The Big Swim by Cary Fagan

Author:Cary Fagan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Groundwood Books Ltd
Published: 2012-01-02T16:00:00+00:00

9

RAIN

ALONE IN ARTS AND CRAFTS, I was trying to make a guitar out of a cardboard box, a plank of wood and some fishing line.

I wanted to be mad at Zach, even if that didn’t make sense, since he didn’t know what I felt about Amber. But instead I just felt pathetic for not looking for Amber sooner and maybe even telling her straight out how I felt. I knew that Zach was better looking than me, and a better athlete, and had this kind of faraway look that I’m sure was just so attractive, but it was just possible that Amber might have liked me best if she’d had a chance to get to know me.

But that wasn’t going to happen now.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. In frustration I smacked the cardboard box with the plank. The plank bounced up and hit me in the forehead. I screamed out loud but nobody was there to hear me. Right away I could feel a bump rising.

A light rain began to patter on the roof. The patter became a din. There was so much water washing over the windows, it was impossible to see anything outside.

I went to the door and looked out. Campers were scattering down the paths. Puddles were already forming.

I didn’t want to be stuck forever in the hut so I lowered my head and made a dash for the cabin, my running shoes sliding in the mud. I was soaked in a minute, but I knew the way so well that I could keep my head down, and then I was on our porch and inside.

The cabin was empty. Everyone else must have decided to wait out the rain. Even my underwear was soaked.

I was just going to change when the screen door flew open.

Amber. She was soaked, too, her hair plastered to her face, her T-shirt to her skin. I looked down at her bare feet. She must have kicked her shoes off on the porch.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“Is Zach around?”

“Are you looking for him?”

“Not really. Well, I guess.”

“He isn’t here. Were you supposed to meet him?”

“I think so. I’m not sure exactly.”

“He can be like that. Vague, I guess I mean.”

“Are you a friend of his?”

I thought about it. “Maybe. I’m not sure exactly.”

She laughed. “He’s kind of hard to get, if you know what I mean. He’s not like other guys. I mean, you’re easy to understand, right?”

“Oh, sure. I’m totally easy.”

“Do you have a towel? I’m kind of drowning here.”

“Sure.”

My towel hung on a nail by my bed. I gave it to her. She dried her hair, her face, her neck and her arms. There were goosebumps on her skin.

“Thanks,” she said, handing it back to me. I just held it as I stood there.

She said, “I hear you write good stories. A bit weird, but good.”

“Who told you that?”

“Zach.”

“But he’s never read them.”

“Oops. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to say anything. I think you left a notebook on your bed.”

“I can’t believe he just opened my notebook and started reading.

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