The Creeping

It’s just before eleven now. Putting in a good two hours should appease Zoey. Yeah right. Who am I kidding? There’s no appeasing Zoey. She’ll be livid. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I close my eyes, letting the sun’s rays make me drowsy and unfocused. After ten or fifteen minutes I clumsily spray sunblock on, hoping that I don’t turn streaky. I dig out a bag of gummies from Zoey’s purse and pick through for the green worms.

I turn my attention back to the water, where Cole and Taylor are ganging up on one of the Ds. The other has vanished with Zo. I can’t help the smile on my face. She does work fast. Taylor catches me watching and waves. I wave back halfheartedly, and he takes it as an invitation.

He stands dripping over my towel. A sheen of water makes his chest and stomach sparkle in the sun. It’s hard for me to force my eyes from being glued to his body. Downing three shots in less than an hour was not my best idea ever. My lips tingle, and my nose is numb. I sense my reservations about him ebbing.

“Will you come for a swim?” he asks. I let him pull me up from the towel and to the left along the shore before I answer. Before I really register the question, we wade into the jade water, ripples and minnows scattering. The icy temperature sends a jolt of awareness through me. Sam. Sam is why I don’t want Taylor anymore. What do I want with Sam, though? And how do I know that Sam even wants me? Why would he? I assumed last night that he was going to say something about still being interested, but what if it was the opposite? What if he was going to say that he’s finally over it? That he’ll never bring me a gardenia corsage again, or send me a valentine chocolate-marshmallow heart, or follow me into a spooky old cemetery. I’d know if I hadn’t run like a coward.

I go deeper. The water laps at my knees, my thighs, my waist. I stop shivering once it hits my chest. The water’s clear today, with little sediment masking the lake’s sandy floor. The minnows dart near, then double back abruptly but not entirely, so that they gradually close the distance between their silver, glinting bodies and our ankles. Taylor dunks underwater, swimming around my feet and bursting through the surface directly in front of me. I laugh. He looks like a wet dog and he shakes like one, wildly whipping his hair back and forth. I shield my face, still laughing. I totally know this is the alcohol talking . . . no, giggling. I am buzzed. I know it, but somehow it doesn’t make much of a difference.

I push off the bottom and swim forward to the deepest point; on this side of the cove, a thin peninsula of rocks juts out of the water and shelters us from the others. The rope swing sways in the wind off to the right. Taylor glides through the water gracefully, seeming more fish than boy. I tread water, watching him dunk to swim down to the lake bed. He’s under for almost a minute before he kicks to the surface with a handful of brightly colored pebbles.

He paddles closer and holds his palm open, showing me. I toss away a fishing hook with a plastic worm attached. He has two rocks the color of crème br?lée and a handful of bloodred-speckled ones.

“I’m glad you came today,” he says, suddenly even closer. We’re shaded by the lacy canopy above, and I can’t see or hear the others on the opposite side of the rocks. He sinks his hand into the water and releases the stones. Sadness nudges me as I watch them fall. With his hands empty, he reaches for me. His palms are warm compared to the water as they skate around my waist. I float into him, my swimsuit grazing his chest. He tightens his grip and leans forward, brushing my ear with his lips. It sends a shiver down my spine. I close my eyes, waiting for him to kiss me; wanting him to kiss me. In the second before his lips find mine, I picture Sam’s face.

Muddy-brown eyes that stick with you. Freckles like splattered honey. A smile like he knows better. I worm out of Taylor’s grasp, giggling the close call away. I am definitely buzzed. Maybe even a hint drunk. “I—I bet I can hold my breath longer than you,” I stammer, trying to dash away the awkward moment. He grins in response. He thinks I’m playing hard to get. I’ve done it to guys before. This is different, though; I don’t want Taylor anymore, whether Sam wants me or not.