I’m in my deepest sleep in recent memory. My late-night endurance swim has knocked me out cold, and it feels great. The only problem is that now I’m battling a new nightmare. This time there’s no giant beaver at school. Instead, I’m being tormented by a giant Kendra at my bedside.

“Wake up. It’s the phone.”

I slowly process what she’s saying and realize that it isn’t a dream. It’s the real Kendra.

“What?” I answer. (Actually, I’m sure it comes out more like “whuuu,” but in my head, it started out as “what.”)

“You … have … a … phone … call.”

I wipe some sleep from my eyes and try to focus on her, the clock, anything. It’s useless. Then, just as I’m about to ignore her and go back to sleep, I hear four magic words.

“Some guy named Alex.”

That wakes me up faster than five venti cappuccinos.

“Alex?”

I snatch the cordless right out of her hand and quickly cover the mouthpiece. Still a little disoriented, I try to get my bearings. I have one key question for her.

“Do I look okay?”

“It’s the phone, Einstein. You look like a supermodel.”

“Right,” I say. “Now get out.”

She shakes her head and leaves the room. I take a deep breath and try my best to sound coherent.

“Hello.”

“Jane? This is Alex—Alex Walker—from swim lessons. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“Are you kidding?” I say. “I’ve been up for hours.”

Suddenly, I wonder how he got my phone number. I never gave it to him. He had to look it up. Good sign.

“I know we don’t have a lesson scheduled for today, but I wanted to talk to you.”

“Sure,” I say. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“About yesterday, with my stepmother … she’s so pathetic. … And that whole ‘dawg’ thing when you drove off … I don’t know where that came from…. I’m just really embarrassed.”

“It was pretty bad,” I answer truthfully. “But you don’t have to apologize for it.”

There’s a long silence on the other end. “The thing is … I wanted to talk to you about something … but I couldn’t do it. Not with her … hanging out by the pool.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

There’s a long pause.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out … you know … with me … tonight.”

For a second I can’t even breathe. Everything stands still, and there’s total quiet except for a songbird outside my window.

“That’s not against some YMCA rule, is it? For you to go on a date with someone you’re teaching.”

If so, then I’m quitting the Y. Of course, so far, I’ve only taught preschoolers and elementary kids. So it hasn’t really come up.

“No. There’s no rule. That I know of.”

“Great,” he says. “So, would you like to go?”

Suddenly it dawns on me that I haven’t answered him yet. It’s way too early for Bikini Jane cool, so I just blurt it out.

“Are you kidding?! I mean … well, I mean … of course. I’d love to.”

There’s a brief pause on the other side, and I worry that my eagerness has scared him off.

“Great. I work at the club until seven. How about seven thirty? I’ll pick you up at your house.”

“Perfect,” I answer. “Seven thirty.”

We talk for a few more minutes, and I give him directions to my house. After I hang up I check the phone three times to make sure that the dial tone is really there and there’s no way he can hear me. Then I bury my face in my pillow and scream at the top of my lungs.

It’s not that I’ve never been on a date before. It’s just that they’ve usually been more friend-friend dates for events like Homecoming. This certainly jumps to the top of my lifetime social history.

I call Becca and Melanie as I drive in to Magic Waters. They’re beyond excited, and Becca’s already trying to figure out a way the two of them can spy on the date while it’s in progress.

Work is a total blur. My mind is way too focused on tonight. After the parade, I rush home and get there just after six. I’ve got almost an hour and a half to get ready and I plan on using every second. I come in through the kitchen, where my mother is making her famous spaghetti sauce.

“Are you home for dinner?” she says with a smile.

I stop and try not to grin from ear to ear.

“I have plans tonight.”

She shakes in some garlic powder. It smells great. “Where are you girls off to this time?”

I can’t fight the grin anymore. “Not with Bec and Melanie. I have a date. With a boy. An extremely, unbelievably cute boy. He will be coming here tonight. To pick me up and take me out.”

She slaps the garlic powder down so hard that the bottle almost breaks. She tries not to look too excited.

“What boy?”

“His name is Alex Walker.”

“Do I know him?”

“No. I’ve been giving him swim lessons.”

“What is he? Eight?” I turn around and see Kendra walking into the kitchen. Of course this is the time my entire family decides to be home.

I give her a defiant look. “No, he’s seventeen.”

She smirks. “A seventeen-year-old boy who can’t swim. Sounds like a winner.” She reaches over to dab a fingertip into the sauce. Mom slaps it away. “At least that explains why you’ve been stealing my bikinis. I was beginning to worry.”

I didn’t realize she knew about them. I quickly try to change the subject. “Anyway, to answer the original question: No, I will not be staying for dinner tonight. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get ready.”

I rush upstairs and get busy. First I take a shower and try to get all the flecks of beaver helmet out of my hair.

Next I try to figure out what to wear. Instead of cool and casual—which is what I’m looking for—all I seem to find is dull and drab. I’m about to have a panic attack when Kendra comes into my room. Just as I go to ask her what’s up, I realize why she’s here.

“Mom sent you, didn’t she? She sees this as a chance to bond.”

“You got it.” At least Kendra’s honest.

She pauses for a moment and then looks me in the eye. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have stopped by anyway.”

This makes me smile.

She looks over at the clothes I’ve laid out on the bed and reacts like those people who are about to eat worms on Fear Factor.

“You can’t wear any of that,” she says, pointing a finger at my clothes like they were somehow contagious.

Like I said, she’s honest.

“I know.”

Kendra thinks some more. “So is the guy you’re going out with the one in the picture in your drawer?”

I’d taken the picture of Alex off my mirror and put it in my drawer. I give her a What were you doing in my drawer? look.

She’s unfazed.

“I’m sorry, where did you find my bikinisr?”

I think this over for a moment. “That’s fair.”

She opens the drawer and pulls out the picture. “He is cute. I’ll give you that.”

I decide to go for broke. “Cute enough that you’d let me borrow some clothes?”

“I don’t think Brad Pitt’s cute enough for that,” she says.

“What if I told you that you’re the reason I’m doing this?” I ask.

“What are you talking about?” she asks.

“The last time you came home from school,” I say, trying to jog her memory. “When you dumped me at the mall so you could hang out with Erik.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, smiling at the memory.

“Right before you abandoned me, you gave me some good advice. You told me to make the most of this summer. That it should be the best three months of my life. That’s what led to all this.”

Kendra smiles, and I think it’s sincere. “You see why I try not to be nice,” she says. “I do something nice and what’s my reward. Now I’ve got to let you borrow my clothes.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“But no shoes,” she says, coming back to earth.

This totally changes the evening. Kendra’s got college clothes—a little less fabric, a lot more sex appeal. I flip through her closet, but I don’t even know where to begin.

“Try the light blue babydoll top with the cropped jeans.”

I pull them out and hold them up together. “You think?” I ask skeptically.

She nods. “Let’s just say that I’ve had some luck with that combination.”

I think about this for a moment. “You have cleaned them since then, haven’t you?”

“Just try them on, smart-ass.”

I put them on and when I look in the mirror, I’m amazed by what I see. It’s cute and sexy at the same time. (God, wouldn’t I love that to be a term used to describe me.)

“Thank you.”

“I want them back tomorrow. And dry cleaned.”

“Whatever you say.”

I go back to my room and manage to finish my hair and makeup exactly by seven. I take a deep breath and try to relax for a second. That’s when I go to my bedroom window to look for his car and I see something that gets rid of any calm I may have—my dad’s truck.

I hurry into the family room.

“Dad, what are you doing here? I thought you were working tonight.”

“I got someone to cover,” he says, flashing a big smile. “You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you?”