“You’re in college?”
“Graduated last year, along with this blockhead.” Evan throws a playful punch at Virgo. I find out that they’re both enrolled at St. Mary’s, a private university that’s a few miles north.
Virgo punches him back. “Now we’re roommates, and I’ve got to listen to Evan’s god-awful singing.”
Evan looks genuinely hurt. “Please don’t tell my dad that you think my singing is god-awful,” he says. “He already thinks I’m wasting my time as a music major. He doesn’t need your professional opinion on my skills.”
“Well, I really like your voice,” Sammie says.
“Why, thank you!” He smiles at her. “See there, I’ve got at least one fan.”
“Dude,” Virgo says. “I was kidding.”
“Evan also plays guitar,” Sammie says to me. Right. I vaguely remember her gushing about these jam sessions they had last summer during the pool’s closing on Saturday nights when it wasn’t too crowded. She wanted me to come, but I never did. “Did you bring it?”
“Not today. Too many people.” He puts down my book. “Were you planning on studying?”
“I didn’t expect it to be this busy.”
Some kids at the front of the line outside the gates whine for us to open. I look up at the clock. 8:58 A.M. “When do we let them in?”
“In exactly eighty-six seconds,” Virgo says.
“Do we have to?” Evan complains.
“It’s what we get paid to do.”
“Well, I guess we should, then,” Evan says, and then he turns to me and smiles. “It was nice to meet you, BFF.”
I remember his peppermint lips on mine.
He’s so very, very cute.
But I tell every cell in my body to resist. I’ve been burned before by friendly guys with nice smiles. I’ve made a promise to myself: no more relationships, no distractions, nothing until college. Or maybe even after.
No entanglements. No more trouble. Inertia. That’s what you want, Viviana. Complete and utter inertia.
I slide my books under the counter, and Virgo takes out keys to open the gate. “I guess it’s time. Here we go,” he says. “Let summer begin.”
“Well, Vivi”—Evan leans in and sings an unfamiliar melody in a voice deep and low and ever so enticing—“welcome to the madhouse.”
College Admissions Tip #2
College admissions officers are definitely interested in what students do during summer breaks. They will not be swayed by empty holes in your time line. If you’ve done nothing more than hang around and goof off with friends instead of getting involved and showing leadership and growth, they will not be impressed.
There are just so many people, so many IDs. So much whining from the kids, so much eye rolling from the parents. It’s rote and boring and constant.
Scan and check.
Scan and check.
I don’t mention anything to Sammie about having met Evan before. Her parents, protective as they were, didn’t let her go to the party, and though I told her about kissing a random guy, there’s no possible way she could know it was Evan.
“I’m waiting for my inertia,” I say to Sammie.
“It’s the first day. And it’s hot, so everyone’s here. It’ll slow down in a week, when all the kids are in camp,” she says. “Give it time.”
The word hot doesn’t even cut it. By 10:00 A.M., it’s near ninety degrees, even though it’s the end of May and technically still spring.
“It’s not hot,” I grumble. “It’s a veritable hell.”
“We’ll get to go in the water soon, right?” Sammie says to Virgo as he works on the schedule behind us. “We’ll get to swim?”
“Sure. On your days off,” he says. “And during breaks, if you want.”
Our lunch break isn’t for another three hours, so that doesn’t really help. It’s only getting hotter by the minute. I guess the perks of semifree membership are supposed to keep us satisfied, but by midmorning, I’m sweating so hard, I’m ready to quit and tell my mom that she was right, that this is too much for me, that I’d rather spend all summer with Mila than sit in the heat and deal with crabby residents who yell at us when we can’t fully explain why their passes from last summer are invalid or their whiny kids who cry because the snack bar doesn’t carry Kit Kats.
“Forget inertia,” I say to Sammie. “Didn’t you promise me ‘awesome’?”
Sammie rolls her eyes.
But then, something interesting happens. Not awesome. But interesting. Entertaining, at the very least.
The Nut arrives.
There he stands—the man who lives a few floors below me with his nervous Chihuahua and self-portraits—in front of us, chewing gum, snapping it loudly. When I ask him to sign a form sent from the association for all first-time swimmers, he grumbles at me. “I gotta use a black pen? Goddamn Mercury retrograde—it’s a bitch.”
After we check his ID and finish scanning him in, Sammie reads his form. “Harold Joseph Cox?” she says. “That cannot be his real name. Let’s hope he doesn’t ever go by Harry.”
I can’t help but giggle. “Not much better than ‘the Nut.’ Poor guy. That is quite unfortunate.”