The Twilight Swimmer (3 page)

Mr. Francisco stooped over to move closer to her ear and whispered. “You’re on thin ice, Ms. Vine. Go see the counselor, with my permission.”

“No thank you.”

“My permission, and my insistence. Go see Ms. Grace right now, or go see Principal Woodley. Your choice.”

Brandi shrugged her shoulders and slid out of her seat. She passed Candace and Lacy on her way out of the classroom, and pretended not to see the disturbed expressions on their faces.

She chose the counselor, Ms. Grace. Not much of a choice, really. A visit to Ms. Grace’s office did not mean an automatic phone call to her parents.

Her office was adjacent to Principal Woodley’s office, presumably so the administration could keep an eye on whoever was stopping by for a chat while keeping the illusion of anonymity alive. Ms. Grace’s door was closed, so Brandi sat down in the joint waiting area. She shifted her weight uneasily, glancing toward the Principal’s portly secretary who watched Brandi out of the corner of her eye. The secretary leaned forward as if to address Brandi, but Ms. Grace’s door opened just that moment and saved her.

A boy emerged from the office. He was tall and thin as a twig in black skinny jeans and a tee shirt. His hair was dyed black and pasted to his head like a helmet, his ear lobes spread wide with oversize black discs. The white cardboard stick of a sucker protruded from his lips. He laughed a goodbye to Ms. Grace, hiding somewhere in the depths of her office, and turned to stride past Brandi. But when he saw her, he stopped in his tracks and looked down. “Seriously?” he asked with a snicker. “You?”

“Me.”

“So much for that pedestal you used to live on, huh?” He pulled the sucker out of his mouth to laugh more freely. It was blue. She smelled his raspberry breath as he leered at her, and was glad he took the smell with him when he strode out into the hall.

In a school building full of institutional white walls and oppressive tube lighting, the counselor’s office was an oasis: floor lamps, a hard wood desk, a plush blue couch and art work from years of travel. All of these details were reflections of the counselor’s personality, but they were also carefully chosen to make students feel comfortable. Her office was meant to be a second home for students, an escape, a refuge. Brandi entered with a knock, and Ms. Grace waved her in with a toothy smile. Her brown hair was cut short, not quite pixie but close. She wore black frame glasses that she didn’t need, purely to help her look her age. Early thirties, Brandi guessed. No one knew for sure, and Ms. Grace wasn’t about to tell.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, but it’s a pleasure,” said Ms. Grace. She reached for a bowl of chocolate candies at the edge of her desk and slid it toward Brandi, gesturing for her to help herself. Brandi shook her head ‘no’ and sat down on the blue couch. She sank into the ultra-soft cushion. Like sinking into water, thought Brandi. Like drowning slowly. Ms. Grace moved from the swivel chair behind her desk and took a seat next to Brandi, tucking one foot under her body and propping one elbow on the couch back. “You look well.”

“I am well,” said Brandi. Ms. Grace always said you looked well, even if you didn’t. It was a trick, a way to judge how well you felt by your reaction to her casual assessment. If you flinched, if you hesitated, if you laughed nervously… the gig was up. “You look well, too.”

“I’m exhausted, truth be told. Too much coffee, too much TiVo. But that’s our little secret.”

Another trick, Brandi thought. She makes a ‘confession’ so I’ll feel more comfortable making a confession of my own.

Ms. Grace leaned back toward the door to her office and gently pushed it closed. With another generous smile for Brandi, she tucked a throw pillow between her ribs and the couch and waited for Brandi to speak.

Brandi didn’t speak.

“I’d like to think you’ve come to my office for a social visit, but it’s the middle of first period. Who do you have for first period? Mrs. Havershore?”

“Mr. Francisco.”

Ms. Grace nodded, wrinkling her nose. “What’s got him riled this morning? Were you chewing your gum too loudly?”

“I don’t chew gum.”

Ms. Grace inched closer, now cradling the throw pillow in her lap. “Brandi, we’ve been through this before. If you don’t offer up information, if you make me ask and ask and ask, we might never figure out what’s going on with you, or how I can help. I’m not here just because they pay me to be here. I’m here because I care about my students. Because I care about you.” Ms. Grace sighed and lowered her eyes a moment. For effect? Brandi wasn’t sure. “Talk to me, Brandi. Tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t study for my test.”

“And you told Mr. Francisco you weren’t ready to take it?”

“No. I just didn’t take it.”

Ms. Grace’s eyes went wide. “Brandi Vine! What has gotten into you?” She shook her head, seemingly amazed, then drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I should not have raised my voice. I’m just… surprised. Every time we talk it seems you’ve gotten just a little farther from the girl you used to be. The Brandi I used to know wouldn’t show up for a test unless she was ready to teach the class. And now?”

“I’m sorry,” said Brandi, with little emotion.

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, Brandi. I just need to understand so I can help.” Ms. Grace reached for the candy on her desk, grabbed a chocolate piece, then thought better of it and put it back. “Your loose fitting clothes. Your hair in your eyes. Head low when you walk down the hall… None of these traits are unusual for a teenager who feels alienated or even depressed. And God knows, Brandi, you’ve had a tough year.”

“They’re the same clothes I’ve always had. They just don’t fit anymore.”

“We both know why they don’t fit.” Ms. Grace wrung her hands, searching for words. “You’re a smart girl. Always were. I think you know exactly how an adult in my position is bound to interpret the changes you’ve undergone, and what sorts of concerns I’m bound to have. I don’t give two hoots about your suddenly poor grades. Do not repeat that, please, but it’s the truth and you deserve to know the truth. You’ll still get into a fine university, and if grades count at all in the adult world, which is debatable, how you did on Mr. Francisco’s history test certainly doesn’t.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

Ms. Grace eyed Brandi suspiciously. “I’ve been honest with you, Brandi. I want you to be honest with me. You’re not doing the best you can. Not even close.” She waited for Brandi to acknowledge the point, but Brandi remained silent. “I think you’ve lost interest in school. For good reasons and bad reasons. And this new identity you’ve taken on is your way of keeping everyone off your back – your parents, your teachers and me – while you ignore your responsibilities. If we all think you’re suffering from a deep depression, we won’t hold you accountable for the poor choices you’re making.”

“You just said grades don’t matter. What poor choice am I making?”

“That is not what I said. Not precisely. Please don’t use that big brain of yours to twist my words or my meaning.” Ms. Grace leaned back against the couch, once again searching for the right words to say next. “You’re the spitting image of your sister, you know. You always were, and you still are. Just as smart. Just as kind. Just as pretty. I think you know it. I think you’re trying to distance yourself from her by changing who you are. By refusing to be perfect, the way you think she was perfect.”

Brandi turned to lock eyes with Ms. Grace. “She wasn’t perfect. She was taking pills because she was so far from perfect.”

“I didn’t know that. I didn’t know about her medication. We can talk about that if you want to, but we don’t have to—”

Brandi turned away again and crossed her arms, closing herself off as much as she could. “Everybody wants me to take her place, to be me and to be her too. But I’m not her. Never was. Never will be. This is all you’re going to get. This is me.” Brandi shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry I’m not good enough.”

When Brandi stepped out of Ms. Grace’s office and through the waiting area in the hall, she found the tall, skinny boy leaning against the lockers. He was still working on his blue sucker. He hustled over to Brandi as soon as he spotted her. “Look, I’m an asshole, alright? I mean, I’m not an asshole, but I was an asshole to you before.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Brandi, moving sideways to slip past him. He stepped over with her, blocking her escape.

“I stood out here waiting for you for like, what, twenty minutes. Obviously, I’m worried about it. I mean, I’m missing Chem to wait out here and apologize to you. That’s how much of an asshole I’m not.” He rolled the sucker around in his mouth, from one cheek to the other, and back again. “Let me make it up to you, Brandi.”

“You know my name.”

“Everybody knows your name,” he laughed. “What’s mine?”

“People call you Spider.”

The boy took a step back, his jaw hanging open so far the sucker nearly fell out. “Are you serious? They call me that?” His voice quavered a bit, full of wounded pride and embarrassment.

“I’ve heard it. Probably just one or two people.”

The boy danced forward and took the sucker out of his mouth, gesturing with the hand that held it, coming dangerously close to tapping Brandi with the sticky globe at the end of the stick. “Totally kidding!
Everybody
calls me that! Who do you think named me? Me, obviously. It’s a cool as hell nickname, right? If you got these legs, you gotta embrace ‘em, know what I mean?”

She allowed herself a tiny smile. “Not everyone calls you Spider. Not your grandmother.”

“She calls me Jesse. But you don’t get to call me that.” He grinned seductively. “Not until we’ve been dating awhile, anyway. I only like the way it sounds when it’s whispered.”

“Your grandmother whispers it? That’s weird.”

“No! Not my—” He laughed. “You’re difficult. Anyway, let me make it up to you. For being an asshole before. There’s a party tonight.”

“When isn’t there a party?”

“You’re way difficult. It’s tonight, it’ll kick ass. Invitation only, and you’re my plus one. If you want to be.”

Brandi thought it over for a few seconds, and Spider took her hesitation as interest. He reached for her hand and pulled it up to his lips. “I know a yes when I see one.”

“I did not say yes.”

With a chuckle, Spider kissed the back of her hand. “Pick you up at, like, eleven. A block down from your house. And yes, I know where you live. Everybody knows where
you
live.” He let her hand drop, did a casual spin on his heels, and marched off down the hall, slapping lockers as he went.

“I didn’t say yes!” Brandi hollered, but Spider only waved over his shoulder and kept walking.

Brandi looked down at her hand where he had kissed her skin. He had left a sticky pair of lips.

Blue lips.

CHAPTER THREE

Brandi sat in the front room with her parents, watching television. A nature program, the only thing her father enjoyed. The news was too depressing, history was too depressing, sports were depressing unless your team was winning, and reality shows were a sign of the coming apocalypse. As to scripted shows: “If somebody made it up out of thin air,” he would say, “I can’t take it seriously.” That left nature, preferably underwater footage or jungle footage. “You can keep your lions of the Serengeti,” he would say. “They’re just jerks.” Tonight, an adventurous host was tramping through the Columbian jungle in search of a rare, poisonous snake. Her father was rapt with anticipation, her mother was flipping through home decorating magazines, and Brandi was watching the clock.

It was five minutes past eleven.

She sighed, frustrated with herself for getting excited at the thought of a party with Spider. And now, as she should have predicted, he was standing her up. She slipped off the couch and made for the stairs.

“Bed already, Brandiwine? It’s Friday and you’re a teenager,” said Conrad with a hint of paternal concern in his voice.

Brandi was about to fake a yawn and make her escape when she heard a honk outside the house. It sounded like it was coming from a distance. About a block down the street, in fact.

“Actually, Candace and Lacy are picking me up. Gotta go!” Brandi sped toward the front door.

Conrad eyed her suspiciously, while Sherri lowered her magazine to do the same. “A little notice would be nice, young lady. I don’t like you running out spontaneously, like this.”

“It’s not spontaneous, Mom. It’s Candace and Lacy.”

Conrad reached for his wife’s hand and gave it a quieting pat. “She told me earlier. I forgot to mention it.” It was a lie. He was covering for Brandi. They shared a conspiratorial glance, each of them suppressing a grin. “Are you staying overnight at Lacy’s?”

“That’s the plan, I think. Yup, that’s the plan.” Brandi opened the door and slid out, but before she could close the door behind her…

“Next time, tell me your plans, please. If your father is going to be forgetful.” Sherri pushed her glasses up her nose and raised her magazine again. With a final wave at Conrad, Brandi slipped out the front door.

Spider was parked a block down the road, exactly where he said he’d be. In a beat-up station wagon, an absolute piece of junk. Bald tires, rust spots everywhere, dents and scratches everywhere else. As Brandi jogged toward him, Spider turned on his headlights, nearly blinding her with the beams.