Kellen led the way down the hall. “He’s going twelving.”
Jun stopped. “You’re kidding right? B-but that’s just a story someone made up. You—you could kill him!”
He sounds afraid. Good. Let Weaver get a hint of what he’s in for.
“Shut up, Gao,” Bennett said. “Seniors can do what we want. Hey, Winst,” he nudged Kellen. “What’s twelving?”
Kellen didn’t respond. He passed the entrance to the basketball gym on their right, then the girl’s locker room on the left.
Bennett stopped at the girl’s door. “Hey, Gao! Why don’t you run in there and see if he’s hiding.”
“Why me?”
“Because the girls won’t care if you see them buck naked. They know they’re not your type.”
Jun’s face flushed red. “Funny.”
“But true,” Bennett said as he opened the door and disappeared inside.
“Isn’t he going to at least tell the girls he’s coming in?”
Owens kept walking. “Unlike you, Fresh, Bennett wants to see if there’s any hotties in there. Speaking of, could you take a picture of your sister naked for me?”
“Ew,” said Jun.
“Meh,” Owens shrugged. “Worth a shot.”
They continued on without Bennett, their sneakers echoing off the concrete floor. On any other day, Kellen would have kissed his fist and smacked the school logo—a tiger with navy stripes—as he passed. Today, even the thought of doing so escaped him.
A door slam echoed up the hall behind him.
“Maaaan, there wasn’t even one girl in there!” Bennett complained as he jogged to join them.
Kellen reached the boy’s locker room door and flung it open. It smacked the cinder block wall to announce his coming.
Inside, 7th grader Riley Newton jumped. A downward stream darkened the front of his pants when he saw the group coming in. He backed against the lockers.
Kellen sneered. The fact that he actually knew the twelve-year old’s name disgusted him more than that the kid had peed himself. “You alone?”
Riley’s eyes betrayed him. He gulped, then motioned toward the swim team’s private locker area built between the showers and student lockers.
“Get him,” Kellen said.
Bennett set off at once.
“Are you…are you going to hurt him?” Riley squeaked.
“I’m going to hurt you if you don’t shut up,” Kellen said over the sounds of scuffling and banging of lockers.
Bennett emerged a minute later, his grip firmly clasped around the back of Garrett Weaver’s neck.
Kellen stared at the lanky teen dragged before him. He still remembered the day back in elementary school when the teachers gathered all the students together to explain Garrett’s skin condition. Something called vitiligo.
A majority of Garrett’s mocha skin looked so dark it seemed black. The other parts of skin set him apart from anyone else Kellen had ever seen. Splotchy paleness covered Garrett’s ears, nose, and forehead, almost like his tan had been seared away by fire. Lighter-skinned patches streaked down his arms and legs.
Kellen didn’t believe the teachers’ excuses then any more than he did now. His dad had told him the real story; Garrett’s mom must have slept with some black guy passing through town. Seems to me there’s nothing but no-good, cheating whores in Lavere County, Kellen’s father had said more and more of late. That and Mexicans.
Garrett had a Mexican mom, Kellen knew. And though she had brown skin, Kellen would never believe any child of her and Red Tom Weaver’s came out as dark-skinned as Garrett.
Bennett smirked. “Look what I found.”
Garrett squirmed in his grasp.
Bennett looked at Kellen expectantly.
That’s right, doggy. You wait till I say go. Kellen gave his friend a curt nod.
Bennett shoved Garrett against the lockers and then to the floor.
Jun winced.
Kellen scowled at the freshman. The same thing would happen to you if it weren’t for me holding these guys back, queer.
Garrett moaned from the floor.
“Told you to keep your mouth shut this morning, Weaver,” Kellen said. “Bennett, pick him up.”
Garrett crawled to his knees. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“I don’t pick up trailer trash.” Kellen signaled Bennett. “Harder.”
Again, Bennett threw him. This time Garrett’s feet left the floor. The impact left a grooved, but noticeable dent along the locker side. He sprawled between the bench and the lockers, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his nose.
Bennett laughed. “Hey, Owens! Ever wonder if you and Weaver might be related?”
“No way,” Owens said. “I’m all ebony, baby. He’s just a wannabe.”
Garrett spit blood from his lip. “It’s a skin condition. White people can have it too, idiot.”
Kellen tuned them out. The growing rivulet of blood entranced him as it slithered across the angled cement floor toward the drain in the middle of the room. Kellen swore he could hear it drip to whatever dark recesses the pipe led to if the others would just shut up.
Garrett stood. “But what if you’re right, Benny? What if I am black?” He stepped forward. “That means you just committed a hate crime.”
Bennett stopped laughing. “Whatever…Owens watched me do it and he didn’t care.”
“So because Owens is black and you think I am, that cancels out?”
“Is he telling the truth?” Bennett asked his friends.
Kellen stared at the blood. It looks just like paint.
“Well, is it or not?”
Garrett chuckled. “It’s too late, Benny. Tell your mom to DVR the news. Your face is going to be all over it tonight.”
Bennett eyed Newton, hunched between the lockers, trying to stay as small as possible. Bennett went after him. He grabbed the younger boy by his short-sleeved gym shirt and threw him against the locker even harder than he had Garrett.
“There!” Bennett shouted. “Now you can’t call it a hate crime. Newton’s white. I did the same thing to both of you!”
Kellen watched the boy cry on the ground. This isn’t what you had in mind. Come on, Winst, you’re better than this.
”What’s your problem, Bennett?” Garrett yelled.
“You brought him into this with that whole hate crime talk, so shut it, Weaver!” Bennett said. “Quit crying, Newton, or I’ll give you a dunkie-swirl.”
“What’s that?” Jun asked. “Is it like when you dunk someone in the toilet and let the water swirl around?”
Bennett rolled his eyes. “Fresh, you can’t just hold them there. You gotta dunk ’em back and forth.” He grabbed the 7th grader’s ankle and up-ended him, lifting the boy up and down as an example. “See? You have to dunk them so they get nice and wet.”
“Then why don’t you call it a dunkie?”
“Because it’s called a dunkie-swirl! It’s only a dunkie when you leave the water in the bowl. You gotta flush the toilet…to get the swirl…and then dunk him. That’s how you get the dunkie-swirl, son!”
Jun shook his shaggy black hair out his eyes. “Why not call it a swirlie-dunk then? That sounds better.”
Kellen watched the 7th grader’s eyes jump from one suggestion to the next in terror, his head banging against the floor over and over again.
Owens shook his head. “Naw, you should call it a swee-dunka, man. Has a nice ring to it…swee-dunka!”
“No! Give him a swirlie-dunk, Benny!”
“It’s not called either of those!”
“All of you, shut up!” Kellen yelled. “We’re not here for Newton. We came for Weave—”
Kellen felt like he had just been sacked. He saw the wooden bench just before his head bounced off the side. A flash of red flooded his vision. Pain struck him like being hit by a baseball bat without a helmet. Though dizzy, Kellen saw the 7th grader run out of the locker room with Jun in hot pursuit.
&nb
sp; Weaver…Weaver tackled me…
Bennett rolled beside him, his hands covering his groin. “Racked…me…” he coughed.
Kellen rose from the floor. His head swam, and his left eyebrow felt stung by wasps. He heard sounds of a struggle in one of the bathroom stalls. His vision realigned.
Owens had restrained Garrett in a full nelson. “Kellen—you’re bleeding, man.”
Kellen lifted his hand to touch it. His skin felt warm and sticky. He flicked his fingers against his jeans, and he saw the wound in the bathroom mirrors. Going to need stitches. He touched the wound again. Pressed on it until the sharp tingle made him wince. Live in the pain. Use it.
“You made me bleed, Weaver…”
Garrett struggled in Owens’ arms. “Guess we’re even now.”
“No,” said Kellen. “I still owe you for this morning.”
“Why?” Garrett asked. “I think the rest of the school already knew about your mom—”
“Shut up, Weaver.”
“Aw, does Kelly have mommy issues?”
Kellen’s face went cold. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why? Does that bother you? Because I would hate to make you feel bad…Kelly.”
Kellen grabbed Garrett’s face and screamed into it. “Don’t call me that!”
“Kelly! Kelly!” Garrett yelled back. “Kell—”
Kellen punched him in the jaw. He would have done so again, but Owens stopped him.
“All right. All right, man. Chill. You got him back. Let’s leave it at—”
“Get out of my way!”
Owens put his arms up in a surrender pose. He backed away and put a hand on Garrett’s back. “You all right, Weaver?”
Garrett worked his jaw back and forth. He glared at Kellen. “You punch like a girl…Kelly.”
Kellen descended on him. Grabbing the loop of Garrett’s jeans with one hand and the back of his shirt with the other, Kellen hauled the taller teen to his feet with a grunt. He shoved Garrett toward the showers, kicking at his feet to keep him off balance.
“Winst,” Owens shouted. “What are you doing, man?”
“Time to see if trailer trash can float.”
Garrett wriggled like a worm on a hook. His feet slipped on the tile floor.
Kellen refused to let him fall. He pressed his advantage, moving Garrett toward the swim team’s pool door.
Garrett fought back harder. “Owens!” his voice cracked. “You gotta help me, man! I can’t swim!”
“Winst, he can’t swim…”
Kellen shouldered Garrett out the door.
The smell of chlorine hung in the air and the temperature shot up ten degrees as the three teens emptied out onto the pool deck. The red- and white-checkered buoys dividing the swim lanes had been reeled in for the day. Kellen kicked off his sandals as he maneuvered to the edge.
Garrett’s foot grazed the water, disturbing its calm. He trembled. “I’m sorry, man…I’m so sorry!”
Not yet you’re not. Kellen hugged him with his muscular swimmer’s arms and dove off the edge. The force carried both teens into the water. Kellen heard a splash before everything went mute. He embraced the familiar cold shock and opened his eyes to the swirling world of bubbles.
Garrett tussled against him.
Kellen held strong. He scissor-kicked to the surface and brought his captive with him.
Garrett coughed and gasped. “Helb! Hel—”
“Winst,” Owens yelled from the pool deck. “Stop, man. This is crazy. You gotta stop!”
Kellen would not. He took a calm, deep breath, and recalled how the seniors looked at him when he had been a freshman. None believed it when he boldly asked for initiation through twelving. According to the swimmer urban legend, the idea came from U.S. Navy Seal training as a means for recruits to prove their commitment.
“Take a deep breath, Weaver,” Kellen whispered in Garrett’s ear. “We’re going twelving.”
Kellen twined his legs around Garrett’s, forming a human pretzel, and let their combined weight pull them under. I chose to go because I have what it takes. They descended four feet. A captain should set the example.
It hadn’t been so bad when the seniors obliged him. He had let the fear in, allowed the blackness to consume his oxygen-starved brain, safe in the knowledge his teammate would bring him back to the surface once he passed out.
Just like going to sleep and waking up again. Kellen sunk them to eight feet.
Garrett continued to writhe, his strength waning.
You get two options when you go twelving: willing or unwilling. You chose one, Weaver. I chose the other.
Garrett’s remaining air bubbled upward. His body went limp.
Kellen recognized the familiar signal from all his years of lifeguarding. He repositioned his arms under Garrett’s pits to allow him greater pull when he pushed off the pool bottom to surface them. His feet touched the—Rubber? When did they put a lining in the pool?
Garrett’s body began to convulse.
Have to get him to the surface. Kellen crouched and kicked up.
Again, he went nowhere.
He tried anew, to the same result, and coughed up more air than he would have liked in the process.
Garrett’s weight grew heavier by the second.
Kellen’s lungs screamed for air. He tried to lift Garrett and failed again. His jeans must be caught in the drain. Kellen navigated his way down to Garrett’s waist and legs toward his ankles. He yanked up on the pant legs.
What he saw made him scream.
The surrounding water refused to be held at bay any longer. It rushed in to flood his nostrils and throat, desiring nothing more than to fill the now vacant space in his lungs that oxygen had once occupied.
Kellen choked. His vision clouded with popping white spots. He reminded his legs to kick.
They tiredly refused.
The dark sleep came for him.
Kellen gazed upward a final time.
The blurry yellow surface lights went out, blotted by shadow.
GARRETT
Wh…where am I? Garrett opened his eyes and saw that he lay at the bottom of the pool.
Air!
Garrett choked. He pushed off the tiled bottom. It shot him upward four feet.
Whoa! How did I…
He looked down.
Kellen Winstel hung like a propped marionette, suspended by water. His chin lay dipped against his chest, and his body swayed in the small wake Garrett had created.
He’s dead…drowned himself trying to drown me.
Garrett sunk.
No. I need air!
He looked up at the blurry yellow lights above the surface. Garrett kicked. A raw surge of power rocketed him upward. His torso broke the surface, and he twisted midair, inhaling blessed oxygen. He briefly saw Owens at the side of the pool, stripped down to his boxers and barefoot.
Gravity pulled Garrett back into the pool. He looked over his shoulder, and his body rotated with the motion. His back slapped the water. It felt surprisingly good. He slipped headfirst beneath the surface amidst the swirling blue. Again, he sunk.
No!
Garrett kicked. He descended so fast that his face smacked the bottom. Blood wisped out of his nose.
Wh-what’s happening to me?
He heard splashing. Looked up.
Owens had dove in. He swam toward Kellen’s body, hooked an arm around the drowned teen’s midsection, took a single look at Garrett. Owens screamed.
Garrett’s heart hammered against his chest. What? Why does he look so scared?
Owens turned his gaze skyward and pushed off the bottom, carrying Kellen with him.
Garrett kicked, zoomed through the water. In seconds he reached the slope where the shallows angled into the deep end. He turned his cheek to not smack his nose again. The rest of his body followed the move, whipping around. The self-made current tugged at his feet as it rushed past.
I don’t understand. How am—
&n
bsp; Garrett looked down. His toes seemed melted together. The tips of what remained curled downward. His shins had turned black and shiny, his calves white as fresh snow. Garrett felt like invisible magnets had been attached to his ankles, and he fought their pull to slam together. A tickle feathered its way up the inside of his legs.
“No!” Garrett tried to say. He swallowed a mouthful of water. Choked.
Garrett instinctually kicked. The move sped him up the slope. His torso grazed the bottom, scratching him. He lifted his head and his body rose too. He bumped into a rubbery wall, careened off the side.
“Stand up…” said a voice from the surface.
Garrett reopened his eyes. The water seemed lighter here. Brighter. The depth could only be four or five feet at most. The shallows. I’m in the shallows.
“Stand up…” said the voice again.
Garrett felt the magnetic pull at his ankles. He willed them apart.
He felt a sharp tug at his hair, someone grabbing it. They wrenched his head above water.
Garrett inhaled. Chlorine stung his nostrils. He snorted the fiery sensation away, coughed for more air.
“Weaver!” said Owens. “Stand up.”
“I-I’m tr-trying.” Garrett used his elbows to hug the pool gutter, and swung his body flush against the poolside liner. “Help…help me.”
Owens grabbed his hand and pulled him half out of the pool. He clapped him on the back, each strike like whipping Garrett with a paddleboard.
Garrett threw up water into the gutter. He collapsed on the deck, his lower body still in the pool. The cold tile felt good against the heat pulsing through him. The pain in his chest ebbed with each new breath. “It hurts…” he said. “It hurts…”
“Sit tight, man,” said Owens. “I gotta help Winst.”
Garrett saw Kellen’s body lain on the deck near the diving board. His flesh appeared blue and bloated. Bennett hovered over him, clapping his hands in front of Kellen’s face in a poor attempt to wake him.
Garrett rolled to his back. The lights above seemed so much brighter now that he had surfaced. Groaning, he sat up. His head swum anew, and he threw up again. Righting himself, he caught sight of his feet in the water. The offsetting black and white skin gleamed beneath the mirrored surface.
Salted (9781310785696) Page 3