Seaweed Read Free

half waiting for me in Saint John. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Jolene. It was just that when she came, I had to sit in the backseat with Colby. I worried about all the mixed signals I’d sent to him the night before, accepting his warmth and comfort.
    Like we were a couple and not just friends.
    Colby was waiting on his front porch when we pulled onto his gravel driveway, a cloud of dust announcing our arrival. He pushed off the steps, throwing his swim gear over his shoulders. He had an athletic build, his t-shirt tight around well-formed biceps. He had soft facial features and dark-as-night eyes. I could see why a lot of girls liked him.
    “Hi,” I said when he pushed himself in.
    “You okay?” he said, not taking his eyes off mine.
    “Yeah, I’m fine.” I reached over to rub his buzz cut, a ritual I’d done a million times over the years. I loved the soft bristly feeling on my palm and the shape of his head.
    Then an image flashed through my mind, unbidden–my fingers running through Tor’s dark wavy hair. Thinking of him caused tiny little flares to shoot through my body. I pinched my eyes closed, and shook it off. He was a freak. Not worth my time.
    It took thirty minutes traveling north on Highway 1 to get to Saint John. We followed the coastline along the rocky beaches and inlets, white caps crashing against black jagged edges.
    Jolene turned the radio on to an Indies station, and Colby and Luke started in on dirt biking stats, Colby’s second passion after swimming.
    Finally, we got to the Canada Games Aquatic Center, aka, Centre Aquatique Jeux du Canada , on the corner of Union and Market. Some people complained about the strong chlorine smell, but I loved it. Almost as much as the salty scent of the ocean. I walked through the marked doors and took a deep breath. Ah, my second home.
    I blocked out the chatter that echoed through the change rooms, suiting up in a plain red, one-piece Speedo, and stuffed my waist long white-blond hair into an ugly swim cap. Yes, it would be easier if I’d just cut my hair, but my hair was my trademark. It was the envy of all the girls at Eastcove Secondary School, apparently, with the exception of Samara. She was First Nations Canadian, and with her high cheekbones and chocolate caramel eyes, she had a Pocahontas thing going that would not only make John Smith look twice, but every guy on the planet.
    “Listen up,” Coach said once we did a round of warm up laps and gathered at one end. “The Junior Nationals are in Vancouver this summer. As you know, there’s room for three of you on the team. From now on I’m keeping track of times and technique. I’ll let you know who makes it at the end of June.”
    I looked at Colby whose dark eyes were staring hard back at me. We both knew we’d make the top two. But who would be number one?
    Coach ordered us out of the water and into position. I replaced my goggles, nailing the wet alien look, wrapped my toes over the edge of the pool and squatted. Coach blew the whistle and we dove. My lane was next to Colby’s so we could gauge each other’s progress. I knew Coach did that on purpose because we were both competitive people and he wanted to use that to spur us on.
    I felt my heart race, aware of Colby’s form beside mine just one stroke ahead. I stopped taking a breath every stroke, trying to make up time, wanting to catch him. I felt myself gaining. He hit the wall just before I did, flipped and headed back down the fifty meter long lane. I was right on his heels, focused and in rhythm. Stroke, stroke, stroke. I was catching Colby. I sensed it before I saw it. I could beat him.
    But then I held back. I always held back. I let him win.
    “Dori,” Coach said as I toweled off after practice. His eyes darted sideways a few times before settling on me. Uh oh. Coach probably wondered how Colby and I almost hit the same time, since Colby was obviously bigger and stronger. I wondered that myself. Did he think I cheated?