Teenage boys dive-bomb into the pool, spraying water. Or they sneak behind girls, grab them, and toss them in. Girls’ voices shriek in mock anger, but I can tell they like being singled out, noticed.
I dab Coppertone on my nose and shoulders. Humidity frizzes my dark auburn ponytail. Here, I look like the other girls. They look like me. Is this why no one talks to me, notices me: I don’t stand out?
In the distance, men in caps stroll the golf course.
Women play mahjongg, a Chinese game. Men play a Scottish game.
I slide into the water and lie on my back, barely bobbing on the surface. The mahjongg words sound like a meditation, a poem, a chant.
Women, wearing straw hats and sunglasses, sit beside the swimming pool on patio furniture speaking exotic words as they play. Tiles click.
Plum. Orchid. Chrysanthemum. Bamboo.
Dragon tiles. Season tiles. Honor tiles.
Prevailing winds. East winds. West winds.
Sun warms my face; water cools my back. I am at the Westwood Country Club in Bergen County, New Jersey. But I could be in Shanghai. I could be Chinese.