The days at BWH came and went, came and went. The weekend passed. And then more days at school passed. I’d almost successfully managed to evade Jake, until isiZulu class, where I found myself sitting in front of him again. I didn’t greet him or meet his eyes. I couldn’t. The image of him looking at my photo was so fresh in my mind that clammy embarrassment still wiggled its way over my skin like an itchy rash. But he didn’t greet me either. He also didn’t make eye contact. Like I said, I knew how things worked around here—but even though I did, it still hurt me more than it should have. So much for our support coupling.
And then it was Friday. I’d been at BWH for a whole week and a half, and it was the day of the compulsory water polo match. I’d been caught between this strange feeling of dreading it but also being intrigued to see Jake in his so-called natural habitat. The swimming complex at the school was enormous. The Olympic-sized pool was lined on all sides by stadium benches that reached up high. I wasn’t scared of heights, but I was scared of water, so I headed for the top of the stands.
The whole of BWH was there, taking up one entire side of the stadium, while the other team’s school, all dressed in red, was taking up the opposite side. Amber and the Ts, and some other girls whose names I didn’t know, were standing in the front, pom-poms in hand, clearly ready to start the cheering. I scanned them, and Thembi immediately caught my eye.
She looked so beautiful in her pale-blue cheerleading outfit—tall, and the contrast of the pale blue against her dark skin looked amazing. She reminded me of Miss South Africa, Shudufhadzo Musida, with her shaved head, her high-arched brows, and skin that seemed golden in the light. She was one of those girls you hear stories about—some talent scout sees them buying bread in their pajamas at a shop, and then they have an international modeling contract because they’re that stunning. I looked over at Amber, she was very much the Queen Bee. The one who seemed to control everyone around her. Even the Ts were listening to her. She was talking and smiling and gesticulating happily, but I wasn’t buying any of her supposed sweetness. I could see that Amber was hiding something dangerous under that baby-blue cheerleader’s outfit. Behind those big, bright smiles was a sinister side. Like the color cadmium red. Beautiful, vibrant, beloved by artists like Matisse, Cézanne, and Bacon. But utterly toxic. Something so beautiful, so seemingly full of life . . . so deadly. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else saw it, or if it was just me? I turned away from Amber and looked around.
Nina-M was filming something, probably for her beauty blog—she was putting an SPF cream on her face and talking about it. I overheard her say something about the importance of wearing sunscreen. TikTok-famous Vuyo was making someone film him while he stuck straws up his nose and then tried to shoot them out at targets.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. Another message from my dad.
DAD: Just checking in. Hope school is going well. Call me when you can, I have something I need to talk to you about. Love you
I bit my lip. Tears prickled in my eyes and I quickly wiped them away. I didn’t know if I was more angry or sad when it came to him. I turned Notifications off and put my phone away just as a massive cheer rose up and everyone turned to the left. I did the same, and then there he was. Walking toward the pool followed by his team. I sat up straight, my breath hitching in my throat and something familiar flapping in my stomach. I held my breath, watching him, and then I think I forgot how to breathe altogether. It happened in slow motion—well, that’s how it seemed, anyway. He reached up and started pulling his T-shirt off and then in one swift movement, he tossed it onto a chair and turned.
My bottom jaw felt like it snapped off. I imagined it tumbling down the grandstand and landing at his feet. It might even land in the water with a splash and sink to the bottom of the pool. Because in all my years, I’d never seen anything like it. Abs so defined and perfect they looked like a six-pack of pudding cups you wanted to reach out and rip open. And then, in one swift, graceful move, the pudding cups disappeared as he dived into the pool. His dive was so flawless that it barely made a splash, and when he bobbed back up to the surface, he was smiling. The pool was clearly his happy place.
The game started, and despite myself, despite all the things I liked to tell myself about how I hated watching sports and that they held no interest for me . . . my interest was held. It was held as the ball flew through the air from one side of the pool to the other. As water crashed and bodies smashed, and how Jake would rise up out of the water, as if standing on something. It seemed impossible that someone could get so high out of the water. He threw the ball into the net so hard that water covered the people seated poolside. I was transfixed as he did this over and over again. He kept scoring and the school kept cheering, and Amber and the Ts kept jumping, and without warning, I found myself on my feet. I found myself clapping and jumping and getting swept up in the game until the final goal, the moment of silent awe afterward, and then the explosion of joy that swept over the stadium like a giant wave. And by the end of the match my hands were red from clapping, my throat was sore from shouting, and my legs had never had so much exercise in my life. And strangely—bizarrely—I felt a part of something that I’d never imagined I would ever feel a part of.
Jake and the team climbed out of the pool and fell into a group hug, and I couldn’t help but smile. I was just about to sit down again when Jake hit the ball into the air and everyone looked up. The ball traveled higher and higher and then unexpectedly, as if it had bumped into an invisible wall, it stopped. It hovered for a second or two and then . . . chaos.
The ball was falling. I looked around. Amber was scrambling up the grandstand with the determination of someone trying to catch the bouquet at a wedding. She was getting closer, coming toward me with such speed. I looked up.
“Oh my goodn—” The ball was headed straight for my face, and everyone in the stadium had turned to watch. I closed my eyes and held out my hands, blocking my face and winced as the ball hit my fingers. And then it stopped. Wait . . . had I just caught it? There was deathly silence. If a pin were to drop from the sky right now, I’m sure the sound would have echoed through the stadium like a clap of thunder. I finally opened my eyes and looked around. Everyone was staring at me, including Amber. But hers was not a stare. Hers was a vile, hateful glare. I glanced at the pool. Jake was looking at me too. And then he smiled, and the whole stadium burst into eardrum-shattering cheers.