The Color War Read Free Page B

for five counts, just to show off.
    He was careful not to look like a good swimmer, because he didn’t want to get bumped into the higher-level group, which was taught by a boy with a birthmark on his shoulder that looked like a sunburst. So Raymond sank a little during his dead man’s float, and he swallowed water several times on purpose. Then Melody waded toward him, picking him out of the group of six to be her guinea pig. She stood behind him, modeling the windmill of the freestyle stroke, her hands each covering one of his and her breath falling on his ear. “See?” she said. “Over, then through. Over, then through.”
    Raymond followed her gaze as she watched the next group of campers arrive for their swimming lesson. “That’s it for today, guys,” Melody said. “See you, Raymond.”
    “See you,” he replied, realizing for the first time how cold the water in the lake really was.
    * * *
    Without knowing how it happened, Raymond became accustomed to the sound of starlings waking him up, instead of cars and sirens. He learned how to saddle a horse and how to tie square knots for rigging. The backs of his hands and his cheeks became sunburned. He relearned the front crawl, and with Melody’s help he swam longer and faster than he ever had before.
    Raymond looked forward to the three days of the week when he had swimming with Melody. On those days, he was the first one out of his bunk; he walked a little more purposefully from activity to activity. He spent the time he wasn’t with her dreaming of the moments he would be.
    The other kids in his cabin noticed. Matthew gave Raymond the nickname Phelps, after the legendary swimmer. Mrs. Knott, who treated him for his swimmer’s ear, said she was pretty sure he was growing a fin. Only James seemed to notice that this was about more than just swimming. One day, as they sat in a steamy tent, weaving bright yarn around popsicle sticks to make god’s-eyes during Arts & Crafts, James grabbed Raymond’s out of his hand and held it up to his chest, along with his own—a makeshift bikini top. “Looky here,” he sang. “I’m Melody the mermaid.”
    Raymond yanked his ornament away from James. “Cut it out,” he said fiercely.
    “You defending your girlfriend, Raymond?” James laughed. “Like some kind of white knight? Oh, wait, that’s right. You black .”
    “Shut up,” Raymond gritted out. He looked to the edge of the tent, where the counselors were gossiping over a magazine. He could go to them for help, but that would make this an even bigger deal than it already was, and Raymond just wanted it to stop.
    “You ain’t nothing special to her,” James said. “You just the charity flavor of the month. Next week, she might rescue a kitten from the SPCA instead of you.”
    “She’s helping me with my swimming.”
    “Yeah,” James said. “Is that your ticket out? You gonna swim yourself right off the streets?”
    Raymond lifted his chin. “Maybe I will. There are tons of brothers who are famous athletes.”
    “Name one swimmer,” James said.
    Raymond couldn’t. “Just ’cause I don’t know one doesn’t mean it don’t exist.”
    James looped some red yard around the crossed sticks. “You believe that,” he said, “and you an even dumber nigga than I thought.”
    * * *
    On Wednesday, when his cabin had swimming as their final afternoon activity, Raymond helped Melody stack the kickboards and water wings in the supply shed. Usually the other lifeguards left, in a hurry to shower or to make it to the cafeteria before the red Jell-O was gone. But if he started talking, Raymond could get Melody to stay a little longer.
    “You’re quite a swimmer, Raymond,” she said one day. “You’re going to be the number-one pick for the Color War swimming relay next week. Either you were lying to us or I’m a better teacher than I thought.”
    Raymond, who was unlacing buoys, hesitated. “Are there people who get famous because they’re