Float

Original Edition: Chapter Seven

"You're going to what?" I asked.

"Don't make me say it twice," Blake grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering what he was playing at. There had to be some reason why Blake would show up at my aunt's house and offer to teach me how to swim, and it sure as hell wasn't that Blake was just being nice.

Why would he be nice to me? 

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded.

"Because," Blake replied, like that cleared anything up.

"Because what?"

"Look," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, "I'm a lifeguard, Waverly. It's my job to make sure people don't drown. And you," he pointed a finger at my forehead, "are dangerous."

"How am I dangerous?"

"You can't swim. And if you drown during my shift, I'm going to lose my job."

"Well, we wouldn't want you to lose your job, would we?"

"Exactly."

I rolled my eyes at him, muttering some rather obscene words under my breath.

Just then, Rachel came back into the living room, whistling and balancing my bowl of spaghetti in the palm of her hand. She set my seconds down on the coffee table and continued whistling until she saw me holding the front door open. Then her eyes fell on Blake Hamilton, who stood on the front porch with a red Styrofoam board tucked under his arm and his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts,and she beamed.

"Blake!"

"Hi, Ms. Lyons," Blake said with a polite grin.

"What brings you here?" she asked.

"I was just—"

"He wants to teach me how to swim," I interrupted through gritted teeth.

"How nice of you, Blake!" Rachel exclaimed, obviously not picking up on the fact that I didn't want to get anywhere near water with Blake. In fact, I didn't want to get anywhere near anything with Blake. Rachel suddenly remembered something and leaned forward on the couch. "Oh,Waverly! Did you pick up a bathing suit today?"

"No," I replied. Then I smiled. "I didn't! So I don't have a bathing suit. Sorry, Blake. Can't go swimming."

"That's okay," Rachel offered. "I have a few old suits that are probably your size!"

My jaw dropped as I watched my aunt jump up from the couch and jog upstairs. I made a mental note to never, ever trust Rachel to pick up subtle hints.

"There," Blake told me, looking far too pleased. "Problem solved."

I could've punched the smirk right off of his face.

Instead I settled on sticking my tongue out at him, an admittedly immature move, before I hurried after Rachel. I found her in her bedroom halfway down the hall. She stood at her dresser, where one of the drawers was pulled wide open. Rachel ruffled through the drawer for a minute, throwing random articles of clothes onto the bedroom floor, before she grinned in triumph and lifted out a small, neon pink bikini. She tossed it at me, and I caught the polyester bathing suit and held it out in front of me to examine. 

It was something only Barbie would wear.

You know, if it was her only option.

And she was drunk.

"Try it on," Rachel told me.

Grumbling in protest, I slipped into Rachel's bathroom and tore off my clothes. Then I pulled on the bikini and looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. Neon pink was a terrible color on me; it emphasized the fact that I had the complexion of a glass of whole milk.