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This wasn't normal.
Then again, I wasn't a very normal person, so what did I expect?
I glared at my reflection in the small mirror above the bathroom sink and let out a disappointed groan. If I were a normal girl, I would've had the guts to trot outside, place my hands on my hips, and send Blake Hamilton the flirtiest smile he'd ever seen in his life. But I wasn't that brazen, and I'm pretty sure if I had tried to smile, I'd only end up baring my teeth at him like a wild animal. So, like the coward I was, I had locked myself in the girl's bathroom of the Holden Public Pool and refused to come outside, even though I had already peed twice, washed my hands three times, and changed into my brand new bikini.
I was running out of ways to delay the inevitable.
Sooner or later, I was going to have to face Blake. And I was going to have to do it dressed in nothing but a teeny, tiny, navy blue and white striped bikini. I glanced back at my reflection in the mirror, my eyes dropping to my chest. Okay, so my boobs weren't unnoticeably small or inconveniently large. But, I swear to God, the left one was bigger than the right one.
Why would Blake Hamilton want to look at a lopsided freak like me?
I groaned and hung my head, staring down at the pile of my clothes beside my feet. I had already thought over the possibility of crafting a secret escape. But the girls' bathroom didn't have a window for me to jump out of or a reasonably sized air vent for me to climb into, so it looked like I was stuck.
"Waverly!"
Oh, God.
I felt my stomach flop over as I heard Blake Hamilton bellow out my name from somewhere beyond the other side of the door. He was probably out by the pool already, dressed in swim trunks and his pair of Ray-Bans.
"What?" I shouted back.
"Let's go! We're burning daylight!"
I gulped and knelt down, snatching up my baggy T-shirt and shorts. Then I turned towards the door, giving myself a mental pep talk in my head as I reached for the handle. It was time for me to grow up. So, puffing out my lopsided chest, I pushed open the bathroom door and started marching right towards the two sets of glass doors at the back of the pool house. I managed to keep my head held high as I stepped out onto the patio, the blazing Florida sunshine immediately searing my fragile skin.
Blake was standing beside the Olympic-sized pool, his broad, bare back turned to me as he placed his belongings on one of the poolside recliners. He was wearing a pair of navy blue swim trunks with a white waistband. My heart did a little stutter-step as I realized that we were matching.
Had he planned that or something? No, of course not. Stupid.
I noticed the red Styrofoam board lying at his feet and tried to remember what he had told me it was. A kickboard, I think. To be honest, all I could remember was that he had mocked me for being the oldest kid he'd ever given lessons to.
Dick.
Suddenly feeling very self-conscious now that I was out in broad daylight, I sucked in a deep breath and scurried across the patio as silently as a ninja. Maybe, if I kept very quiet, Blake wouldn't even notice me. I could drop my things and hop into the pool before he caught sight of me in the bikini I was quickly beginning to regret stealing.
But, as they almost always do, my plan failed.
I hadn't even taken three steps across the patio when Blake whipped around. Okay, so I'm no James Bond, but I didn't think I had made that much noise. I froze as Blake's sharp blue eyes, which seemed a little greenish in the light reflecting off of the pool, landed on me.
Shit.
He saw me.
Abort mission.
Abort life.
Or, you know, I could play it cool. That always worked on television shows when the main character got caught in the middle of some shenanigans.
"H-hey, um... Blake," I said, tentatively placing one hand on my hip and trying to look casual. My other hand tightened in a death grip around my baggy T-shirt and shorts, which I now desperately wished were on my body rather than at my side. Was it just me, or had I started sweating like crazy?
Yeah. I was practically the definition of playing it cool.
"Hi Waverly," Blake said, cocking an eyebrow at me as if he wasn't sure whether I was hiding something from him or just being my weird self. "You ready?"
He leaned down to snatch up the red Styrofoam board from beside his feet. I couldn't help but notice the way the muscles in his arms flexed. He looked so strong. Then again, weren't lifeguards supposed to be strong?
I realized I was staring and quickly averted my eyes from Blake's beautiful arms. Unfortunately, I decided to look up at his face. Our gazes locked, and I felt like my entire face had just been engulfed in flames. I was blushing like crazy. Then, so quickly I almost missed it, Blake's eyes dropped to my bikini.
And now my entire body felt like it was on fire. Thanks, Hamilton.
"You bought a new swimsuit."
It sounded more like a statement than a question, but I couldn't be sure.
"Um, yeah. How'd you know?"
The corner of Blake's mouth curled up.
"Because," he said, taking several steps towards me.
I swallowed hard, feeling as though my mouth had suddenly gone dry, and blinked up at him. He was so close that I could see the little scar above his left eyebrow again. I hadn't been close enough to see it since he first rescued me from an imaginary riptide at the beach. What was he doing?
Why was he so close?
Before I could comprehend what was happening, Blake's hand reached out for my waist.
My breath caught in my throat.
"You forgot to take the tag off."
And then, in one swift swipe, Blake snagged the small plastic tag that was still hanging from the string of my bikini top. It came off in his hand with a little pop.
"Oh," I said.
I felt relief wash over me. At least, I thought it was relief—but the way my stomach twisted, it almost felt like disappointment.
"Thanks," I said, my eyes dropping to the tag that Blake held in his outstretched hand, "I didn't even notice that was still on there!" I was talking way too quickly. Everything came out in one whoosh of breath.
"No problem," Blake said.
"I just bought this bikini an hour or two ago. Lena and I got bored talking about Jesse. Did you know he dyed her pants purple? Oh, wait. She told you. And you saw them, of course. I almost forgot about that. Wasn't that a terrible thing for Jesse to do? He should know not to mess with a woman's pants. I just hope he watches out. Lena's going to murder him in his sleep one of these days. Or, you know, hit him over the head with a baguette. She's still an advocate for number fifty-one, and—"
I stopped abruptly when I realized how stupid I sounded.
Oh my God. Why did I always do this around Blake?
I closed my eyes, suddenly wishing I could be somewhere else. Anywhere else. I waited for Blake to make some snide comment about my inability to shut up, but he remained silent. All I could hear was the faint crashing of waves on the beach, and the rustle of leaves as a breeze weaved through the streets of Holden. After several moments, I couldn't take it anymore. I slowly opened one eye and risked a glance up at Blake.
He was smiling.
No, smiling didn't quite cover it. He was beaming.
At me.
Blake Hamilton was beaming at me.
Was I in the right universe, or had I talked myself into a different dimension?
It didn't really matter, though. Because the second I saw the giant, amused smile on Blake's face, my insides melted, and I was left feeling like a bowl of hot nacho cheese dip. I opened my other eye immediately, wanting to take in the sight before me in its entirety. I wanted to remember this forever. I wanted to memorize the amused gleam in his eyes, the freckles sprinkled across his nose, the slight dimples that had suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere.
It was beautiful. He was beautiful.
"Do you always talk this much?" he chuckled.
It was the exact same question he had asked when he was driving me to the bonfire. In fact, it was the first thing he had ever said to me. But now, instead of scowling in annoyance and gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to strangle me, he was beaming at me, his blue eyes bright as he gazed down at me like I was now his friend.
Blake Hamilton was smiling at me.
And I didn't know what to do.
So, being the complete social failure I was, I did the only thing I could think of.
"Last one in is a rotten egg!"
And with that proclamation, I turned and cannonballed into the shallow end of the pool.
I stayed underwater as long as my lungs would allow me, which wasn't long considering that I had never in my life had the need to hold my breath for more than a few seconds, like when I had to walk past the town garbage dump or run through the kitchen while my mom was attempting a new recipe for dinner.
When I resurfaced, I refused to look up at Blake.
Instead, I leaned back and concentrated on floating. I was getting better at it, but my legs still twitched violently whenever I thought I was about to sink again. It didn't help my focus that I suddenly remembered I was wearing a very small navy blue and white striped bikini, and Blake Hamilton was still standing at the edge of the pool. He had the complete freedom to check out every visible inch of my pale body, including my chest.
Then again, maybe he wasn't looking.
He'd probably seen way better.
I bet Alissa Hastings had symmetrical boobs. That bitch.
Apparently, that thought was enough to break my concentration long enough for me to forget what I was doing. I sank like a rock. I was so surprised by the sudden appearance of water over my face that I opened my mouth and gulped in a mouthful of chlorinated pool water. The stinging in my lungs nearly immobilized me.
Then something clamped down around my wrist, and I was yanked up to the surface.
"Holy sh—"
I would have said more, but the water lodged in my throat prevented me from further expressing just how surprised I was. I choked a little, then began coughing and hacking.
"Breathe," a deep voice grumbled from beside me.
My eyes snapped open.
Blake was now standing in the pool, the red Styrofoam kickboard floating in the water behind him, his chest shimmering wet and his large hand clenched around my wrist. I couldn't tell whether he was concerned for my wellbeing, or annoyed that I almost drowned in three and a half feet of water.
"Clearly, we need to review our last lesson."
Alright. He was definitely annoyed.
"No," I argued. "I'm fi—" I was cut off by a fit of coughing.
Blake watched me as I doubled over, retching.
That must've been attractive.
When I had finally managed to dislodge the water from my lungs, I stood up straight. My entire body was shaking a little, like it usually did after I had some sort of violent coughing fit. I looked up at Blake, expecting to see him either smirking at me or grimacing in disgust.
But his face was practically blank.
"You good?" he asked.
There wasn't a hint of joking in his voice.
"I'm good," I nodded weakly.
He nodded back, one strong jerk of his head, and then spun around and pushed through the water, chasing after the red Styrofoam kickboard that had drifted to the other end of the pool sometime during my cough attack.
Why was Blake so good at saving me from drowning?
Okay, he was a lifeguard. It was his job.
But it seemed like an instinctual reaction sort of thing for him. And I had a bad feeling that it had something to do with his mom. His real mom, not Chloe. Blake hadn't said it right out to me, but I was smart enough to connect two and two; his mom had drowned. Now, more than ever before, I wanted to ask Blake about his mom. But, as curious as I was, I couldn't go up to him and ask him how his mom died.
Talk about tactless.
You can't just ask people about their dead parents. Especially if the person you are asking is Blake Hamilton, who may or may not hate you.
Blake swam back to me with the red kickboard in his hands.
"Here," he said, pushing it towards me. The red Styrofoam board glided across the surface of the water, stopping only when it gently bumped against my ribs. "Start doing laps."
"How?"
"Put your hands on the front of it."
I grabbed one end of the board.
"The other front."
I spun the board around.
"Now bend your knees," Blake instructed.
I did as he said and submerged myself up to my shoulders.
"Now push off and start kicking."
It took me a few tries to figure out how to keep my head above water, but eventually I learned how to use the kickboard. It was made for someone half my size, though, so it didn't do much to help keep me afloat. Blake knew this, so he told me to stay in the shallow end and do laps down the width of the pool. I kicked to one wall, then turned and kicked to the other.
And then I did it again.
And again.
And again.
Twenty laps later, I was hopelessly bored and my legs were getting tired. I stopped kicking and stood up in the pool.
"Tired already?" Blake asked.
I looked up to see that he was sprawled out on the pool recliner, his pair of Ray-Bans shoved over his eyes. I had the immediate urge to splash him. Wasn't he supposed to be teaching me how to swim? It looked more like he was napping and sunbathing.
"No," I snapped.
"Then keep going."
And with that, Blake leaned his head back against the recliner.
"Why do I have to do this?" I demanded, pushing the red Styrofoam board towards the deep end of the pool. "It's stupid."
"Fine," Blake said, not moving a muscle, "then start treading."
"Why?"
"Because you still can't keep your head above water," he replied, then added as an afterthought, "It's pathetic."
I cursed him under my breath and sank back into the pool, stopping when the water reached my shoulders. I tried treading water twice, but both times I ended up just flapping my arms like a maniac before bobbing under the water.
It was impossible.
"What's number fifty-one?" Blake asked.
I was so busy failing at treading water that I almost didn't hear his question. I looked up and found him peering down at me from the lounge chair. I couldn't see his eyes, but his eyebrows were pulled together in confusion.
"What's what?" I asked.
"What's number fifty-one?" Blake repeated. "You and Lena were talking about it."
I opened my mouth to tell him that it was one of Seventeen Magazine's one hundred and one pranks to pull, but stopped when I realized that this would only lead to me telling Blake about how Lena wanted to get Jesse back for dying her beloved pants purple. And since he and Jesse were friends, Blake would probably give Jesse the heads-up.
"It's nothing," I said.
And with that vague answer, I sunk down into the water again. It was no use telling Blake about prank number fifty-one anyway. Lena and I had already decided that going French wasn't going to do us any good. We needed a prank that would send Jesse the clear message, you don't mess with a woman's pants. And for that to work, we had to come up with something that would mess with Jesse's head. But I didn't know that much about Jesse; I had only met him a few days ago. I had no clue what his deepest fears were.
The imaginary light bulb over my head turned on.
Maybe I didn't know what made Jesse tick, but his best friend probably did.
"Hey Blake?" I asked, popping up out of the water and grabbing the edge of the pool. Blake lifted his head from the back of the recliner again and looked down at me, his eyebrows still drawn together. "You're friends with Jesse, right?"
"Yeah," Blake said slowly.
Time to turn on the charm. I gave him my best look-how-innocent-I-am smile.
"What sports does Jesse like?" I asked, deciding athletics was probably a good place to start asking questions. I just needed to get Blake talking, and somehow I'd figure out what information was valuable. Maybe he'd let something slip—something Lena didn't know, and Jesse didn't want her to know.
"Volleyball," Blake said.
"Is that it?"
"He likes surfing, I guess?"
"Is he a lifeguard, too?"
"No, he works at the ice cream shop."
Well, duh. I already knew that.
I opened my mouth to make a snide remark, but quickly decided it would be best if I remained nice and polite. I needed answers, and if Blake got mad at me, he probably wouldn't say anything of use. So I snapped my mouth shut and thought for a moment.
"I love ice cream," I commented after a long silence.
"Me too?" Blake pushed his Ray-Bans up to give me a funny look. I ignored him, but smiled a little when I saw that the new position of his sunglasses was causing a few pieces of his dark hair to stick up at odd angles.
"Hey," I said, a sudden thought popping into my mind, "does Jesse have a girlfriend?"
At this, Blake's face went stony.
"Why is that relevant?" he asked, suddenly seeming very stiff.
"I was just wondering," I mumbled.
Did I strike a nerve or something? Oh my God. What if Jesse's girlfriend was Blake's rebound girl, and they were having a secret affair that Jesse didn't know about? Okay, that was jumping to conclusions. I didn't even know if Jesse had a girlfriend. Still, the sudden thought of Blake canoodling with his rebound girl made my stomach drop.
"Um," Blake said. "I don't know. I think—yeah, I think he might have one. I don't know."
"Well, can you tell me anything about him?"
I was impatient now that thoughts of Blake's rebound girl were in my head.
"If you're so curious about Jesse, then go ask him yourself!" Blake snapped back, his blue eyes suddenly narrowing at me. His sudden change of mood made the pool around me feel like an ice bath.
"What's stuck up your ass?" I demanded, half furious and half confused.
Blake's eyes were still narrowed, and now he was full-on scowling at me, just like he had when we first met. Hadn't he been beaming at me ten minutes ago?
I didn't understand boys and their stupid mood swings.
"I quit," he declared.
With that, Blake shot up from the recliner and grabbed his things. He shoved his phone in his pocket and tossed his white tee shirt onto his freckled shoulder, then spun and started thundering towards the pool house.
I gaped at him. "What are you—"
He started across the patio.
No!
Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed the ledge of the pool. I had practically no upper body strength, but the sudden jolt of adrenaline that coursed through me was enough to pull me up out of the water. I scrambled out onto the tiles surrounding the ledge, and then shot up and started sprinting after my rampaging swim teacher.
"Where are you going?" I cried.
The patio was hot, and burned the soles of my bare feet. I squealed and began hopping around like an idiot, leaving a large trail of pool water behind me. Blake was already halfway into the pool house, and he wasn't showing any signs of stopping. I bolted after him and, blatantly ignoring the no running sign taped up on the back doors, stepped into the pool house going at full speed.
My soaking wet foot came down on the slick turquoise tiled floor.
Next thing I knew, my leg slipped out from underneath me. I landed hard on my butt, and then the rest of me came crashing down. My head smacked against the floor so loudly that I was sure everyone in Holden heard. My eyes flew closed and my body tensed. Then, all at once, the pain hit me.
I let out a strangled cry.
"Shit, shit, fucking motherfucker—"
For a moment, I thought I was having an out-of-body experience, and that I was the one cursing. But then I opened my eyes and, through the thin layer of agonized tears that blurred my vision, saw Blake standing above me. He looked horrified. I really hoped there was no blood.
"Waverly?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Are you okay?"
I couldn't seem to make any words come out.
"Shit," Blake murmured.
He dropped to his knees beside me. I was a little surprised because, in all honesty, I had been expecting him to wheel around and make his escape. Now that I was fully incapacitated, I wouldn't be able to chase him all the way to our houses. But I barely had time to think over his sudden concern for my wellbeing, because next thing I knew, Blake took my hand in his.
"Calm down," he told me, his voice soft, "you're going to be alright."
I hadn't even realized I was crying until he said those word. I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the searing pain in the back of my head. This was so embarrassing.
And it was all Blake's fault.
"You fucktard," I sobbed out.
Blake raised an eyebrow, but I caught him wince.
"I didn't know you'd come running after me," he argued, looking genuinely guilty. This just made me sob even harder. I felt the urge to reach up and punch him. But doing so would've required me to let go of his hand, which I suddenly decided that I never wanted to do. This realization made a rush of conflicting emotions spin through my already aching head. I felt my mouth open, and I knew I was going to say something. I just didn't know what it was going to be.
"P-please don't q-quit," I choked out, sniffling pathetically.
There goes my pride.
Blake's sucked in a deep breath, composing himself, and nodded solemnly.
"I won't quit," he agreed.
I was so relieved, I could have cried. Which I already was.
So, I closed my eyes and spent the next minute trying to gather myself. Eventually, the tears stopped streaming and I could inhale without my breath catching. The throbbing in the back of my head started to dull, but I knew I probably had a concussion and would have headaches for the next few days. But as the pain died down, I realized that I was sprawled out on the floor, in full view of Blake Hamilton, and I was still wearing just my bikini.
My cheeks flushed.
"I'm okay now," I blurted, my eyes fluttering open as I pulled my hand from Blake's grasp and pushed myself up from the floor and into a sitting position.
"Take it slow," Blake warned.
I refused to look at him as I took a few deep breaths.
"Really," I said, more to myself than to Blake, "I'm okay."
"Good."
Blake's voice was so deep and so close that I couldn't stop myself from peeking up at him. He was still sitting beside me, his blue eyes glazed with concern. Blake was biting down on his lower lip as he watched me, like he was worried I was about to roll over and die. Our eyes met, and I felt the sudden urge to look away. But his intense gaze made my entire body go rigid. I couldn't look away, and I didn't. And neither did Blake.
Then something vibrated, and the tension between us was severed.
Both of us looked down as Blake reached into the pocket of his navy blue swim trunks and withdrew his cell phone. He glanced at the screen before answering and bringing the phone up to the side of his face.
"Chloe?" Blake asked, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and added, "What's up?"
I looked down at my lap and listened to the muffled sound of Chloe Hamilton's voice on the other end of the phone. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but whatever she said, it sounded like a question.
"I'm with a friend," Blake spoke into the phone.
Friend.
Happiness flooded over me at his choice of words; Blake considered me his friend. How else would he have said it so casually, so easily? My heart fluttered in my chest.
"What?" Blake demanded in a harsh voice, interrupting my bliss. "That's so not fair! Why do I have to watch her tonight? I already did it this week."
Chloe's voice sounded shrill on the other end.
"Dad said I didn't have to!" Blake argued.
I couldn't make out what Chloe said, but whatever it was, it shut Blake up for a moment. He brought up his hand and rubbed it over his eyes, looking like he was suddenly tired. He dropped his arm back to his side and his blue eyes glanced around for a moment before they landed on me, still sitting beside him. He blinked at me for a moment. I felt my cheeks growing hot under his gaze, and I tried to inconspicuously reach up and adjust my bikini top. A small, almost undetectable smile pulled up the corner of Blake's mouth.
"Okay," Blake said into the phone, "I've got it covered."
I watched him warily.
"Bye, Chloe." Blake smiled as he hung up and shoved his phone back into the pocket of his swim trunks. I narrowed my eyes at him. What was with the sudden mood swing? And why was he looking at me with that creepy smile on his face?
"Um, what did your mom want?" I asked carefully.
"She wants me to watch Isabel tonight," Blake replied, still looking at me with a knowing smirk.
"Bummer," I croaked out.
Blake shrugged, his smile growing a little bit wider. "Not really."
When he noticed the confused expression on my face, he just chuckled.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I just figured out how you're going to repay me for these lessons."
I opened my mouth to argue.
"You've made it clear that you actually want to take lessons," he interrupted before I could put in a word. "Am I right?"
I nodded weakly.
"So, I think it's only fair that you pay me back," he explained. "And I know just how you're going to do it. You're going to babysit Isabel for me. But not just tonight. You're going to watch her whenever Chloe decides it's my turn to watch her."
I opened my mouth, again, to argue.
"Say no, and I quit."
I snapped my mouth shut and let out a groan.
Blake just continued to smile, knowing that he had me backed into a corner. I needed swim lessons. As much as I hated them, and hated Blake, I needed to learn how to swim so that Lena, Jesse, Alissa and even Ethan wouldn't turn their backs on me in disgust. What kind of loser doesn't know how to swim?
I took a deep breath and braced myself.
My dignity was about to take a major hit.
"Fine," I muttered, "I'll do it."
Blake grinned and jumped up to his feet, looking pleased with himself. He reached his arm back down to help me up. I glared at his hand for a moment before deciding that, in my state, I probably couldn't get to my feet on my own. So, grumbling under my breath, I reluctantly grabbed hold of Blake's hand. He pulled me up slowly, probably so I wouldn't jostle my head.
I groaned at I felt the sudden soreness in my butt, which clearly wasn't built to have two painful accidents in the course of twenty-four hours.
"Are you okay?" Blake asked.
I looked up, prepared to tell him off for being the cause of both injuries to my ass, but the portion of my brain responsible for verbal processing seemed to stop working the second I locked gazes with Blake's beautiful blue eyes. He was close again. So close that I could count the freckles on his nose and see the faint scar above his left eyebrow again.
I wondered how he had gotten that scar.
Involuntarily, my arm began to lift up. My fingers twitched, aching to trace the tiny scar on his forehead. I probably would have done it, too, if Blake hadn't interrupted me.
"Are you okay?" he repeated, frowning a little.
"I'm f-fine," I replied, shaking my head and pulling my arm back to my side. I cleared my throat and stood up straight, both my head and my butt throbbing in protest.
"Right," Blake nodded, "why don't we call it a day and head to my house?"
"Sounds good," I replied, my stomach dropping as I remembered our little deal.
I'd agreed to babysit Blake's two-year-old sister, despite the fact that I had never been very good with kids and I had no clue what the proper protocol was for taking care of toddlers. Did Isabel still wear diapers? Oh, God. I had no idea how to change a diaper. I'd get poop all over my—
These frantic thoughts were interrupted by Blake.
More specifically, Blake's hand, which suddenly appeared at the side of my face.
I froze as his fingers grabbed a clump of my wet, tangled hair that had fallen over my face. His blue eyes remained focused on the piece of dripping hair as he twirled it in his fingers for a moment before flicking it back. His eyes met mine and he opened his mouth. The girly, overenthusiastic, hopeless romantic inside me prepared for some declaration of love.
"Come on, you're getting water all over the floor."
How romantic.