2012 (2)

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The summer was pretty boring, especially without Nat and Clint. Nat was in Russia, and Clint? He was off doing God knows what with his foster family, who were apparently trying to spoil him rotten (not that he was complaining, mind you). I think he was in, like, Belarus, or Ukraine... I have no fucking clue. Europe, I think. But he could've been in Peru for all I knew.

Of course, Mom and I went to Montauk, which was, for once, not darkened by Gabe's presence or his lingering threats and bruises. It was pretty chilled out, really.

But we couldn't afford to be gone longer than a week and that left a very long, very empty expanse of time that I could only fill with swim training and getting myself a job, which, naturally, got boring after about the first ten minutes. It was coaching a kids swim team, using what little experience I had from when everyone thought that I actually had potential when it came to said sport. It was okay, I guess; the pay was good, it was kinda nice to see some little kid's eyes light up after winning a race, but it didn't change the fact that we were in the dingiest public swimming pool in all of New York.

While they were swimming, I entertained myself by learning some epic float skills. I'd throw it up and catch it behind my back: see if I could hit the ceiling. The head coach (when he was there) didn't really approve, but he was pleased with how the kids were coming along and kept asking me why I wasn't at regionals.

One such conversation got rather painful.

"Jackson," he'd started, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I have to admit, these kids are improving by leaps and bounds. So what's your secret?"

I shrugged slightly. "No secret. I just get them learning their technique right using a few of the stroke building drills that I used to do, and when they get the hang of that, I move them onto drills that are a bit more specific. Get their technique a bit more precise."

He nodded approvingly. "I like it. And they like you. You're a swimmer yourself, aren't you?"

I nodded. "Used to swim here, 'til we couldn't afford the subs. I swim with school at the moment; we only have to pay if we do showcases there."

He nodded in understanding. Seemed to nod a lot, this guy. "It's a shame. Jackson - kid - you went to state within a year and everyone expected you to fly through the competitions, and then you just dropped off the radar totally."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I just nodded and said, "Yup."

"So, you made it anywhere good with school?"

I snorted slightly and shook my head. "I can hardly ever train. I've got to have a job to keep me and my mom afloat, and especially last year I was injured for almost the whole season. Fell down the stairs a couple times, got mugged more times than I can count..." The old lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

The guy narrowed his eyes, just slightly. I was never a brilliant liar. "Mugged?"

I nodded. "Walked home by myself, took shortcuts down back alleys, always a pretty scrawny looking kid. Recipe for it, really."

He didn't look impressed, but decided not to push it any further. Fortunate, really, or I'd have been spilling my life story. Again. "Well, I hope you're not planning on getting mugged too many times this year, kid." He handed me a sheet of paper. " I'd like you to rejoin the club. I can haggle down the fees if they're the problem. We're non-profit, but we've currently got enough members to just about cover your membership. I still think that you can go far with this. Plus the midgets in this squad love you. They wanna see you around more. I mean you won't get paid as much as the rest of us, as you'll only be a student coach, but we'd like you to stick around in this position as well. That," he gestured to the form, "is the form for a lifesaving qualification. Starts next week. Eighty dollars, if you can. You get that, you get the better club pay and can get a job as a lifeguard in any pool about. And lifeguarding pays very well. Better than stacking shelves or whatever you're currently doing, anyway."

I felt a grin split my face. "I'll find the money," I promised.

Ciao Fuckers!

770 Words

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