Friday Night Free Swim is the worst night to guard. Not that I enjoy working at the pool anyway, but Fridays I have to stay until 11pm for the three old people who show up every week.
It is 9 pm and Marla, the remaining patron, is making her slow way across the pool. I shift from my left foot to my right. Loise, my supervisor, is packing up her office and preparing to leave. My friends ask me why I don't lock up early, after Loise leaves, and go home or meet them at the bar but I can't do it. Catholic guilt. Puritan work ethic. The joys of being an Irish New Englander.
I am watching Marla pull her heavy arm over her head when I hear another splash. I follow a lean shape through her dive under the water. Before I can watch her surface Loise calls out.
"Larissa, I will see you on Monday for the water polo tourney." I nod and wave at her and turn back to the mystery figure in the water. She made her flip turn at the far wall and is still underwater. I turn back to Marla who, to my surprise, has begun her arthritic ascent up the ladder.
"Good night, dear," she calls as she hobbles to the locker room.
"Good night." I walk to a chair and plop down on it. I watch the body move through the water. She is young, I can tell that much. She is a swimmer, clearly, because she knows what she is doing and looks good doing it. After about ten laps, she stops at the wall, right near where I am sitting, and turns to me.
"Hi." She adjusts her swim cap.
"Hi."
"You wanna come swim?"
I smile at her. "I can't."
She raises an eyebrow. "I won't drown. I'm on the swim team."
I laugh. I knew she looked familiar. "I know, I trust you. But I can't. Pool policy." I roll my eyes.
"So lock the door," she says, spitting out some water back into the pool. She smiles. "I won't tell."
I shrug and can feel her watching me. "I don't want to get wet."
The eyebrow goes up and she turns, I assume to start swimming again, which she does, but then spins around and splashes me.
I am dripping in water and stand up, mouth open. She swims a slow backstroke away from me, grinning. Something in me shifts, and I peel off my wet tee and shorts and dive into the lane after her. She whoops as I hit the water and takes off. I am not a very graceful swimmer, but I am fast and strong, so I catch up to her quickly then pass her, kicking water in her face. When I get to the edge of the pool I stop to catch my breath, and to wait for her. She emerges, laughing.
"Alright, alright," she says "You got me." There is a twinkle in her eye, or maybe I imagine it, because with her face close to mine I am struck by how cute she is. She looks like every nice, pretty, smart girl from high school. There are freckles doting the bridge of her nose and along the top of her cheeks. I pulsate beneath my Speedo. I am a sucker for freckles. "You are a really good swimmer."
I blush a little. "You probably let me win." I watch her as she pulls herself out of the pull and sits on the edge. She takes her cap off. Her hair is mostly dry, and I am surprised β it is strawberry blond, almost red, and wavy. Crap, I think. She is really cute.
"What's your name?" She shakes her hair out and pulls it into a ponytail with an elastic she has on her wrist.