by Marie Lamba
“Just trying to be helpful, TB.”
TB. Tuberculosis. “Stop calling me that,” I say. “It’s not funny, okay?”
“What’s not funny?” Cameron says, looking up.
“You’re going to love this one,” Trish says. She leans over and whispers in his ear.
I look into the water and tears of humiliation start to well in my eyes. Raina asks me what Trish is talking about and I explain it in a low voice.
“I don’t understand,” Raina says. “Why is she still bringing this up? It happened so long ago. Plus, your butt isn’t tubby.”
Trish says to Cameron, “Isn’t that hysterical?”
“Never mind,” Raina whispers in my ear. I can only shrug.
“Actually,” Cameron says to Trish, “it sounds pretty cruel.”
I glance at Cameron and feel a surge of affection for him beyond the worship-his-loveliness-vibe I’ve had going.
“Oh,” Trish says and for the first time ever she looks uneasy. “No, it wasn’t like that.” She rubs his bicep. He pulls his arm away. “Sang thought it was funny, didn’t you?” she says, narrowing her eyes at me in warning.
“Hysterical,” I say in a flat voice.
“Okay, everybody.” She claps her hands. “Bubble time!”
“Yeah!” some of the kids yell.
“Coming?” Cameron says to Raina and me.
I give him a grateful smile. I guess I can deal with this. We’ll chase bubbles. No problem. Only I don’t see any bubble bottles.
“Gather round,” Trish says. She’s kneeling in the water and the little kids flock to her.
Raina and I kneel in the water near the group.
“Now everybody, go like this!” Trish puts her face in the water and blows.
I feel my stomach clench.
Trish lifts her face and smiles. I realize she looks perfect. Plastic but perfect. Then I realize she’s wearing waterproof makeup. Figures.
“Now everybody. Make like Nemo.” Trish puts her face in and so does Cameron. The kids then dip their heads into the water like little ducklings dunking for an underwater feed. I feel sweat prick under my arms, but it has nothing to do with the humid day. Raina has her face in the water, too. All around me bubbles rise like some low-tech Jacuzzi.
There’s splashing and gasping as everyone emerges. “Great job,” Cameron says, clapping. “You’re all expert fish now.”
“She’s not,” Diaper Jeanette says, pointing at me.
“That’s right,” Trish says. “Thank you for pointing that out, Jeannette.”
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “Thank you, Jeannette.”
“Sang,” Trish says with an evil grin, “I’m afraid our class can’t continue until every one of the students puts her face in the water. It’s not fair, is it class?”
“Nooooo,” the girls dutifully answer.
“So put your face in,” she says. “Do it.” She starts to clap. The whole class starts to chant, “Do it. Do it. Do it.”
I look at all the faces shouting at me. At all the hands clapping. At Raina, kneeling quietly. At Cameron, who is clapping along with the others like it’s some tremendous joke. My body starts to tremble. The clapping goes faster. The shouting louder. I feel dizzy. I’m falling.
First Raina grabs my arm. Then Cameron grabs my other arm. “That’s enough, everyone,” Cameron says in a firm voice. The girls all fall silent. I take deep gulps of air.
“Sang, you okay?” Cameron asks.
I manage to nod, barely.
“Oh please. Girls like her are just desperate for attention,” Trish says in a sharp voice. She wiggles her rose-tattooed hip as she passes Cameron. His eyes rivet on her as she gets out of the pool and tugs at her teeny blue bikini bottom, which doesn’t really cover her bottom at all.
“Promotion time,” she says over her shoulder. The class climbs out of the pool. Trish is sitting at a table with little yellow cards in front of her. Raina is standing with her shoulders hunched and her arms crossed over her ugly suit. I really feel bad for her. I resolve to talk about poolside makeover options with her soon.
“Rachel,” Trish calls. Rachel, a red-haired freckled five year old steps forward. “Here you go. Tomorrow you report to Beginner One class. Congratulations.” Everyone claps.
Lots of girls are called up. Even Diaper Jeanette is called up. She snatches the card and sticks her tongue out at me. I’m not going to miss her. Pretty soon it’s just me and Raina and three really little girls, including one who usually spends half the class asking where her mommy is. Whatever.
“One more promotion to give out,” Trish says. Double whatever. I bend to get my towel from the chair.
“Raina,” Trish says. “Good job.” She holds a yellow card out.
WHAT?
“No,” Raina says, looking to me with worried eyes. “I’m not ready.”
“You’re ready,” Trish says. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll be in that class over there.” She points to Doodles’s class farther down the pool. “Don’t worry. You won’t drown. Though I can’t say the same for your uncoordinated buddy Sang here.” Another evil grin. “Kidding.” She flicks the card. It lands at Raina’s feet.
I grab my towel and storm out of the pool area.
After that humiliating lesson, of course I tell my mom I want to go home immediately. But since when does what I say matter? So here I am stuck sitting forever in the little park between the parking lot and the pool office. All because Mom promised Doodles she’d let her sell ice pops today.
“Ice pops, only fifty cents. Get your ice pops,” Doodles shouts.
“Do you have to yell?” I ask.
“Duh. It’s called advertising,” Doodles says. “Ice pops! Get your ice pops here.”
Raina sits next to Doodles and holds up the sign.
Plenty of little kids are climbing on the monkey bars or swinging. Lots of parents are sprawled in folding chairs, chatting with each other. And plenty of people have already bought Doodles’s ice pops. I’ve got to admit, she is really cleaning up today. But so what? It won’t change anything.
It’s horribly hot and even my hair is starting to get frizzy. (Doodles’s hair looks like a giant tumbleweed.) A bunch of lifeguards stream into the park. Every time Doodles shouts, they look over at us. It’s humiliating. I can’t help but notice that Cameron and Trish are standing awfully close to each other.
“Ice pops!” Doodles yells.
“Doodles, you’re giving me a headache,” I say.
“Sang,” Raina says. “I’m really sorry. I won’t go. I’ll stay with you.”
“Stay where?” Doodles asks.
“Raina got promoted,” I say.
“Congratulations,” Mom says.
“Sang, I didn’t mean to,” Raina says. “Honestly.”
“You didn’t mean to get promoted? Are you kidding?” Doodles says. “That’s the whole point. You’re going to be in my class now, aren’t you?”
Raina smiles. “Will you teach me the proper strokes?”
“Yeah, it’s easy. We can practice together later, and I’ll show you—”
“Mom, can we go home now?” I say.
Mom looks up from the notepad in her lap. “Hmm?”
“I only have a few ice pops left,” Doodles says. “Ice pops!”
“Mom, please.”
“Sang,” Mom says in an unusually sharp voice, “I’m trying to concentrate.”
I look over her shoulder at her notepad. “You’re making a resume?”
“Trying to. But it’s hopeless. All I’ve got is college, my one job right after college, and then a bunch of volunteer positions.”
I picture Mom at Acme. She’s ninety million years old, and the only phrase she can still utter is, “Paper or plastic?”
“Ice pops!” yells you know who. The lifeguards look up yet again. Raina joins in yelling and now both of them are getting on my last nerve.
“Please!” I snap. “Can you both
just—”
“I’ll take one.” Cameron hands Doodles two quarters.
“Hey,” I say in a friendly voice.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Much.”
“You were sick?” Mom asks. “Why didn’t you say something?”
At this very moment, Raina sits beside Mom and starts asking her questions about the volunteer work on her resume.
“Sorry about the promotion thing,” he says to me while ripping the paper off his ice pop. “If you can get over your water fear, you’ll be great. Maybe you should think about taking another private lesson.”
I nod and picture me, Cameron, and private lesson number two: mouth-to-mouth. I give him a large smile. He flashes his smile back at me.
Trish sashays over to us. “Buy me one?” she says to Cameron in a cutesy ootsie voice. “Pwease.”
Gag.
Cameron tosses two more quarters into Doodles’s moneybox. Doodles hands Trish a grape ice pop. “The last one,” she says and snaps her cooler lid shut. “Now we can go.”
There’s a distant rumble of thunder.
“Uh oh,” Mom says. Raina helps her gather our towels, but I stare at Trish and Cameron. I realize she’s inviting him to a party. She says, “No one’s going to be home this weekend. It’s going to be amazing.”
Rumor has it Trish lives in this fabulous mansion and her parents are never in town, so her parties feature lots of alcohol and raunchiness. Last year when Trish had her Sweet Sixteen in a club in New York City, everyone invited got picked up in stretch Hummers. I heard about it from Deanna Priestly, whose uncle works for the limo company. Apparently cleaning up the cars afterward was pretty nasty. What with the empty bottles and the throw-up. Classy.
“Everyone will be there,” Trish says. She twines her arm through his like a snake winding up a branch. Now I imagine Cameron giving mouth-to-mouth to Trish. “So, Cam, what do you say?”
Say no, I think. Say no!
“Uh, sure. Sounds good,” he says and licks his ice pop.
“Oh yeah,” Trish says and licks hers in a disgusting way.
He grins.
Okay. That’s it. I am going to vomit.
There’s another rumble. Closer, louder. Parents and kids scramble to grab their stuff.
Trish eyes me. “Sorry you and Raina can’t come to the party, Sang. It’s a mature crowd. See you little girls around the kiddy pool.”
I grit my teeth.
Suddenly the heavens open. Rain drives down. Doodles shrieks. People hold towels over their heads and race toward the parking lot. Trish and Cameron turn toward the pool office. I’m about to dash to our car, but before I do I notice a foot with dark-red toenails—Raina’s foot—stick out in front of Trish. Trish tumbles forward, landing facedown in a juicy fresh puddle of mud. She gets up, looking like the Swamp Thing, and shrieks with fury.
Cameron doubles over laughing. And there is Raina, standing beside Trish, frozen. Like a lamb waiting for the wolf to pounce. Just before Trish clears the mud from her eyes, I push Raina aside. Trish fixes a vicious stare on me and says, “You little…”
I make a beeline for the car.
Chapter 12
The next day we’re shut in because it pours. Wind whips through trees, tossing branches onto the lawn. Rain lashes against windows. To me it’s like a gift from heaven: NO SWIM LESSONS.
But there are two definite downsides. One, I don’t get to see Cameron. And two, I have to schlep Poopsie out in this mess. She hates the rain. I dry her with towels when we get inside, but she’s still shivering. She looks so forlorn I can’t bear to leave her. I try sitting with her for a while, but Mrs. Schnapps’ house is so stuffy and formal. It’s all lace doilies and stiff high-backed chairs.
I pet Poopsie’s head. She’s so tiny. So quiet. No trouble at all. And Mom doesn’t even come into my room anymore because she can’t face Raina’s mess. “Poopsie? How about a little road trip?”
I clip on her leash and her tail wags. I pick her up and race through the rain to my front porch, but we get soaked. “Okay,” I whisper. “We have to be quiet.”
I open the front door and slowly step inside. I can hear Raina and Doodles in the family room. “Hey, Sang,” Doodles calls. “Come here.”
“GRRRRR,” Poopsie growls.
“Rrrright away,” I say. “Just let me change first.” I dash with Poopsie up to my room and shut my door. “Goofy dog. Is that your idea of quiet?” I set her down and unclip her leash. She gets busy sniffing my laundry basket, Raina’s suitcase, and the trash basket near my desk. By the time I take off my wet things and put on a dry T-shirt and shorts, Poopsie has climbed onto my pillow, turned around three times, and curled into a sleepy little ball. I get a whiff of wet doggy smell.
“You okay there?”
Poopsie’s eyes look in my direction, but otherwise she doesn’t move.
“Okay, you sleep. And stay quiet. I’ll be back in a sec.” I shut the bedroom door on my way out.
In the family room I find Raina telling Doodles this weather reminds her of the monsoon, which will be starting in India any day now.
“At first everyone can’t wait for it, because it is so unbelievably hot and only the rains can cool things off,” she says. “When the monsoon begins, people are so glad that they rush into the streets and dance in the rain. It is really wonderful, I tell you.”
Doodles likes the sound of this and coaxes Raina to go out with her into the downpour.
“Come with us, Sang,” Raina says. I shake my head.
I stand at the window, cross my arms and watch them do the twist in the driveway. Their hair is plastered to their heads and their clothes sag and cling.
“Looks fun,” Dad says. He’s peering over my shoulder at them, with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose and a textbook in his hand. “Why aren’t you out there too?”
“They’re doing just fine without me.”
“Are things going okay with you and Raina?”
I shrug. “Sure. Why not? I mean, look at her. She’s wonderful.”
He grins. “She is.”
“Unlike me,” I whisper, walking away.
“Stop,” Dad says, removing his glasses. I stop and turn like I’m some robot. “Sangeet, what aren’t you telling me?”
“More like what aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Dad, I’m almost seventeen. If there’s something going on—”
“You know, that does look like fun out there.”
“Dad, come on. I wish you would just tell me—”
“Look!” he points at Raina and Doodles, who are now by the curb stomping in the river of water rushing by. Dad sets his glasses and book on the coffee table. “Okay, Sang, you’re right. You are almost seventeen. And I am almost a senior citizen. You realize I’m already getting those idiotic mailings from AARP like I’m ready to pack it in?”
I brace myself. I’ll have to look surprised about Taoji, of course.
“Only I’m not ready to pack it in, princess.” He tilts his head at me. “How ’bout it? You and me. Out in the rain just like old times.”
When I was little, he and I would put on our rain boots and stomp in puddles all the way to Fonthill. Then we’d each toss a large leaf into the stream beside the castle and cheer our little “boats” on. He would always tell me my boat won, and then he’d grab me under the arms and swing me round and round while my boots flew off and I squealed with joy. “Dad, I—”
“Come on,” he says. He grabs my wrist and pulls me out the door into the downpour.
Dad kicks off his flip-flops and runs to the curb. Doodles whoops and stomps. Raina applauds. I stand frozen on the front walk, my fists clenched. Heavy rain streams over me. Maybe I should tell him I know about Taoji. Maybe I should tell him talking about it wouldn’t hurt anything. But how can I say any of this when Dad is actually skipping through puddles?
Now his arms are in the air and
his hands flap like he’s some Bollywood star in a tacky dance scene. He starts wiggling his hips like he’s a belly dancer.
Together the three of them raise their arms and do some more Bollywood moves, laughing and looking absolutely ridiculous together. I should be laughing. I should be dancing with them.
I go back into the house.
*****
Raina says that after a few weeks everyone gets sick of the monsoon. Even though it cools things off at first, soon the heat and humidity return. Along with dreariness and flooding.
The rain has been falling here for three solid days and everyone is definitely sick of it.
I’ve done a ton of reading. I’ve finished Sense and Sensibility, which was a pretty frustrating novel—what with all the secrets the characters kept from each other. A little too close to home, if you ask me. I’ve re-read two Sarah Dessen novels, devoured Confessions of a Shopaholic, and I’ve started The Time Traveler’s Wife.
I’ve also spent time online. I chatted with Megan and asked if she wanted to hang out, but she was too upset about David. She said he’s been avoiding her for days.
By day, I sneak Poopsie into my room for little visits. She likes to snuggle with her furry chin on my stomach while I lie on my bed. Luckily Raina’s okay about the dog. She didn’t even complain when Poopsie chewed up one of her flip-flops. I don’t tell Doodles about Poopsie, though, because Doodles would definitely blow the secret. In the evening, I smuggle Poopsie back home, tucking her under my T-shirt and running out the door when no one is looking.
At night I lay in bed listening to the plink of raindrops on the roof and the glug of water coursing through the gutters. And I find myself fantasizing about Cameron. I know it’s stupid to even think of him. He’s in college for starters. He’s probably at this very minute wrapped around Trish at one of her parties. And my life is complicated enough. But so what?
Dalton called a few times and offered to come over. I told him everyone is here and it would be too awkward. He asked me out to dinner and I made another excuse: the roads are really bad. They are a little flooded. After that he didn’t call again.