Would You Read Free

a break-in.”
    Citizens? What TV show do these guys think they're starring in? We straddle our bikes, not looking at each other.
    “ Break-in?” I say, because it's too quiet.
    “Over in the new development,” says Burt. “Break and entry in the backyard pool.”
    “Oh,” says Leila. “That's a break and entry? I thought you had to break something, like a window. Or a vase.”
    Audrey snorts. “A vase, Leila?”
    “This is not a laughing matter, young lady,” says Officer Foster.
    “We don't want to think it's anything to do with you folks,” says Burt. “You're good kids, I know you kids. But you're all wet.”
    “We were swimming,” says Leila. “At my house.”
    “And where
is
your house?” asks Officer Foster.
    “Burt's been there,” says Leila, showing off. “For dinner. It's on Caledonia Street.”
    “So where are you headed now?” he says.
    “Donut Barn,” says Carson.
    “The Beanie,” says Audrey.
    “We're just biking everyone home,” I say, “But we're stopping for snacks along the way.”
    Claire picks that moment to come steaming along.
    “Hey,” she says, grinning all round. “Hi, Coach Cop.”
    I make bug eyes at her so she pays attention.
    “Did you find your wallet that you went back to Leila's for?” I ask.
    She tilts her head at me. I tilt back. She puts her hand in her shorts pocket and pulls out a soggy wallet.
    “It fell in a puddle,” she says, smooth as a new-shaved leg.
    “Beside the pool?” says Burt.
    “Lotta splashing going on,” says Claire.
    “You were with these kids tonight, Claire?” asks Burt. Like she's a chaperone.
    “Yes, sir,” she says. “Trying to squeeze some sister time into the last few weeks before I go away.”
    “Good for you,” says Burt, patting her shoulder. He turns to us, all paternal.
    “Don't let us see you kids again tonight,” he says. Officer Foster grunts, like he's not fooled. But he doesn't know Claire, doesn't know that with Burt McCafferty, Claire's word is like a pledge carved on a shield.
    I'm surprised she lied so easily. Normally she's kind of upstanding. Teacher's pet material.
    “I forgot to tell you,” she says on the way home. “What Kate said.”
    “What?”
    “She said she thought you were going to be prettier than me. Someday.”
    “Typical Kate,” I say. “Insult us both with the same compliment.”
    Claire laughs. “No, I think she actually meant it the good way.”
    “Don't worry,” I say. “She's wrong.”

The Y
    There's this moment whenever I get to work and stand beside the pool, before the surface is broken. The water is so blue and so calm it seems to actually reflect the sky, instead of just holding a thousand quarts of chlorine. Makes me want to
slip
in with hardly a ripple, to immerse myself in liquid turquoise.
    But then the morning shift begins. I crank up the music till the AquaFifties Plus think they're reliving their junior years in a dance club. Marlene and Liz and Joan and Phyllis, all my regular fatties, kicking and splashing, working up to the frosty mocha cappuccino and sour cream glazed at the Donut Barn.
    Then in come the children, herded by mothers in varying degrees of annoying.
    I go, “Hey, Tadpoles! Hey, Otters!”
    Shannon takes the Otters to the other side and I get into the pool for the first time today. Now that it's stirred up, the water looks way too used. I have to make a dunking seem fun for the Tadpoles huddled on the side. The brave ones have their legs in already, whacking at the surface to make foam. It takes most of the thirty-minute lesson to coax them all in, holding on to the side for dear life.
    Tadpoles are the cutest, though. When they get as old as Seals and Dolphins, those kids are brats. But even with demon children drowning each other and peeing in the pool, lessons win over laps anytime.
    Watching laps bites.
    There's this old man about eighty years old, or more, maybe. He's had the swim trunks for half his life, I swear. They're the color of