Learning to Swim (5 page)

Alice and I decided that with less than three hours to spare, the Parkfield Outlet Center was our best bet. Alice wasted no time in speeding over to get me in her
giant green Cadillac. Alice was so tiny and the car was so big that she practically had to reach up just to hold the steering wheel. Her husband had bought it used back in 1988, which meant that it had been on this earth even longer than me. Because it was from Roland, it was (as Alice had said) sentimental transportation. But there was nothing sentimental about the way Alice drove, which can only be described as maniacal.

After several near crashes and a lot of obscenities, we reached our destination and began rummaging through the racks. I found a couple of bikinis for fifty percent off the sales price and headed into the dressing room with Alice to try them on.

“What do you think?” I asked Alice after trying on the first suit. It was no BCBG, but at least it had a tropical floral pattern and was butt slimming. It also, in my uneducated opinion, seemed to possess the necessary qualities of sexy but not too sexy and cute but not too cute. The only problem was the flip-flops. Alice had fixed them by wrapping duct tape around the toe thingy and under the shoe itself. Although they were still (by far) the most comfortable pair of shoes I had ever owned, I must say the duct tape screamed “I am proud white trash.”

“Take your hands away from your stomach,” she said as I kicked off my flip-flops. “And stand up straight.”

This was one of the drawbacks of having a best friend who was old enough to be my grandmother.
She asked me things like “Did you eat a good dinner?” And reminded me to do stuff like “Stand up straight.” Things that a best friend my own age would never have mentioned, probably because she would have been too busy slouching and not eating dinner.

“I'll tell you what,” Alice said. “One look at you in that suit, and he's going to fall madly in love with you.”

“Oh, Alice,” I said with a little wave, as if that was the furthest thing from my mind.

“Steffie, it's time you realized how beautiful you are. You were always pretty, but in the past two weeks, everything has miraculously come together. Your eyes, your hair. Everything has caught up with your nose. And you're definitely losing weight around your thigh region. One look at you in that suit, and he's going to forget all about Mora.”

I appreciated the sweet yet kind-of-backhanded compliment and where Alice was trying to go with all that. But quite frankly, even if “everything” had “caught up with” my nose and I was starting to look more like a banana than a pear, I would never be all-American pretty like, well, Mora Cooper.

“Let's pay for your suit and go get some dinner,” Alice said. “You should eat something before your lesson.”

I stood still, looking at my bikini-clad reflection in the mirror. What if Alice was right? What if Keith took one look at me in my new bikini and fell madly, crazily in love?

I sucked in my stomach and stuck out my chest as the scene unfolded in my mind. I would walk into the pool area and strike a Miss USA pose in front of the floodlights. Keith, of course, wouldn't notice me at first. Suddenly he would become aware that he was not alone. Slowly… very slowly… he would turn, and then
bang
—he would see me. His eyes would fixate on mine and his mouth would fall agape. After considerable struggle, he would regain his composure and walk slowly toward me as he said,
Stef… is that really you? I had no idea that you were so… so…

“How about the Pancake House?” Alice asked, stepping in front of the mirror, strategically blocking my view.

And just like that I was back in the dressing room, listening to my stomach rumble. “Sounds good,” I said.

After dinner, I put my new suit on under my clothes, and Alice drove me to the club. Even though I was doing my best to reassure myself that this whole swimming lessons thing was really no big deal, as soon as I stepped out of the car, I felt my pancake rise up and wedge itself in my esophagus.

At first glance, the pool looked completely empty. The sun had set only minutes earlier, and although it was dark, it was a hazy, soft darkness, still light enough to see clearly. It was still warm too, and the air felt kind of heavy and sticky at the same time.

Then suddenly, something occurred to me. What if Keith had forgotten? All this nervousness for nothing! It was almost laughable. And then Keith strode out of the lifeguard office in that confident yet humble way of his, and laughing was not even an option.

“I wasn't sure you'd show,” he said with a hint of a smile.

Oh. My. God. Gorgeous.

“I want to learn how to swim,” I said stiffly, almost like I was a robot or something.

“Good,” he said, peeling off his red T-shirt.

I had always known that my infatuation with Keith was, for the most part, based on looks. This was confirmed one hundred percent when I gazed at his mesmerizing ab muscles and his taut, smooth, virtually hairless skin. Alice wouldn't have been impressed, though. She had loved that Roland was hairier than a sasquatch.

Keith nodded toward the water, as if to tell me,
Let's get on with it.

Now it was time for me to disrobe. I hadn't thought much about how awkward that would be, but apparently the awkwardness was palpable, because Keith turned away from me and went to grab some towels. The guy was a saint. A saint in the body of an underwear model.

I slowly pulled off my shirt and shrugged off my shorts. Even though I had on my bikini underneath, I
was immediately aware of how much of my skin Keith was going to see. Then I thought about how much of it he was going to touch and I nearly doubled over from stomach cramp pain.

Damn the Pancake House.

Keith dove into the deep end. He swam the length of the pool underwater and popped his head up in the shallow end. I was still gripping my stomach and hoping that Alice was right about my thighs.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing at me quickly before checking the skimmer. So much for the Miss USA moment. As he busied himself with the skimmer, I tried to put my intestinal malfunctions out of my head, walked around the pool, and dipped my toe into the lukewarm water.

“It gets warmer once you get used to it.” Keith snapped the skimmer back into place and focused his deep brown eyes on me.

In a sudden burst of courage (or perhaps it was hysteria), I eased down the steps and stood directly in front of him. Beads of water were gleaming on every inch of him. He looked incredible.

“The first thing we're going to learn is how to float. So you're going to lean back and I'm going to put my arms underneath you.”

This sounded so hot. “You want me to lie back?”

“Right, and I'll hold you up.”

I started to arch myself backward and stopped.

Then I felt his wet hand on my waist. “Just relax.”

It all sank in. I was in a pool. With Keith McKnight. Without Barbie's permission.

Whoa.

The next thing Keith did was put his hands on my shoulders, guiding me backward. I felt stiff as a board as I attempted to lie straight while he supported my back, his hands pressing hard against my bare skin. He took a step and I reacted instinctively, attempting to right myself. His grasp tightened as he said, “I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Focus on the feel of the water. And trust me.”

Although Keith didn't know this, what he'd suggested was a tall order. Trust him? After every finger move, Barbie had said she wasn't going to let anything happen to me either.

I forced myself to lean backward again, resting up against him as my body bobbed on top of the water. As he began to move, pulling me with him, the water swooshed around me and I felt as though I was wrapped in a cocoon. It was as if gravity had disappeared and I was light as a feather. I felt a tickle in my stomach, the same amazing sensation I had every time I spotted Keith through Alice's binoculars. There was only one way to describe it.

I felt alive.

Without warning, Keith stopped and helped me to
my feet. “The thing to remember, Steffie, is that learning to swim has as much to do with the mind as it does the body. It's all about instincts and attitude.”

Oh yeah. It sure was.

He turned around and pulled himself out of the pool. Then he grabbed a kickboard, jumped back into the water, and handed the board to me. “I want you to hold on to the board and kick across the pool.”

“By myself?”

“Just hold on to the board,” he repeated. “You'll do great.”

Encouraged by his words, I clutched the board against me with unbridled enthusiasm.
I can do this
, I told myself. Just because my mother was terrified of the water and that I would have my own TCI, just because I had tempted fate and the love lunacy gods by taking swim lessons with my fantasy guy even though I knew my mother would jump on me like a monkey on a cupcake if she found out, did not necessarily mean I was doomed to repeat the history of those who'd gone before me. My mother's fears didn't have to be my own, right?

“Keep your arms over the top of the board. And move your legs like this,” he said happily, making a scissoring motion with his legs. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying this, and it just made him even cuter. “Don't be afraid to let it rip. I want to see some really hard kicks.”

Keith gave me a little push into the water. I held on to the sides of the board and began to kick. I reached the end and stopped. A surge of pride and freedom ripped through me and I turned around and smiled at Keith. He was beaming right back at me.

“Awesome, Steffie.” He nodded toward the opposite side of the pool. “Keep it going.” And so I shoved off again, reaching the other side and turning around. After a while, I got so good that I didn't even have to stop and stand up, I just swung my board around and kept going.

“Nice work,” Keith said finally. “I think that's enough for tonight.” He took my board and said, “How do you feel?”

“Good,” I said.

But that was a huge understatement. I felt
great.
The combination of propelling myself through the water and accomplishing this big feat and being alone with Keith had made it one of the best nights of my life, one that I didn't want to end. I stood directly in front of him, my feet firmly planted on the bottom of the pool.

“Why don't you come back on Friday,” he said. “Same time.”

Then he took a piece of my hair and brushed it out of my eyes. I was almost sure it was something a boyfriend would do.

But when Keith leapt out of the pool, dripping wet and still full of energy, I remembered there was someone in his life who would definitely know for sure.

That was why I raced to the ladies’ locker room and threw up my dinner.

Up until then, my love life could have been summed up in one word:
nada.

As in nothing. As in no action at all. Except for the time I went to second base. But I didn't really count that because:

1. It wasn't like I was really dating the guy—I just met him at a party and he asked if I wanted to make out and I said yes.
   

2. The makeout session lasted about one minute and consisted of him sticking his tongue in my mouth and swirling it around like a sonic toothbrush while giving my boob a quick honk (which caused me to laugh so hard that he got all insulted and left).
   

3. The next day when I saw him in school, he didn't even acknowledge me.
   

I'd never experienced a tender moment when someone cared enough about me to brush the hair out of my eyes. Not that Keith brushing the hair out of my eyes actually meant anything.

“Alice, when I get married, will you be my maid of honor?”

It was late Friday afternoon and she and I were cleaning the tile grout in one of the ballroom lavatories. She put down her Tilex. “Steffie. He brushed your hair back. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

“This has nothing to do with Keith,” I said, throwing my scrub brush back into Alice's bucket and dashing out to the ballroom. I mean
really.
What had inspired Alice to bring up Keith? Especially considering the fact that, since I had arrived at work, I had done everything
but
talk about Keith. (I had already called Alice when I got home from my swimming lesson and described everything in detail.)

In fact, I had purposely kept the conversation light and non-Keith related. So far, we had talked about whether or not love at first sight existed (Alice didn't think so but I knew otherwise), whether it was better to marry a rich man or a poor man (no-brainer), and whether it was better to have a big wedding or small (Alice had small but I voted big). So I really didn't know what in the world Alice was talking about.

She followed me out onto the freshly waxed dance floor and stood behind me as I gazed into the wall of
mirrors. Suddenly, there were twenty polyester pear girls and twenty tiny black-haired old ladies.

“I was just curious,” I said, obviously annoyed.

Twenty Alices raised their eyebrows.

“Just
curious,” I repeated.

“Okay, then,” she said finally. “I would be delighted to be your maid of honor.”

“Traditional cake or nontraditional?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer to that. Barbie and I had discussed wedding cakes in detail (we always discussed wedding stuff when Barbie was in Barbie bliss), and we agreed that weddings and anything associated with them should be traditional. Otherwise, why bother? I always thought that it was sad that Barbie never got a wedding of her own, though. I was sure she and my dad would have gotten hitched if he hadn't been
already married!

Alice sat down on one of the regal-looking ballroom chairs. “I'll have to think about that one.”

“All weddings should have white cake.” I emphasized this statement by twirling in front of the mirrors.

Alice just put her hands over her face in defeat.

A half hour later, we moved on to the dining room. The staff was prepping for the dinner rush, so the place had been closed off to Tippecanoe members a few minutes before we arrived on the scene. All the tables were empty—except for one. That was the table where
Mora's mother was holding court with all her obnoxiously dressed we're-just-as-good-as-the-Hiltons (yeah right!) friends.