Swoon at Your Own Risk (23 page)

"Are you girls fighting again?" Grandma asks.

I shake my head, trying to force a bite of No Longer the Apple of My Eye Pie beyond the lump in my throat. I start coughing and tears blur my eyes.

Jane pats me on the back. "What's going on?"

I shake my head. "I'm choking to death? What does it look like?"

"Honey, this certainly doesn't look like lunch with your tightwad—oops!" Grandma makes a face. "Your fiscally conservative father."

Jane sets her fork into a melting puddle of strawberry ice cream. "Wanna talk about it?"

I shake my head, making a mess of some banana-smelling thing with my fork.

"Of course not." Jane sounds irritated. "This is what I was talking about," she says to Grandma. "She completely shuts me out. How can you have a relationship with someone like that?"

"Hello? I'm standing right here. And
I'm
the one who brought the snacks."

"Quit joking around."

"Sometimes that's all I can do, okay? Do you really want to hear about my crappy lunch with my dad? Do you want to hear how he spent the whole time on the phone? How the only thing he asked me about my summer was the status of my savings account? How he left without finishing his lunch or saying goodbye? He simply sent the waitress over to take our dessert order. Nice, huh?" I pick up a forkful and slop it back down into the I Only Loved You When You Were a Baby Banana Pie Mash. "So we ordered." I toss my hair back from my face.

"Oh my God, Polly." Jane's eyes look moist. "That sounds awful. No wonder Grace is so upset."

Grandma slams a Styrofoam lid shut and pounds it with her fist, sending little flecks of chocolate flying. "That dickwad!"

"Miss Swoon!" Jane says.

"Don't Miss Swoon me. Right now I'm just these girls'
grandma. And one hell of a pissed-off ex-mother-in-law. I'm calling my lawyer. This has gotten ridiculous!"

Jane looks stunned.

I keep trying to tell her that Grandma is Miss Swoon for only 250 words a day. Technically only two days a week. I'm almost frightened for my father's life, not that I'd do anything about that. He deserves whatever he's going to get. I stack the dessert containers on top of each other so I can carry them out to the trash. I'm feeling sick to my stomach. And head. And heart.

A container slips to the floor, slopping melted whipped cream onto the linoleum. "It's not that big a deal."

Grandma smacks her hand on the counter. "The hell it isn't."

I'm not going to mention the cabin. Grandma would probably drive over to Dad's office and do something worthy of imprisonment.

Jane looks at the kitchen clock. "I've gotta get going. Walk me to my car?"

"Sure." I take a deep breath. "So, why didn't you tell me you were coming over?" I ask.

"I needed some advice." Jane rolls her eyes. "In the romance department." Her cheeks blush the color of our neighbor's rosebushes. "Figured Miss Swoon would be the go-to
person—and she's so great to talk with!" Jane grins. "I feel so much better now."

I don't even want to approach the Jane and Rowdy romance topic.

"She doesn't exactly follow her own advice, you know. She's got like as many ex-husbands as..." I try to think of an apt comparison.

"As you have ex-boyfriends?"

My cheeks heat. "She's just not what she appears to be, okay?"

"Who is?"

"It's just kind of hypocritical. That's all I'm saying. So you might want to, you know, think before taking her advice, or whatever. Her own life is a mess so..."

"So? Mrs. Richman sits on her fat butt while she makes us run laps in PE. Doesn't mean that the laps aren't still good for us. Miss Swoon gives great advice."

I'm just saying.

"God, Polly, it's like you're jealous or something. You can't say anything nice about Rowdy. And now you're, like, upset because I'm talking to your grandma."

"I am not." Grace could come up with a better response than mine.

"Face it. I'm the one with a boyfriend for a change. And we
actually like each other. I'm not just looking for attention like you always do. We have an actual relationship."

That stings! "I've had relationships."

"I don't know—you've always seemed to like the drama more than the guy."

"That's not true."

"Polly, you just raided a dessert menu because your dad—"

"Yeah, well, men suck. All men, Jane. You just haven't figured it out yet."

"Maybe you haven't figured out that all men aren't your dad."

"Twenty minutes talking to my grandma doesn't make you a psychologist. Besides, you're the one having relationship issues, apparently."

"I just wanted advice about taking things to the next level with Rowdy. And you know my mother—sometimes I think her tummy tuck had less to do with swimsuits than masking the fact that I was conceived sexually." She gets into the car with a secret smile flickering across her face. She laughs at my expression. "Don't look so freaked out. I've decided I'm not quite ready."

But it's not that. I hear a skateboard rumbling at the top of the hill. Xander! I run toward the house at top speed.

Jane looks up the hill and hollers out at me, "Who's the hypocrite? Huh, Polly? You're totally into Xander Cooper!"

"I am not!"

I slam the door and lean against it, barricading myself, while my heart beats rapidly, my breath comes in gasps. I peek out the peephole. One of Grace's classmates skates past. All that for nothing!

I've got to get a grip.

Dear Miss Swoon:
I think my friend just comes over to my house to talk to my grandma. That makes me feel extra lame. And my grandma doesn't even know how to take her own advice. And maybe my friend should be listening to me because she's wasting her precious youth dating a dork. How do I tell dear OLD Grandma to butt out and make friends her own OLD age?!?!?
—Can't Compete With A Sex(!)agenarian

Dear Can't Compete:
Some of us have it when it comes to giving advice. Some of us don't. I'd love to give you some advice about
that. But first, you promised to empty the dishwasher.
—Miss Swoon

I stand in the middle of Splash Pasture ignoring the screaming kid who fell off one of the rubbery cow statues in a valiant attempt to, you know, violate the no-cracking-your-head-open-and-spilling-your-brains-into-the-pool rule. I look over to the maple tree where Xander usually sits. But he hasn't been here all week. Not since I told him that we had to slow things down, that I wasn't interested, et cetera, et cetera.

I don't really want to think about that conversation again. Not that I've been thinking about it too much—just at one o'clock in the morning, three o'clock in the morning, seven o'clock in the morning (that's skateboard induced), ten o'clock in the morning (when he doesn't show up again), four o'clock in the afternoon (after he still hasn't shown up). Maybe he shouldn't have talked about how I changed in fourth grade
after my dad moved out. Why was that desk-licker even paying attention?

"Spending time with Grace keeps reminding me of you in fourth grade," Xander had said.

"We don't look that much alike," I'd joked. "Besides the hair, the sparkling blue eyes..."

"No, come on. It's that deep loneliness."

"Lonely? She's practically a Siamese twin!
You've
even met Amy."

"Amy is her distraction. Just like you've got—"

I'd moved in for a kiss to stop him from naming a single ex-boyfriend, but Xander had gently pushed me back. "Come on. Let's talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. Except that I think things are probably moving too quickly between us. As you were about to say, I've had way too many relationships this year. And, really, I'm not interested in starting yet another ill-fated attempt at ... whatever."

So he left sort of angry. I was only trying to be honest. But I didn't mean he couldn't come swimming. Poor Dex and Kyra are probably stuck inside playing video games or something. It's not healthy.

Sonnet's working with—or should I say
on
—Sexy Lifeguard.
She's convinced because of something she read in a magazine horoscope that this is the week she will hook up with him. She even wrote a detailed fantasy date on her blog, as if that wouldn't frighten everyone. Except for the three guys who asked her out in their blog comments, but whatever.

A few boys get too rough on the rope swing, but I don't have the energy to scold them. A kid running from his sister bumps into my legs, making me stumble. I toot my whistle, but he ignores me. I decide to blow the whistle until someone turns around and notices me. I blow it six times before a few moms shout that the pool is contaminated and make their kids get out. I go through a charade of seeing a leaky, not-approved-for-swimming diaper and needing to chlorine boost the water.

"Watch for those diapers, Pollywog," Sawyer says. "Try to catch those problems before they become problematic. Who was it?" He scans the despondent kids standing on the side of the pool.

"I don't see them now." Out of the corner of my eye I
do
see Xander come through the main entrance with Dex and Kyra dancing around him. My heart beats fast as Sawyer yells at me again. It's just a coincidence that Xander Cooper decided to come to Wild Waves for the first time in six days at that exact moment.

"You've got to tackle them before they make it to home plate, Pollywog. You can't let them off the hook."

Xander walks through the concessions area shaking his head as Dex and Kyra probably beg for snacks.

"I didn't let him get away. I told him to leave."

"It was a boy?"

"It's always a boy." I pout. Xander hasn't even looked around for me. He's too busy chatting with the O.K. Corral moms. "Except when it's a girl." I think of Jane. "Or girls." Kipper Carlyle and that girl hanging all over Jack.

"You're not even listening to me," Sawyer says.

I glance into his green eyes. "Hmm?"

"Just take a break, okay? You're lacking focus."

I pretend to adjust my swimsuit strap so I can look over my shoulder at Xander again. "No, I'm good." I angle my body so I can see Xander flicking his beach blanket onto the grass.

"I'm standing over here," Sawyer says, touching my shoulder.

"Doing a fine job of it, too." I flash a fake grin. "Now, why don't you run along and save lives over in the Lazy River. Kipper looks like she's focusing on her suntan again." I have no idea what Kipper's doing, but I know that Xander has just finished blowing up Kyra's favorite floaty.

"I'll talk to her," Sawyer says. As he walks off, he mutters something about striking out, but I'm too busy adjusting my swimsuit so I can peek at Xander again. I have such a bad habit of noticing boys. Like Sexy Lifeguard laughing with Sonnet. And Sawyer scolding Kipper. Until she gives him her pouty-wouty,
I'm so saw-ry
face; now he's rubbing her shoulder.

I blow my whistle, signaling that it's safe to return to the pool. I should wait another five minutes, but I can't take any more of this sightseeing. I sneak one more peek at Xander; now he's writing in his notebook while watching a kid climb a tree. I march into the water, trying to convince myself that its tepid temperature causes the goose bumps on my arms.

That cheesy Western music starts up as kids race back to all the waterspouts and start acting extra crazed, as if they've been spending the time on the sides thinking of the worst things they can do. I chastise three kids for going down the slide backwards. I stop another from climbing on the back of a cow statue and jumping off. I'm focused. I'm blowing my whistle. I'm in control. I'm
not
watching Xander take off his shirt. I challenge myself not to look at Xander Cooper for the next sixty minutes.

And I don't. I'm focused. I'm blowing my whistle. I'm in control.

I avoid, through meticulous care and almost mathematical planning, looking toward the O.K. Corral for nearly the rest of my shift.

"Hey, one at a time!" I yell as another group tries to bunch together down the slide.

I hear the little brats complain about my bossiness. Apparently I'm no fun.

"Yeah, well, why don't you go swim in the pools meant for kids your size?" I yell.

"We're allowed to go wherever we want," one particularly mouthy kid says.

"Well, pardner, around here I'm the deputy and I'm kicking you out of this here cow town. Now!" I make my voice sound scary.

I recognize him from Grace's class photo—I will have to warn her against him. He has dimples. Dimples = dangerous.

"Don't have a
cow
.'" He and his little gang of future ex-ex-ex-boyfriend material leave the pool laughing at his "good one," but I focus on the grateful smiles of the moms walking chubby toddlers through the shallow water.

I am not watching Xander Cooper saunter toward me. Shirtless. Smiling. Now if someone would just send the message to my autonomic nervous system. My heart revs like a
three-year-old who has just devoured his weight in cotton candy and missed his afternoon nap. I quickly glance around for Kyra or Dex. But Xander looks straight at me. Maybe. I hate that he's wearing sunglasses.

Trying to act casual, I bend to pick a leaf out of the water. The pool empties of preschoolers as the let's-get-home-before-daddy crowd heads toward the exits.

Xander wades out and stands next to me. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." I keep it light and flirty,
not
serious. "Where've you been, stranger?" It comes out sounding way too sexy by the look of the slow grin spreading on Xander's face.

Xander chuckles. "Are you trying to say you missed me?"

"No. I just happened to notice your absence. The way I noticed when the scabs from my road rash fell off. I mean—Will you take those sunglasses off? They're making me nervous, so I'm talking about scabs and stuff." I splash my foot through the water. We're alone in the pool now. I could be safe in the employee locker room watching Sawyer and Kipper grope. Or better yet, attempting to expire from heat exhaustion in my car. "I didn't miss you, if that's what you think."

I look up. He has pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. "You didn't miss me even just a little bit?"