel, are you?” Sammy snickers.

  Maybe. How big do parachutes have to be?

  “Be quiet, Sammy. T knows what he’s doing,” Carmela says. She reaches up and takes the towel from me and then smiles as if my skinny arms don’t matter.

  “Are you going to do something like a dumb cannonball, silly baby?” Sammy hisses from behind me.

  That kills my great idea.

  I close my eyes and try to remember every move I saw the other diver make. He ran down the board, jumped twice at the end, flipped in midair, and stretched his hands toward the water.

  I can do that.

  Or I can bust open my skull.

  Maybe Carmela will visit me in the hospital.

  “Go already!” Sammy yells.

  I take a deep breath and start running as hard as I can. I manage one bounce at the edge of the board, and then I’m high in the air, over the water, legs pumping like there are stairs to climb, but there’s only air. Things happen so fast I can barely breathe. My arms circle, flailing for something to grab. The world swirls around me, fast, faster, superspeed. It’s like being on a roller coaster at Six Flags Great America just as the car tops the crest of the first hill. Only there’s just me and the air.

  Goodbye, Mom. I love you.

  Love you too, Sis.

  And . . .

  Nope, not my brother.

  I have time to see Carmela with her mouth open. Time to see water, walls, water, people, more water . . .

  And then the pool swallows me.

  My throat fills with water. I choke and kick and flail and struggle to the surface.

  Alive.

  I swim to the side of the pool and hang on the ladder, shaking and coughing. My chest hurts. I had no control during that flight. It was unbelievable and scary and . . .

  “That was awesome,” Carmela says. “You can somersault and twist and . . .”

  I climb out, race past her, and get in line. I don’t have time to talk. That was like flying. I can’t believe I never did that before.

  I’ve got to do it again!

  Chapter

  Two

  SAMMY TURNS OUT TO BE a hotshot diver. For the next half hour, he does all kinds of stunts on the board, including a backflip. I watch in awe.

  “That was a one and a half,” he says when he comes out of the water. “My coach says it’s time for me to work on more rotations.”

  I did a backflip in gym once; the teacher called me super flexible. It’s almost closing time when I decide my last dive will be my own backflip off the end of the board. Major mistake.

  At least my life doesn’t flash before my eyes. But the water was a hammer, turning my back into splintered glass when I hit. The buzzer ending Family Time sounds as I gingerly climb out of the water. Lifeguards wave everyone to the locker rooms.

  “From now on I’ll call you Spider-Man,” Dontae says. He takes a picture of my bruise and threatens to post it online. I’m seriously glad Mom doesn’t use Instagram. One of the pictures features the giant reddish-purple mark spread over the brown skin of my back. The bruise hurts worse than a hundred spider bites, but I don’t flinch as I pull on my black, long-sleeved hoodie.

  “Hey. You’re not much of a diver.” Sammy appears and leans against a nearby locker while I pull on my jeans. “You can’t think of the pool as an enemy. I try to make the water my friend when I dive.”

  “Could you teach me?” I ask.

&
nbsp; “I’m not a coach,” he admits. “But Coach Mung could teach you. If he decides he likes you.”

  “Where is he?” I ask, looking around at the people in the locker room.

  Sammy laughs like I made the biggest joke ever. “Coach doesn’t do the family-swim thing. Besides, he doesn’t work here. The Racing Rays rent space in the pool and gym from the college.”

  “What are those?” Dontae asks.

  “The Rays are the very best swimming and diving club in the whole entire city,” he answers, spreading his arms wide as he speaks. Definitely younger than me, I decide. “You’re looking at the number one diver on the whole team. But we could always use more divers. How old are you?”

  “Thirteen. Almost,” I admit.

  “We’d be in the same age group. I’m twelve. Almost.”

  For real? His voice is a little deep and doesn’t crack like mine sometimes does, always at a bad time. And he has actual muscles in his chest and arms although he’s a year younger than I am.

  “Life isn’t always fair, son.” I hear Dad’s voice inside my head. I know that, but my dad had enough bad luck to cover me for the rest of my life.

  Dontae and I finish dressing, and he, Sammy, and I leave the locker room together. The sun shines bright through the windows lining the aquatic center hall. Sammy leads us over to a wall filled with papers, announcements about activities in the facility. Most are only for the college students. But there is a shelf lined with flyers about the Racing Rays Swim Club.

  Sammy grabs a bunch from the display and pushes them at me. “Take these to your parents and have them sign you up. We practice here in the afternoons three times a week and on Saturday mornings.”

  “Did you practice today?” I ask.

  He nods. “Then I just stayed here late since my mother had to work today. She teaches all about finance—you know, money management and stuff. She’s a big deal with math.”

  Before I can ask a question, Dontae breaks in. “Wait a minute.” His brows scrunch together; his expression turns doubtful. “That’s like all the times when me and T get together. What about us?”

  “You should join too,” I tell him.