Chapter 2

For the next week, I ignored Jane and Hunter the best I could and flirted with everyone on my possible-prom-dates-who-are-way-cooler-than-Hunter list.

I

had

thought attention from any of these guys would fill the hole that had been blasted in me when Hunter dumped me, but it only made things worse. One by one, they all asked other people to the dance.

On Saturday morning, Hunter came over to pick up Jane for some sort of date. I wasn’t sure of the details since I wasn’t on speaking terms with either of them anymore. The two of them discussed something in low voices in the living room, darting glances in my direction. I lay on the couch flipping through a magazine and trying to ignore them. This went on for a couple of minutes until finally Jane walked up to me. Hunter reluctantly trailed her. She nudged him and he spoke, “So, um, you know Tristan Hawkins from track?” I did know him, if you counted the three or four times we’d spoken over the last two years as knowing someone. He was the quiet type that just sort of faded into the background most of the time. True, he wasn’t bad looking, in a choir-boy sort of way. He had nice 48/431

features and pretty blue eyes. But he looked more like a freshman than a senior.

He probably would have been completely overlooked in high school if he wasn’t an extremely fast runner. This skill may have been acquired by running away from bullies during junior high. But at any rate, the track coach loved him.

I nodded, pretending it didn’t feel like swallowing splinters to look at Hunter.

“Well, I was talking to him the other day and he mentioned he wasn’t going to prom, but you know, he’d like to. And I told him you weren’t going with anyone—” I propped myself into sitting position. “Wait a minute, are you telling me you’re trying to set me up with Tristan?”

Jane and Hunter exchanged a glance. She said, “Well, you already have a dress and it would be a shame not to wear it.”

I glared at her.

“You’d have a fun time,” she went on. “And he’s smart so he could help you study for your finals.” This was how she was going to make up for stealing my boyfriend? She wanted to set me up with another guy—and not even a guy like Hunter, but a guy like Tristan? I stood up and tossed my magazine on the couch. “I don’t believe the two of you. Now you’re 49/431

throwing boys at me like they’re some sort of consola-tion prize.” I stalked up the stairs to my bedroom, but still heard traces of their conversation behind me.

“I knew she wouldn’t go for it,” Hunter said.

Jane let out a sigh. “She’ll probably go hide some more of my stuff.”

Hunter said, “Well, I guess it’s in Tristan’s hands now.”

Oh, I was so going to avoid Tristan from now on. I mean, the only thing worse than not going to prom was going to prom with the pity date your ex-boyfriend set up for you.

• • •

That afternoon Emily and I drove to a swim party together. Alix Lorie, one of the senior track girls, was having an end-of-the-season party. Her parents had rented out her country club’s pool, so the invitation was for the track team and whatever friends they wanted to bring along. Half the school would be there. As Emily drove I fingered my track bag. It held the new turquoise bikini I’d bought specifically for the party. Since we were twenty-two days away from P-day, I knew this might be one of my last chances to remind the guys on my 50/431

possible-prom-dates list that I existed. And apparently I needed all the help I could get.

The problem was that I’d never worn a bikini before.

My dad doesn’t allow them. He thinks even one-pieces show too much skin and constantly suggests that Jane and I wear wet suits. The bikini had seemed like a good idea when I’d been out trying to shop away my feelings of rejection. Jane may have told me I was too immature for Hunter, but the mirror begged to differ. Now driving to the club, I had second thoughts. Maybe I just wasn’t a bikini type of girl. Besides, Jane might be there with Hunter. What if she told my parents what I’d done?

How upset would my father be?

Emily pulled into the club’s parking lot and I got out of the car. It was too late to turn back. We walked into the women’s dressing room and changed. I took out my contacts so I wouldn’t lose them while I swam and put them with the rest of the things in my track bag. Then I reminded Emily she’d have to point out the cute upper-classmen to me. Without my contacts, I can’t recognize faces more than a couple of feet away.

I hesitated before leaving the dressing room. The smell of chlorine and sunscreen wafted toward me. It was the smell of possibility—both good and bad.

Emily had to take my arm and pull me out. “Come on,” she said. “You’re here to get noticed.” As we walked 51/431

to the pool chairs she gave me a rundown as to who the blurry figures around the pool were, emphasizing the eligible blurs. “James Dashner is by the diving board, Bill Gardner is next to him in the red swim trunks—oh, and Hunter and Jane are directly across the pool. Jane is staring at you and shaking her head.” I lifted my chin and refused to care.

“Let’s swim for a while,” I told Emily.

Emily took a running jump off the diving board and created a huge splash. I climbed onto the diving board after her. I would do a perfect, elegant dive. A dive that said, “Look at this girl’s grace and beauty. Those of you who have just dumped her—you are obviously stupid.” I felt the breeze pick up strands of my hair and blow them around my shoulders. I sauntered to the end of the board, looking out at the blurs that surrounded me. I couldn’t tell if any of them watched but I imagined they all did. I took a one-step bounce then made a smooth, effortless arc into the pool.

Actually, there would be some advantages to wearing a wet suit. Primarily, it wouldn’t fall off your body after you dove into the pool. As soon as I hit the water I felt the straps of my top give way. I tried to grab hold of it, but the momentum of my dive pushed me farther away into the pool.

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I needed air, but I needed the top of my bikini more. I also needed to shriek, but I couldn’t do that underwater.

Instead of surfacing, I turned around and tried to go after my top. I could make out a turquoise shape sinking in the water across from me. I swam toward it until my lungs ached, but it drifted off, just out of reach.

Finally I swam up for air, but only because I had visions of passing out and forevermore being known as the girl who drowned while wearing half a swimsuit.

I broke through the surface, letting my face pop out of the pool while I tried to tread water only using my legs. I wrapped my arms tightly around my upper body.

“There you are,” Emily said. She waved at me to come over to the side of the pool. I shook my head.

“Help me,” I mouthed to her. I didn’t want to say it loud for fear the lifeguard—a tanned blurry guy sitting in a tower not far away—would think I was drowning and jump in to drag me to safety. I gazed around at the blurs in the pool. I still couldn’t tell if any of them were looking at me, which at this point was a good thing.

Emily swam over. “What’s wrong? Why are you . . .

hey, where’s your top?”

I looked toward the bottom of the pool. “Down there.

I’m going to go get it. Don’t let anyone else dive in until I do.”

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“How am I supposed to—,” but I didn’t stick around to let her finish. The faster I retrieved my top, the better. I took a deep breath and dove back in, pushing through the water with all my strength. I could make out the turquoise blob, swaying softly below me. Stupid bikini.

Man, I hate it when my father is right.

I grabbed my top, then turned around and looked up.