Basil
It’s two weeks later. I don’t have to be at the pool for team warm-ups until 7:00 a.m., but I’m here at 5:30. I’m in the water doing an easy warm-up when Koji shows up. The light is on in Will’s kitchen. I didn’t stop to talk. I’m completely focused.
Koji doesn’t run through the race with me as he usually does. Jay Scott swims at today’s meet, wearing a Submergd warm-up jacket. He’s the one Koji went to watch. When I worked up the nerve to ask how it went, all Koji would say is, “He’s going to be hard to beat. That guy is so intense he noticed when they used a new brand of chlorine in his pool.”
Today’s my last chance. I need to get it right.
I eat a banana and two hard-boiled eggs. I find a white towel in the locker room.
The other teams are gathering. The camera crew is setting up near the snack bar. It’s go time.
“Hey, Ms. Alvarez?”
“Basil, good luck out there today. We’re getting some shots of all the swimmers. Don’t worry, we won’t focus on you until later. Did you get the new warm-ups I sent?” She knows about the Submergd incident. My dad told her when he called about getting a Heat endorsement. We figured it was better to be honest. Today, Heat is testing me out.
“Right here,” I hold up the jacket. “There are some important people I need you to meet. You’re going to want to film this.”
She humors me, pulling the cameraman over to where they set up lights and brush me with make-up. I pull on my new jacket, which has an orange wave emblazoned on the chest. Koji stands on the other side of the pool near Jay, with his arms crossed over his chest.
The snack bar window is open now, and I introduce Will.
“The Upper Collingford Swim Club has been very supportive,” I tell her. “I thought I was trading lifeguarding hours for practice time and a few burgers and omelets every day. Then I found out that not only is Will a gourmet chef, but he’s willing to practice on me.” I’m awkward, but Ms. Alvarez seems interested, and the camera is still running.
“Basil, tell us how you do it all. You beat your own best time last week in the Individual Medley, setting a new national record. You’re headed to the Olympic trials. That’s a lot to accomplish at the age of sixteen.”
“Honestly, this summer has been a roller coaster for me. I had some injuries and hit a rough patch. My times started getting better when two things happened. The first was that I switched gear. When you measure wins in hundredths of a second, every advantage counts. I broke my IM record the first time I wore a Heat suit.”
Ms. Alvarez grins. This is my shot.
“And, second, I was lucky enough to find Will power.”
“You must need a lot of willpower to train at your level.”
“No, I mean I found Will. It sounds cheesy, but his cooking and his focus help power me through each practice and each race.”
Will turns bright red. He didn’t know I was going to say that. Nonetheless, he hands me the plate the way we practiced. I’m nervous as hell, but it’s going okay. Even if I blow it with Heat, the look on Will’s face tells me I’m winning.
I hold the plate in front of my chest and tell the story of Pappou and my early swim lessons.
The camera catches a close-up of two rectangular pockets of Will’s golden, crisp, buttery pastry, stuffed with homemade strawberry jam. They’re topped with honey-sweetened frosting and dusted with chia seeds instead of sugar sprinkles, for extra protein. Will and I tell the story of how we came up with the recipe for Pappou Tarts together.
Then I eat them both.
“I make him two every day, no more, no less.” Something on the grill behind him is smoking, but he doesn’t turn away from the camera.
“Does he have a lot of superstitions?” Ms. Alvarez asks.
Will laughs. “You have no idea. But Basil will kill me if I tell you. He says, ‘you can’t give the competition any advantage.’”
“It’s like a secret recipe,” I agree. “You keep it in your head, not on paper.”
I tell Ms. Alvarez about my morning routine, my two-a-day practices, my work as a lifeguard. But I keep to myself rides home with Will, when our fingers intertwine between the seats and his car lingers in my driveway for a long time before I get out. And I don’t tell her about evenings in the pool, just the two of us, and the tang of chlorine, the sound of laughter and splashing, the touch of hands on water-slick backs, arms, hips. I don’t explain that after we climb out of the pool, soggy and exhausted, Will makes us dinner to eat by citronella candlelight. We evaluate new recipes and test new ways to sit as close to each other as possible, and he rewards me with another kiss for every ingredient I guess right.
Instead, I motion Koji over.
“I’ve been working with Basil for the past three years,” Koji says. “Top-level swimmers need to learn discipline and adjustment. You discipline yourself to put in the practice time, to know the strokes, to drill the technique. When something unexpected happens, you have to figure out how to adjust for it. Basil has always had the discipline. But meeting Will was unexpected. I didn’t think he would be able to fit a boyfriend into his schedule. In fact, I’m still not sure he can.”
A small flame leaps up behind Will. He’s completely focused on me as I interrupt.
“Koji has taught me that I constantly need to adjust to the race. If I lose my goggles in the start, I know the pool well enough to keep going. If another racer is gaining on me in the finish, I modify my stroke to meet that. Will—”
“I’m as disciplined at cooking as Basil is at swimming. We didn’t have to explain that to each other. But he had to adjust, learn to understand my language.”
“Pool talk meets kitchen chat?” She laughs. Will and I do too.
“I still want to win. But now I understand how big a part of that Will can be. Koji never lets me rest on yesterday’s accomplishments anyway.”
“Koji never lets Basil rest at all!”
“I have to prove myself every day—”
“—but not to me—“
“—and that’s a big change—”
“—for both of us!”
Only then does Will turn to his grill. He swears as he grabs a pair of tongs and throws something in the sink. Ms. Alvarez laughs and instructs the camera to cut. They can’t use the swearing part. Maybe Will did that on purpose so he wouldn’t be caught burning something on film, but now is not the time to ask.
Ms. Alvarez promises to send a contract tonight for my parents to sign. She has a whole box of Heat gear for me. Sports Illustrated wants a photoshoot next month.
I stride to the locker room to run my playlist. I’m going to listen to Free Boyz, shave, and run through the race in my mind: the start, each split, the finish. I’m going to warm up, right side first. Then I’m going to kick Jay Scott’s ass. After the race, I’ll talk to Koji about tomorrow’s practice and ice my hamstring.
Only then will I go find Will and ask what he ruined on the grill this morning. He’ll ask me to guess what’s in the pasta sauce. We’ll finally have a chance to talk and to sit together, feet tangled under the table, while we share a meal. He promised strawberry milkshakes for dessert.
About Tom Wilinsky and Jen Sternick: Tom Wilinsky and Jen Sternick’s debut novel, Snowsisters (Duet Books, 2018) was a Foreword INDIES finalist and won a Feathered Quill Silver Medal, the NYC Big Book Award, third place in the UK Wishing Shelf Awards and the Golden Crown Literary Society Award for YA fiction. Tom lives in New York with his partner and their beloved orange cat, Newky. He likes cold weather, old horror movies and 20th century cars. Jen lives in Rhode Island with her family and a cranky seven-toed cat named Sassy. She likes live theater, visiting any place she’s never been before, and admits to a mild Twitter addiction. Find them at www.neverhaveieverbooks.com.
The August Sands
by Jude Sierra
Tommy’d been stuck in the back of the minivan for the two and a half agonizing hours it took to get from his suburban Metro Detroit home to Caseville, Michigan, during which he’d been forced to endure what seemed like his fifty-sixth viewing of Moana. He’d have listened to music, but his phone was an outdated model with a battery that drained way too fast. And besides, Hannah liked to keep up a constant commentary on her movie. Plus, his parents expected him to keep her occupied.
Mary Engle, otherwise known to them as Mare, was half-hidden by her garden when they finally, finally pulled up to their lakeside rental. She gave a half wave but otherwise didn’t move. After seven years renting one of her cottages to them, she knew them well enough to let them do their own thing when they arrived.
Tommy clambered out of the car after Hanna and Ethan; he tripped over, then grabbed their little backpacks. Mary always let them park next to the house on the side lawn; sand and crabgrass shifted under his feet. Hannah and Ethan were running around the backyard and laughing.
“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy can we go down, will you take us down, please?”
“Please, please,” Ethan tugged on Tommy’s shorts.
“You guys need swimsuits,” Tommy said. Past the raised deck and down a little hill, the sand was a pristine, sugar-cookie tan and the water glinted sapphire blue in the sun. Hannah and Chase hopped around, cheering madly. Tommy laughed. “Mom,” he pitched his voice over the wash of water; the waves were small but the sound carried up the hill, “can I take them?”
“What?” She picked her way over to him. He relieved her of the heavy tote she was carrying over her shoulder.
“The kids want to go down. Do you want me to help unpack or take them?”
“Oh, my god, take them please.” The wind tossed her hair; sun caught her new highlights and brightened her blue eyes. “Get them out of our hair while we unpack. The bathing suit bag is on the porch.”
“Sweet.” Tommy paused. “Wait. Is mine in there?”
“Tommy, honey, you’re eighteen. You’re in charge of your own packing.”
Damn. He definitely packed suits, but they were buried in his suitcase.
“All right, turkeys.” He put a hand on each kid’s head. “Let’s get ready, and I’ll take you down. First one ready for sunscreen wins.”
“Wins what?” Ethan looked up; suspicion was clear on his little features. Tommy might have a history of incentivizing with no actual prize in mind.
“Uh…” Tommy looked at his mom. “An extra cookie.”
The look she shot him was perhaps two steps below murderous.
“It’s vacation, Mom,” Tommy said. “Sugar them up all day and maybe they’ll crash at night.”
“Thanks for the sound parenting advice.” She rolled her eyes. Hannah and Ethan took off, slamming the screen door behind them.
“Ethan, man,” Tommy climbed the stairs behind them, “change in the bathroom, no one needs to see your naked butt out here.” He rooted in the bag for Ethan’s bathing suit. “You can’t just go streaking here, people are gonna be in the cottage next door at some point.”
Ethan stuck his tongue out but caught the bathing suit easily.
Jerry, his stepfather, struggled up the stairs with Tommy’s suitcase. “What on earth did you pack? We’re only here for a week.”
Tommy took the suitcase without comment. He was a problem packer, always packing alternate clothes in case he wasn’t in the mood for what he chose, as well as alternate-alternate clothes in case the weather report was completely wrong. Which, come on. Michigan. The weather report was never right.
He always stayed in the smallest solo room. It was closest to the water, which meant he could hear the waves at night and watch the sunset from his bed while reading. Contradicting all advice he’d given his brother, Tommy slipped out of his clothes and into his suit without bothering to lower the blinds. The cottage next door was quiet. Its occupants must not have arrived yet. Some cottages rented to the same families year after year. Mare and her husband owned a cluster of them in varying sizes along their stretch of beachfront, but the cottage next door only had two rooms, one of which was a loft with no walls. It didn’t appeal to most families.
Tommy emerged to find his mother sunscreening Ethan for him.
“I’ve already done Hannah,” his mom said. “Get yours done and you’re good to go.”
Tommy resisted, barely, rolling his eyes. He was too old to be mothered. A month from now he’d be at college, in charge of himself. At eighteen, Tommy was considerably older than his siblings, Hannah and Ethan, who were nine and six. Tommy had helped take care of them from the beginning, had often felt a complicated twist of resentment and fondness for them. They were Jerry’s kids from his previous marriage, but they’d been four and one when Jerry married Tommy’s mom. Soon, he’d be gone. He wasn’t sure who would miss whom more, the kids or himself.
The night he’d gotten his acceptance letter to Michigan State, he’d gone to bed buzzing with excitement. It took him less than half an hour to realize he had no idea how to picture himself in a new life, without his siblings, his parents, his home. These were signposts for who he was, how he defined himself: the brother, the helpful son, the good kid who always made the right choices because he was so scared of the consequences that came with making mistakes. Everyone said college was a time for making mistakes. Tommy wanted to be the kid who could let go, have slightly reckless fun, but he couldn’t really picture a version of himself that was okay with not knowing what might come next.
Vibrating with impatience, the kids ran onto the grass, while he slathered himself up, then dashed down the stairs. “Not the water,” he called. “I need to check for rip currents!” He could have saved his breath; they were both already digging through Mary’s tub of beach toys. The wind wasn’t up, and he didn’t think there’d been a storm lately, but the sandbar could be deceptive. Last year they’d let Hannah go out to it, and it turned out it wasn’t where it seemed to be, where it had been for the last two days.
Tommy winced and hopped over a shallow wave. The cold water was unexpected on such a warm day, and he had to resist the urge to cover his nuts. On the sandbar, the water was knee-deep and warm. The sky was cerulean all around, unbroken by clouds. To the southwest, the shoreline curved until it was almost directly west, where they watched the sun set every night.
The kids were busily digging at the shoreline, filling buckets with the wet, heavy sand. Tommy waded toward them, letting his body acclimate to the water until it had gone from fucking freezing to merely bracing. He took it all in. Tommy loved it here and he loved having his family here. August was his favorite time of year. Along the south slope of the hill leading to the cottage, the landscape was natural. Mare’s cottage sat along the stretch of public beach. Queen Anne’s lace, ditch lilies, and chicory bloomed among the tall grasses.
Tommy was pulled from his reverie by the slam of a car door and a spill of laughter carrying over the water. Two men came around to let themselves into the tiny cottage next to his family’s. It was impossible to judge the men’s ages from his location, but they seemed to be on the younger side. After them, a girl with a backpack and suitcase came around the corner. Her short shorts and a tank top were a clear giveaway: probably college-age. Boisterous laughter carried on the wind. For a moment, jealousy washed through Tommy. He was on the verge of leaving home, but, rather than spending time with his friends, he was stuck with his family for a whole week. His best friend Sean was hosting a bonfire and cookout as a final goodbye this weekend, and Tommy was missing it. He’d been reduced to babysitter for a week.
Being a teenager sucked sometimes. A lot. Mostly.
“Tommy, Tommy, can I come in?” Hannah was at the water’s edge.
“Sure,” he said, laughing as she pranced into the water. A wave hit her square in the face, and she shriek
ed with laughter. Tommy waded toward her, scooped her up, and dropped her back in.
“Again! Do it again!”
He horsed around in the water with her until they were both exhausted. He towed her back in when her little lips took on a blue tinge. The sun began its slide toward the horizon, and a little wind picked up.
By the time he had Hannah burritoed in a towel, their mom was calling them. Ethan was covered head to toe in sand despite not having gone in the water at all. Tommy worked on brushing and shaking it off. There was nothing more annoying than sand tracked into the cottage.
“I’ll take it from here,” Jerry said. “Come on, Ethan, let’s play on the porch until Hannah’s out of the shower.”
Tommy wrapped up in an extra towel his mother had put out and parked himself on the porch as well. Mare’s cottage had a big, screened-in porch where they sat at night playing games, where they set up a towel rack to dry towels and bathing suits, and where they often threw picnic lunches.
Maybe it wasn’t a bonfire with his friends, but Tommy loved the familiarity of vacation rituals and, although he’d never admit it, the focused time with his family and his siblings. Tonight they’d eat dinner out here and watch the sunset paint the sky purple and pink and gild the black water; they’d eat too many Skittles and M&M’s and play cards until they ached with laughter.
Maybe being stuck with his family wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.
Chapter Two
By noon the next day, it seemed like the Worst Day Ever. Tommy’d rarely seen Hannah be such a brat. He had no idea what the cause was—lack of sleep maybe—but he didn’t much care by the fourth time he had to break up a fight between her and Ethan. He also really cared that his mother was complacently reading a book and, you know, not mothering.
Tommy was smart enough not to say that out loud but he thought it pretty hard in her direction when he went back to his lounge chair.
Short Stuff Page 5