Marquis and Vanessa join in on the second round, and Marquis wins. Thirty-four minutes, three minutes off. He wins fourteen bucks. The others are down four.
Evan finally throws Sammie a thumbs-up from his post on deck when Professor Cox arrives thirty-one minutes later, which she guesses right on the dot.
Professor Cox repeats his pool-dip routine six times after that.
Just as the sun starts to duck behind the Bennett Tower, we’ve each won one round, except for Evan and Sammie, who have both won two. Of course, she’s incredibly pleased.
Each time Professor Cox comes down, he’s in a new bathing suit.
Once, while Evan is hanging out in the office, he attempts conversation with him—“Hey, Professor Cox, are you teaching summer classes?”—but Professor Cox ignores him.
Each time, there’s no eye contact, no interaction.
But then, on what is the twelfth time that day (twenty-eight minutes, my win), Professor Cox talks to us.
Well, not really to us, more like to himself, or to no one in particular.
That seems to break the seal on his weirdness. I swear I hear him say “Didya ever eat a wallaby? Tasty little suckers.” And then he breaks into a hoarse fit of hysterics, his bony, bare shoulders pumping up and down.
Evan isn’t here to hear it, and I’m wondering about all those fascinating conversations he had with him last year.
Professor Cox does his thing and then leaves.
Sammie takes two more dollars from her wad of cash and slams it on the counter. “I say twenty-eight minutes until he returns.”
Our shift ends at four, but we stay so that we can continue playing. I don’t want the stupid game to end, and I don’t want to work at McDonald’s. I want to be here, sweating in this cabana/office, next to my best friend, placing stupid bets on an odd man. It’s going to be a long, hot summer, but I like feeling like I belong to a group of people who accept me just as I am, even if they don’t really know me at all.
*
“Only eighteen minutes until closing,” Vanessa says. “There’s no way he’s coming down again.”
“Oh, he’s coming,” Evan says.”Put your money down, people! The final bet of the day is about to close!”
The pool has pretty much cleared out. It’s near 7:00 P.M. and most of the families are gone, having showered and packed up. All the lifeguards, except for Virgo, who’s on duty in his chair, are gathered around us in the office.
“He’s not coming!” Vanessa laughs. “Marquis, do you really think he’s coming?”
“I doubt it, but I don’t want to give up hope, either. I’ll say twelve minutes.”
“I call sixteen minutes,” Virgo yells from the deck. He’s finally succumbed to the lure of the game. “He’ll be here!”
“I’m with Virgo,” I say. “He’s going to be here. Put down fourteen minutes for me. But I’m raising the stakes. I’m putting in ten.”
Evan laughs. “Baller! Ten bucks! I’m in!”
Vanessa steps back. “I need the money for gas. I’m out.”
Marquis throws a ten-dollar bill into the pile. “I’m in.”
“Ten?” Sammie snaps a sharp look at me. “I can’t do ten—” Sammie’s family struggles even more with money than mine. Her mom inherited their apartment from her family, but that was before Sammie’s dad died. Sammie’s mom, a nurse, is always taking extra shifts to make ends meet.
“You don’t have to place a bet,” I whisper. “Vanessa’s out. You can sit this one out, too.”
She looks at Evan, and then takes a deep breath. “Fine.”
“What if he doesn’t show up?” Vanessa asks.
“We all get our money back,” Evan says.
“Then I hope he doesn’t show up,” Sammie whispers to me.
There are only fifteen minutes to go.
*
Sammie is the winner.
At nine minutes before closing, Professor Cox arrives, this time wearing a thick black robe.
“Oh, thank God,” Sammie mutters under her breath.
I take Professor Cox’s ID card and scan him in.
He signs his name.
I wait for him to say something.
But he doesn’t.
He just walks in.
Evan walks over to the pool to test the pH of the water. Sammie and I step out of our little room to watch. We wait for Professor Cox to throw off his robe. To walk down to the deep end. To dive in. To do his thing.
But instead, he heads to the shallow end.
He takes off his robe and jumps in.
But this time it’s feet first.
And this time it’s delicate, deliberate, slow.
His back is to Virgo, and he’s hunched over, like he’s holding his stomach.
I can see the splashing, and I can hear some strange moaning, but I can’t really figure out what it is.
Then, I hear it—the barking and yelping—and Virgo is jumping out of his chair, running toward Professor Cox. “Hey! No dogs! Come out of the pool, please! Now!”
It’s Professor Cox’s Chihuahua, paddling around in dog-size goggles and red swimming trunks that match Professor Cox’s.
At first, Professor Cox ignores Virgo, just lets his Chihuahua swim into the deep end, past the few remaining old women, who start yelping right along with the dog.