Swim the Fly (29 page)

Valerie rocks gently forward. She bites the corner of her lip. “I . . . I wanted to tell you,” she says, “that —”

“
You
are a dead man!”

Valerie and I both spin around to see Peter standing on the back porch pointing hard at me. Oh, God. I completely forgot he was coming home today.

Pete storms over to where we’re sitting. He grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet.

“Excuse us,” he says to Valerie. “I have to kill my brother.”

I shake my head behind Peter’s back to try and assure Valerie that he doesn’t really mean this.

Even though he probably does.

Pete drags me off toward the house. I’m not sure if there’s a connection or not, but Valerie does seem to be around to witness all of my drubbings.

I look back over my shoulder.

“I’ll call you later,” I say to Valerie, whose eyes are wide with concern.

“Yeah?” Peter says. “And how are you going to dial a phone with ten broken fingers?”

PETER TOSSES ME INTO HIS ROOM
and then slams the door behind us so there can be no witnesses.

“Oh, my God!” I say, feigning shock. “What happened?”

“That’s what you’re going to tell me.” Pete’s voice is shaky. He’s beyond pissed.

“Jeez. It looks like your Houdini picture fell onto your aircraft-carrier table. Oh, man. That blows.”

He shoves me toward the wreckage. “Don’t bullshit me! There’s no way that picture fell three feet sideways. Unless we had an earthquake I wasn’t aware of.”

“You didn’t hear about that?”

He ignores this. “So, either Mom went medieval with her vacuum or you fucked up.”

“Well, now that you mention it. I did hear a racket going on when Mom came in here to clean. She can be pretty clumsy with that Hoover.” Normally, I’d never
throw Mom under the bus. But I know for a fact that Pete would never punch her in the face.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

Not that I think being honest will get me any mercy, but it’s all I’ve got now. I cling to the fact that when I was honest with Ulf and with Valerie, I felt a whole lot better about myself.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. It was me. But it was an accident, I swear.”

Pete’s eyes start to fill up. Tears of rage.

I keep talking, because once I stop talking the beatings will begin.

“I was using your weights, right? Like you said I could, remember? And I was careful not to touch anything. Supercareful. Except, I sort of worked out a little too much and I got tired and on my last set of shoulder presses my arms kind of locked.”

Peter shuffles over to the pile of broken airplanes. He squats down and picks up one of the pieces. He turns it over, examining it. I’d feel really bad for him if I didn’t know that he was probably contemplating all the ways he could rip out my heart.

“That’s when I sort of fell over. And the weights kind of smashed into your model airplane table. I got scared, so I tried to cover it up. Which was wrong. I know. I’m really, really sorry. It was totally an accident and I’ll make it up to you. However you want. I’ll give you all
my money. I’ll buy you a rickshaw and pull you around. Anything. Just please don’t beat me up too badly because I’ve got to swim championships in a couple of weeks and I need to have use of my arms and legs.”

I brace myself.

Pete is still looking at the splintered fuselage of the fighter plane. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to make all of these?” He’s speaking softly. It’s scarier than if he was screaming. “How many hours I spent?”

“A lot. A ton. I know. If I could destroy something of mine and it would bring back all your planes, I would do it in a second. You have to know I would never do this on purpose.”

Pete crushes the plastic hull in his fist and drops it to the floor.

Oh, crap. Here it comes.

I’m ready to run if he lunges.

But Peter just slogs over to his bed and sits down, the mattress squeaking under his weight.

And then he starts to sob. His whole body shaking. He buries his face in his hands.

I knew he’d be upset, but I didn’t think he’d be so broken up he wouldn’t even be able to beat the crap out of me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry like this.

Part of me feels like I should go over and give him a hug. But my survival instinct reminds me that you don’t hug a bear with a sore head, even if he’s sad.

“I’m really sorry, Pete,” I repeat myself in lieu of an embrace.

“Go away,” he croaks. “Just leave me alone.”

And that’s when it hits me. This is not about his airplanes. Something else is going on.

“Pete?” I say, taking a tentative step closer. “Why are you crying?”

He wipes his cheeks with both hands and sniffles. “They’re stupid, anyway. Dad’s the one who started me on them. We used to do them together. I just never stopped. I’m glad they’re broken. You did me a favor.”

I move to the bed and sit next to Peter.

I put my hand on his back and he lets me.

“It’s funny.” Pete clears his throat. “Melissa and I had this huge fight last night because I was doing a model the whole time we were away. She wanted to know why it was so important that I’d spend more time on a toy than with her.” Pete laughs. “I said I didn’t know.”

We sit there. Quiet.

I get a flash of an image. Peter and Dad sitting at the kitchen table, carefully placing decals on a Spitfire. And I don’t know why, but I feel my eyes welling up, too.

I’m thankful when Pete finally speaks. “Was that the girl you were telling me about?”

“Who? Valerie?” I turn my head and surreptitiously blot the corners of my eyes. “No. She’s a friend of hers.”

“Huh. Too bad. She’s cute.”

“Yeah. She is.”

“Well. You better go call her and tell her you’re alive. She looked pretty terrified back there.”

“She wasn’t the only one.” I stand and make my way to the door.

“Don’t talk too long, though,” Pete says. “You’ve got a mess to clean up here.”

As I leave Pete’s room, it occurs to me how weird it is that you can imagine every possible outcome of a situation and never come up with how things will actually turn out.

VALERIE’S OFF TO LAKE WILLIAM
with her family for the week. I had called her to let her know I wasn’t dead, which she kind of figured out when she heard my voice. I tried to get her to tell me what she wanted to tell me earlier, but she said it was something she needed to talk about in person. I said I understood, but really, it’s going to drive me insane. She wouldn’t even give me a hint. She just laughed and said I’d have to be patient.

I can’t imagine it could be anything else besides Kelly. Of course, I haven’t been able to imagine anything else besides Kelly since the beginning of the summer, so who knows.

Valerie and I agreed to get together next week when she comes back. Barring someone else dragging me off, we’ll discuss whatever it is then.

I decide that I need to redouble my efforts, so that I don’t disappoint Kelly when championships roll around.

I ride my bike to the country club. Ulf has agreed to meet with me every day around dinnertime for the next two weeks, until the meet. He said he lifeguards at the pool, anyway, so it’s no big deal. Plus the pool’s pretty empty in the early evening, so we should have the place mostly to ourselves.

I’m not sure why he’s taken such an interest in me. When I asked him about it, he just said that strength of character is more important than strength of body. He also said that it didn’t seem like anyone else was teaching me this, so he felt he’d better get started.

Honestly, I don’t have a clue what Ulf is talking about 90 percent of the time. But if he wants to help me swim the fly better to impress Kelly enough so that she will date me, then I’m not going to stop him.

When I arrive at the pool, I’m ready to dive in and collect the change from the bottom like always. But for some reason Ulf hasn’t thrown the coins in.

He is sitting high in the lifeguard stand, drinking tea from a
HAVE A NICE DAY
mug.

“Where’s the change?” I say.

“Today there is no swimming. Today there is only hanging.”

“What?”

“You are swimming too hard against yourself to finish the one-hundred-yards butterfly. I have realized this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have an obstacle course in your brain.” Ulf
takes a sip of his tea. “I should have understood this sooner. You must hang from the high-diving board. By your hands.”

“For how long?”

“Until you wake up and smell the music.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You will. Now go. Hang.”

So I do. Though I have no idea why.

I climb the ladder to the ten-foot-high diving board and situate myself so that I’m hanging down over the water. The board bends a bit from my weight. I have to reposition myself a few times as my hands get raw and my shoulders get tired.

After around five minutes, I can’t hold on any longer and I have to let go. I fall with a splash into the pool and swim over to the lifeguard stand.

“There,” I say. “I did it. I smelled the music.”

“You did not. Otherwise you would still be hanging. Try again.”

We go through this same routine for the next hour and a half; me hanging and dropping and Ulf continually refilling his mug with hot water from a thermos.

Each time I try to hang on a bit longer, but it’s never long enough for Ulf.

“You have to let go inside to hold on outside,” he says.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Finally, I give up and get my towel and collect my
clothes. I walk over to the lifeguard stand and look up at Ulf. “I could hold on forever and you still wouldn’t be happy.”

He just sips his tea. “I am happy whether you hold on or you do not hold on.”

“Then what’s the point?” I say.

“If you think that it is to make me happy, then you have not hung on long enough.”

“I don’t get it.”

“There is nothing to get. You just hang on. And when you want to stop hanging on, do not stop hanging on. This is not a puzzle.”

I clench my jaw. There have been times over the past few weeks when I actually found myself almost liking Ulf.

This is not one of those times.

But still, I am back the next day.

And the day after that.

And every day I hang from the diving board. And while I hang from the diving board, I wonder, Why the hell am I hanging from this stupid diving board when I should be swimming?

I’ve started actually looking forward to Lifesaving Skills class, if you can believe it, because at least I get to do something other than hang.

“We are going full pig, today!” Ulf shouts at the start of Thursday’s lesson.

He is having me and the five other guys tread water in our clothes again, this time for an entire hour.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I don’t actually know any of these guys’ names. I’ve been so focused on my own pain and exhaustion, I haven’t taken the time to talk to them very much. Not that I’ve actually
had
the time. I’m usually an exercise or two behind them, and they’re long gone when I finally drag myself out of the pool.

Still, I’ve always wanted to ask them about Ulf. Like maybe it would help me understand what he’s talking about a little more. And since I need something to take my mind off the fact that I am almost completely spent, I figure this might be a good time to bring the subject up.

“Hey,” I say to the guy treading water next to me. His head is shaved, and his face is sort of pinched up, like he’s always wincing.

“Hey,” he grunts.

“This is fun, huh?”

“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “A barrel of friggin’ monkeys.”

“So . . . what’s
his
deal?” I motion with my head to Ulf, who’s pulling kickboards out of the supply closet.

“What do you mean?”

My chin starts to sink below the water, so I kick a little harder. “I mean he’s, like, sadistic, right? Was he in the military or something?”

The guy shakes his head. “He was some kind of championship swimmer in Germany.”

“Really?” I catch my breath. “Why’s he teaching here, then?”