Hot. And aggravated. A vicious recursive loop of being aggravated at being hot and getting hotter by being aggravated.
Huffing, I set my book down once more and left the reading cubby, heading for the kitchen stairs and Lisa’s room. I needed to cool down while also blowing off steam.
Conclusion: Swimming.
Opening and closing Lisa’s drawers, I searched for a bathing suit. My choices were slim, literally. She owned nothing but string bikinis. Huffing again, I selected a plain white one with the tags still on. If I was going to put on a string bikini, I might as well use one my sister had never worn. Undressing, dressing, and then covering myself in her oversized terry cloth bathrobe, I made my way to the back-garden pool.
We didn’t have a huge backyard, but the fact that we had one at all in this neighborhood was remarkable. My parents had bought a dilapidated brownstone on one side of theirs and torn it down, cleverly keeping the tall cast iron fence and the fa?ade facing the street. From the sidewalk, one would never know a garden, a small shed, and a pool lay behind the wall instead of a house. The garden had been specifically designed to provide coverage and privacy from the neighbors while also allowing areas of sunshine for afternoon sunbathing.
Since it was just past three in the afternoon, the pool and its perimeter were dotted with sunlight peeking through the trees. That was fine. I’d never been a fan of spotlights.
Discarding the bathrobe, I walked to the water’s edge and incidentally into a swath of sunlight, but then hesitated.
I still had on makeup. I needed goggles from the pool shed to see underwater. And what about my hair? If I went swimming, I’d have to do it again. Makeup was one thing, but I wasn’t sure I could style my hair again on my own.
“Hmm.” I dipped my toe in the water. It felt nice. And I missed swimming. And it was hot outside. And I was hot inside. . .
“Lisa, wait!” a voice shouted.
I stiffened, looking toward the house and spotting Gabby walking quickly toward me. At first I thought she was also wearing a bathing suit, but upon closer inspection her outfit turned out to be short-shorts and a tube top.
“What are you doing?” She dropped her voice to a harsh whisper as soon as she was close enough to be heard, her eyes wide and questioning. Not waiting for me to answer, she glanced over her shoulder hastily and stepped closer. “Please tell me you’re not about to go swimming.”
Movement at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the house caught my attention and I spotted Abram coming to a stop at the end of the railing. As our gazes connected, he stood straighter. But then his attention swept down my body and he took a step back. His eyes seemed to grow rounder, his dark eyebrows inching up his forehead, his lips parting.
Not thinking too much about the instinct, I shrunk backward toward the shade, away from the pool, placing Gabby in front of me so I wouldn’t be as visible.
I wasn’t shy about my body. I was wary. About everything. There’s a difference.
For as long as I could recall, I lived with an ingrained undercurrent of discomfort in most social situations, including exposure of my fa?ade. Did I wish I were more like Gabby and my sister? That I didn’t dislike people looking at my body? Sometimes. It would be one less thing to be weird and anxious about.
But my ingrained undercurrent of discomfort in most social situations also carried over to my area of study. It made me a meticulous researcher. It meant I checked and double-checked and triple-checked. It meant I was always certain before I challenged others, which meant I was always right, which had led to my reputation of being credible, listened to, and taken seriously.
Funny how the very weaknesses that cripple us in some situations are often the foundation for our greatest achievements.
“I am about to go swimming, but first I need to get goggles,” I whispered in answer to her objection. “By the way, how did you get in?”
“I have the gate code, and I ran past Abram when he opened the door.” She waved this away like it was a minor thing. “You can’t go swimming. You can’t get your hair wet. I had to call in two favors to get you the blowout yesterday with George on such short notice. This hair has to last you for the next week.”
“Would it really be a big deal if I wore my hair in a ponytail or a braid?” I split my attention between her and the bathrobe I’d placed on the chair.
“Yes. It would be a big deal. All the pictures in the house are of Mona with her hair back and Lisa with her hair down. What-what are you doing?” She followed my line of sight to where the bathrobe lay. “No, no. Do not put it on. Lisa would not cover herself. Do not put that bathrobe on.”
Releasing a hissing breath between my teeth, I glared at my sister’s friend, feeling increasingly antsy the closer Abram came. “Me putting a bathrobe on is not going to be a red flag for Abram.”
“Yes. It will.” An odd kind of urgency entered her voice. “The only time Abram and Lisa met, she was naked, okay? You covering up now would be weird.”
What? Naked? What? I sputtered, my mouth opening and closing.
Giving me no time to recover, Gabby pasted a smile on her face, glanced over her shoulder again, laughed a fake laugh that sounded real, and turned back to me just as her expression switched to stern. “Act like a hot girl who is proud of her hotness, he’s coming!”
6
Acceleration
“What do you mean she was naked?” I whisper-hissed.
“Shut up.”
“Gabby—”
She didn’t respond, instead looping her arm through mine and turning to face an approaching Abram. I flinched automatically and moved to withdraw. Gabby countered quickly, holding my arm in a tighter grip. My only excuse for not tempering my pulling-away instinct was that I remained stunned by her latest revelation. Indeed, my mind was still running through possible scenarios which might explain why Lisa would need to be naked in front of someone she didn’t know.
Perhaps she’d stepped in an ant pile and they’d crawled under her clothes and she’d needed to rip them off? Or someone poured anthrax down the back of her shirt? Or . . . what the heck?
I was so entirely in my own head that it took me a few moments to realize that Abram and Gabby were speaking.
“I found her. You can go away Abram unless you’re planning to join us by the pool.” Gabby’s tone was light and playful.
“You’re not staying.” His voice was like granite.
Distractedly, I glanced at Abram, found him examining me with wary eyes, like he half expected me to pounce on him. He was also a good ten feet away, pointedly keeping his distance. Even so, his gaze did move over me—legs, hips, stomach, and so forth—with the scarcest visible glimmer of appreciation, giving me the impression he was irritated with himself for noticing at all.
I had to wrestle with the impulse to step fully behind Gabby or otherwise use her to block myself from view.
“I can’t stay long, I have to be somewhere,” Gabby said, obviously pretending to misinterpret his meaning. “But if you put on a bathing suit, I’ll cancel my other plans.”
Abram crossed his arms, his wary gaze returning to mine. It seemed to soften. Or . . . maybe it didn’t? Or maybe some plotting, rebellious part of me wanted irrelevantly attractive Abram to look at me differently than he looked at Gabby?
Yes. That’s probably it. It’s all in my imagination.
But then he asked “Lisa, are you going swimming?” and the tone he used was undeniably softer than the one he’d used with Gabby.
Oh.
So I croaked “Yes” and hated that the majority of my insides melted at the irrefutable evidence: Abram’s expression and voice had gentled as he addressed me. Fact.
Gabby squeezed my arm.