Part 9 (1/2)
The team cheers. Ryan leans close to me and whispers, ”Yeah, I'd like him to try to explain that one to my mom.”
Coach blows his whistle. Everyone lines up for basic diving drills. Since Kurt and I were last in and last to get ready, we're at the back of the line. ”So if the calamari tattoo works, then why the worries?”
Kurt frowns at me. ”It's an ancient and sacred cephalopod, not calamari. I'm simply advising you in case you get an urge.”
The only urge I have right now is to punch him in his gut, if my hand wouldn't break on his stomach. I catch Layla looking over at us before taking a dive. She breaks clean through the water, her hair wrapped into a tight bun.
”She's got a fantastic stroke,” Kurt says, his eyes following her across the length of the pool.
”The line's moving.” I push him along.
”Good form, Santos,” Coach yells.
Maddy goes, then Thalia, then Ryan and the others.
I let Kurt go first, mostly because I'm curious to see him swim, but also because my stomach is in knots. This is the first time in a week that I'll be getting back in the water. The faster the practice ends, the sooner I'll have to get to the boardwalk. Then I'll be on some s.h.i.+p on the way to some island inhabited by others like me. Or unlike me, if I'm the only truly half-human merman.
At the edge of the pool, Kurt shuts his eyes briefly, as though he's saying a prayer. He stretches his arms in the air, giving him the effect of being seven feet tall, and then he bends his knees slightly and dives cleanly into the pool. He's so fast that he gets about halfway without having to surface, not that he really needs to. There's an audible moment of awe as everyone turns to watch him. Even Coach's whistle is dangling from his lips.
I suck my teeth the moment Kurt pulls himself up at the opposite end of the pool. I can do that. I do do that. I take a moment to breathe in the water-laden air, the smell of chlorine, the cigar scent of Coach lingering around, the burnt sweetness of curiosity that breaks through all those smells. I envision myself in the water, thinking how much I've missed it, like half of me has been hiding for days. I push away the face of the silver mermaid lurking in the back of my thoughts. I think of the sea. I think of me in the sea.
Hey, this pool works too.
I dive, harder than I really need to, so I push myself more than halfway across the pool. I let my gills open, my eyes taking in the blueness of the tiles, the lights bouncing off the surface of the water. I let myself spin in one place, then surface to stroke. The gills recede and I turn my face to breathe. I've already reached the end of the pool.
”Twenty seconds!” I've never heard Coach scream like that. ”You cousin here did nineteen, but he can't compete with us next week. Holy mackerel! You swim like that, boy, and we'll be Triborough champs for the first time since I took over the team!”
I don't try to hide my smile, and I welcome the pats on the back from everyone. Except Maddy and Layla, who pretend this isn't happening. I walk past them and splash them with the water dripping from my hands.
”You're such a tool, Tristan,” Layla says.
”Hey, look, you're alliterating, Ms. Pippen ought to give you an A.”
Coach blows his whistle again. ”All right, enough of that. I have an idea. Say this is an experiment. Hart's cousin-what's your name again there, bud?-Kurt, that's nice-Say Kurt here is the controlled experiment, and you all on my team are the uncontrolled experiment. You all have to best him. Matter of fact, Kurt's sister came in at 20.5 seconds also, so she'll be the second round. Who wants to go first?”
No one raises their hands.
No one except for Layla, who shoots her hand into the air. Always with something to prove.
Kurt's usually somber face breaks into an amused laugh.
”What's so funny?” Layla puts her hands on her hips and stares right at him. If I know one thing, it's that I don't want to be on the other side of that gaze when she's angry. It's like laser beams trying to fry your face.
”Nothing, I-”
But she doesn't let him finish. She turns from him and gets into position. This isn't the best plan Coach could've come up with. It's one thing when we're racing each other. This is like putting us in the ring with Oscar De La Hoya and calling him a controlled experiment.
Layla stretches her body, rivulets of water still rolling off her tan shoulders. She's the same girl who followed me out to the beach to swim the Mississippi. A wild spirit, her dad calls her. Here she is, trying to best a merman at swimming without even knowing it. It's kind of hot.
The whistle blows, and they tuck their heads and push off. If he were any kind of a gentleman, Kurt would let her win. Something tells me that he's not the kind of guy who just lets things fly. He swims as he did before, all sinew and muscle, like he's blending into the water.
Layla is about a foot behind him, which, considering he's unearthly, is pretty d.a.m.n good. The only time I've ever seen her swim this hard is when we were on lifeguard duty at the YMCA pool and a little girl fell in the deep end. Talk about motivation. Maybe Coach really knows what he's talking about, mostly.
They reach one end, and Layla flips backward. She pushes herself with everything she has and is neck and neck with him, stroke for stroke, as they race back to our end of the pool. Even the girls on the bleachers stand up to get a better look. Kurt finishes first, pulling himself out of the pool in one swift motion. Layla comes up not three seconds behind, gasping for air. She rubs the water out of her eyes and pulls off her swimming cap. Her hair is coming loose from its bun and floating around her like a lily pad.
”I'm going to feel that in the morning,” she says.
”Ho-ho!” Coach looks at his timer. ”Not bad, Santos. Twenty-two seconds.”
Kurt and I reach out our hands to pull Layla out of the pool. She stares at them, then swims across the lanes and pulls herself out.
”I'm not putting too much stress on you, am I?” Coach asks Kurt in what he thinks is a conspiratorial, hushed voice but that we can all still hear.
”None at all, sir.”
”That's a good boy.” Coach slaps Kurt on the shoulder and is surprised that his hand hurts after doing so.
”Who's next?”
And like pulling big rotten teeth, one by one the team goes up against Kurt. Some of them, like Jerry, get about halfway across the pool before giving up completely, and others, like Ryan, try their hardest but come in well behind. And then there's Angelo, who's waiting to race against Thalia, because he thinks it'll be easier.
”Hart, you haven't gone yet.”
I stand at the mark beside Kurt. ”You tired yet?”
”I believe I've only warmed up my arms,” he says, flexing his bicep in the air.
”I didn't take you for an exhibitionist,” I go.
”It's not exhibition. It's allowing the general public a great privilege.”
”I'll go easy on you, I promise.”
”Please don't. It's customary for the guard to compete against princes and princesses.”
”Shhh.”
Kurt breaks into a rare smile. His eyes focus on the end of the pool where Layla stands by herself, wrapped in a red and black towel. She likes to walk around the pool between drills to keep herself warm.
Coach's whistle snaps me awake, and I'm already a second behind Kurt. I don't hold back, because I know he isn't either, not for the lowly humans and not for me. We are equals, mermano-a-mermano, racing across the pool.
Then it happens.
The tingle starts at my spine, like my calamari tattoo is running out of juice. It's a craving and burning all in one, spreading along my legs, my forearms. I reach the far end of the pool where Layla stands and grab the edge, shaking the cramp out of my leg. The feeling subsides as I push against the s.h.i.+ft that wants to burst out of me. I look up at Layla, whose eyes are wide on me. I look down at what she's staring at and see the cl.u.s.ters of blue scales that have popped up along my wrist. I press against them and brush them away. They dissolve into sand. I turn around and dive back in, even though I know Kurt has already beaten me. I just have to get away from her. Pretend like she didn't see anything, even though I want her to see. I want her to know, even though it'll be dangerous.
”What the h.e.l.l happened there, Hart?” Coach is on me the moment I surface.
”Cramp, Coach.”