wouldn’t have been entirely conducive to building a productive teacher-student relationship. Before I could decide whether immediate satisfaction outweighed temperate maturity, Sage clarified herself. “Your
underwear.
How could you?”
Remember that I’d been under severe duress, both financial and psychological, only yesterday at Century 21. I had found the yellow semi-granny panties in a two-pairs-for-six-bucks bin, which allowed me to buy—you guessed it—two pairs. As for the bra, I had to cope with the lingerie buyer’s Hello Kitty fetish, because that was all I found in the other bargain bin.
“It’s
ironic
,” I explained, not in the mood for a heart-to-heart about either the fire in my apartment or the pitiful state of my balance sheet. They looked at me blankly, and I realized they had no clue what
ironic
meant. All righty, then. I started to unclasp Hello Kitty, then stopped. “You two planning to take notes?”
“We said we wouldn’t watch,” Rose reminded her sister, then offered me a pair of swim goggles. “You might want these. It’s salt water.”
That was kind of thoughtful. “Thanks.”
“Okay. So, twenty laps?” Sage suggested.
“Sounds good.” To prove how chill I was with everything, I shrugged out of Hello Kitty and twirled one strap from a forefinger.
“Woo-hoo!” Sage cheered. “That’s the spirit. Enjoy. We’ll be back with champagne and chocolate. Or maybe just champagne. And remember, no wet underwear!”
“Wet means you cheated,” Rose explained.
“No cheating,” I promised.
As they headed back toward the manse, I stepped out of my three-buck panties and jumped in. The water was heated, the salt gave me extra buoyancy, and my shirt was within easy reach. I could feel the tension oozing out of my muscles as I floated on my back, listening to make sure the twins weren’t returning. They weren’t. Was it possible that I was wrong? Not likely, but still—this was
nice
.
I used to swim in a lake near our house in New Hampshire. I’d dive down and run my hands along the mucky bottom, wondering what it was like for the frogs that my sister had explained slept down there all winter. I did a surface dive now, swimming down, down, down until I touched the rough bottom of the pool. From there, I swam underwater, pulling with my arms, kicking with my legs, wholly enjoying the exercise. Maybe I’d start swimming every day, might as well take advantage of having a pool to—
Pop
. Suddenly, bright lights blinded me. I touched my goggles, my eyes adjusting to the light.
Oh, God. There were people. Lots of them. Behind a Plexiglas window in some sort of underground party room. Sage, Rose, and half-dozen others, pointing and laughing. Standing in the front row was a boy in faded jeans and a baby-blue linen shirt, just
staring
. And that was when I saw my own reflection: bubble-eyed, magnified by the water’s refraction, naked little ol’not-so-little me.
Allow me a moment here. When I was twelve and starting to get a figure, I had the same nightmare as a lot of girls: Running late for school, I’d dash into my seventh-grade homeroom only to realize I’d forgotten my clothes. I couldn’t move my feet; all I could do was stand there while everyone chortled and pointed.
Who knew that ten years later, I’d live out a version of that terror?
I shot to the surface and powered toward the shallow end, intent on only one thing—getting to my clothes before the twins and their friends got to me. Because sure as I was that Sage and Rose Baker didn’t know the meaning of irony, I was fully confident that they knew the meaning of cruelty.
I wasn’t fast enough.
“It’s the little mermaid!” Sage mocked. She held a champagne bottle in her right hand.
A chubby guy chugging a Stella inadvertently flashed a couple inches of belly between his red Polo and the top of his khakis. “Killer breaststroke.” He smiled.
Ew.
If the twins wanted to humiliate me, they’d
underwear.
How could you?”
Remember that I’d been under severe duress, both financial and psychological, only yesterday at Century 21. I had found the yellow semi-granny panties in a two-pairs-for-six-bucks bin, which allowed me to buy—you guessed it—two pairs. As for the bra, I had to cope with the lingerie buyer’s Hello Kitty fetish, because that was all I found in the other bargain bin.
“It’s
ironic
,” I explained, not in the mood for a heart-to-heart about either the fire in my apartment or the pitiful state of my balance sheet. They looked at me blankly, and I realized they had no clue what
ironic
meant. All righty, then. I started to unclasp Hello Kitty, then stopped. “You two planning to take notes?”
“We said we wouldn’t watch,” Rose reminded her sister, then offered me a pair of swim goggles. “You might want these. It’s salt water.”
That was kind of thoughtful. “Thanks.”
“Okay. So, twenty laps?” Sage suggested.
“Sounds good.” To prove how chill I was with everything, I shrugged out of Hello Kitty and twirled one strap from a forefinger.
“Woo-hoo!” Sage cheered. “That’s the spirit. Enjoy. We’ll be back with champagne and chocolate. Or maybe just champagne. And remember, no wet underwear!”
“Wet means you cheated,” Rose explained.
“No cheating,” I promised.
As they headed back toward the manse, I stepped out of my three-buck panties and jumped in. The water was heated, the salt gave me extra buoyancy, and my shirt was within easy reach. I could feel the tension oozing out of my muscles as I floated on my back, listening to make sure the twins weren’t returning. They weren’t. Was it possible that I was wrong? Not likely, but still—this was
nice
.
I used to swim in a lake near our house in New Hampshire. I’d dive down and run my hands along the mucky bottom, wondering what it was like for the frogs that my sister had explained slept down there all winter. I did a surface dive now, swimming down, down, down until I touched the rough bottom of the pool. From there, I swam underwater, pulling with my arms, kicking with my legs, wholly enjoying the exercise. Maybe I’d start swimming every day, might as well take advantage of having a pool to—
Pop
. Suddenly, bright lights blinded me. I touched my goggles, my eyes adjusting to the light.
Oh, God. There were people. Lots of them. Behind a Plexiglas window in some sort of underground party room. Sage, Rose, and half-dozen others, pointing and laughing. Standing in the front row was a boy in faded jeans and a baby-blue linen shirt, just
staring
. And that was when I saw my own reflection: bubble-eyed, magnified by the water’s refraction, naked little ol’not-so-little me.
Allow me a moment here. When I was twelve and starting to get a figure, I had the same nightmare as a lot of girls: Running late for school, I’d dash into my seventh-grade homeroom only to realize I’d forgotten my clothes. I couldn’t move my feet; all I could do was stand there while everyone chortled and pointed.
Who knew that ten years later, I’d live out a version of that terror?
I shot to the surface and powered toward the shallow end, intent on only one thing—getting to my clothes before the twins and their friends got to me. Because sure as I was that Sage and Rose Baker didn’t know the meaning of irony, I was fully confident that they knew the meaning of cruelty.
I wasn’t fast enough.
“It’s the little mermaid!” Sage mocked. She held a champagne bottle in her right hand.
A chubby guy chugging a Stella inadvertently flashed a couple inches of belly between his red Polo and the top of his khakis. “Killer breaststroke.” He smiled.
Ew.
If the twins wanted to humiliate me, they’d
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