It is a short walk to the university’s athletic complex. The air is so hot and humid, it’s hard to imagine there could ever be winter in Montreal. Even though we are walking on the shady side of the street, under a canopy of maple trees, I feel the sweat trickling down my back and making my T-shirt sticky. I can’t wait to jump into the swimming pool.
“I don’t need swimming lessons,” I hear Nathaniel tell Mason. “I’ve been swimming since I was six months old, and I’ve already passed Red Cross Level 10. I can do every stroke.”
“Even the butterfly?” Mason asks. “I can’t do the butterfly. To be honest, I’m not the greatest swimmer.”
“The butterfly’s not that hard,” Nathaniel tells him, “once you get the kick.”
We are wearing our bathing suits under our regular clothes, so it doesn’t take long to change. I can smell the chlorine—even from inside the change room.
“I was hoping they’d have a saltwater pool,” Stacey says. “In its artificial form, chlorine depletes the ozone layer and contributes to global warming. I’m going to start a list of things the university could do to green this campus.”
Stacey and I are barefoot. Muriel’s flip-flops slap against the tile deck. The counselors are waiting outside the locker rooms. Lloyd has a whistle hanging from a rope around his neck. Samantha is carrying a clipboard. How did she tuck all that hair into a bathing cap?
Of course, Mason is the last one out. He is humming the way he sometimes does when he gets nervous. His Batman towel is wrapped loosely around his waist.
Lloyd squats down in front of us like he’s a football coach and we’re his team. “I bet you’ve heard that applicants to police academy have to be in top physical form. Well, the same goes for forensic scientists. That’s why exercise is an important part of this camp. Swimming is great for all-around conditioning. I don’t tell this to a lot of people,”—Lloyd lowers his voice like he is letting us in on a state secret—“but I used to be well…chubby. Okay, more than chubby. Swimming helped me slim down and get strong.”
Nathaniel nudges Mason. “Hey dude, maybe a little swimming’ll do the trick for you too.”
Mason blushes. Not just his face, but even his chest gets a little red.
Why does Nathaniel have to be such a jerk? I shoot him a look and mouth the words Shut up. I do not want Mason to know I’m standing up for him.
Nathaniel shrugs. Still, I think he got the message. Just in case, I narrow my eyes at him.
Nathaniel gives Mason another nudge. “I was just kidding,” he says.
Lloyd has not intervened. Probably because he wants to let us sort things out ourselves. Work as a team. “All right then,” Lloyd says, clapping his hands. “This afternoon, we’ll review some basics, then you’re going to do some laps so Samantha and I can assess your fitness levels.”
Nathaniel does a perfect racing dive into the deep end. Talk about showing off! The rest of us jump in. The water feels so fresh and cool that Muriel and I scream with pleasure. Mason is the last one in.
Lloyd and Samantha wave us over to the side. “We’ll start with a simple exercise. I want you each to take a deep breath”—Lloyd demonstrates by resting his hands on his belly as he inhales—“and now hold your breath and cross your legs. Watch what happens next.”
Because I’m expecting to sink, I scrunch up my eyes and pinch my nose. Except I don’t sink. I’m not even treading, just holding my breath and keeping my legs crossed the way Lloyd told us to. The others are not sinking either. Only Stacey is struggling. For a moment, all I see is the top of her head. Then even that disappears under the water until she comes up again, sputtering and shaking her head like a wet dog.
Lloyd squats down on the pool ledge. “Ninety-five percent of people are buoyant.” He looks over at Stacey. “Unfortunately,” he tells her, “it looks like you’re in the other five percent. What this exercise proves—for the rest of you anyhow—is you don’t have to work that hard to stay afloat. Why don’t you try treading now—slow and easy so you conserve energy.”
Nathaniel and Nico are starting to puff. Next to them, Mason is breathing comfortably. He is doing just what Lloyd said—treading water slow and easy.
“Most people don’t realize this,” Lloyd says, “but when you’re in water, a little extra weight can actually be an advantage. It makes you more buoyant. Skinny, muscular kids? They’re the first to sink.”
After we’ve treaded for five minutes, Lloyd asks us each to take a lane and demonstrate our front crawl. Samantha walks the length of the pool, jotting notes on her clipboard. I wonder what they are going to do with all the info, but I still try my best to beat Muriel and Nico.
Afterward, Lloyd and Samantha have comments for everyone, even Nathaniel. Lloyd tells Muriel and me that we should not be scooping water with our hands. “Your hands should be sliding through the water—palms flat and turned sideways.”
“You’re lifting your head every time you breathe,” Samantha tells Mason. “That creates unnecessary drag. Once we get that fixed, you’ll pick up speed.”
We get the last fifteen minutes to practice or just fool around in the water. Lloyd throws a striped beach ball into the pool, and the boys toss it around.
Stacey treads water. Muriel and I go to the shallow end to practice moving our hands through the water without cupping them.
When camp is over at four o’clock and Mason and I are on our way home, we notice that Nathaniel is headed in our direction. It turns out he lives in the same neighborhood we do, and so the three of us walk home together.
“How come we never saw you around before?” I ask Nathaniel.
“We only moved here two years ago. After Grandpa got sick, we needed a bigger place—so my grandparents could move in with us.”
“Does your grandmother still live with you?” Mason asks.
“Yup—and now he does too.” He must be his grandma’s fiancé.
I’d like to know more, but Mason changes the subject. “What school do you go to?”
“Trudeau Academy,” Nathaniel answers. Trudeau Academy is a private all-boys school with a reputation for being super strict.
“I guess that explains why we never met before,” Mason says. “I’m glad your parents signed you up for forensics camp.”
Nathaniel whacks Mason with his backpack. “I’m glad you’re glad.” To my surprise, there is nothing sarcastic in Nathaniel’s tone.
Unfortunately, the sidewalk is not very wide, and I end up having to walk behind the two of them. They are talking about the Unabomber and the butterfly stroke.
“I’m not bad at the butterfly,” I say, but they don’t hear me over the sound of the rush-hour traffic. When I turn to look into the street, I see a row of cars and two city buses full of passengers. No one is paying any attention to a small gray hatchback stalled at the side of the road. Right now I feel a little like that hatchback.
That is the moment when I realize that after thirteen years of being stuck with Mason, he is finally making a new friend—just like I told him he should. So why do I feel like an abandoned vehicle? And how come I’m not happy for Mason?
We come to Nathaniel’s house first. It is brick with a copper roof that has turned green. A pink rosebush in full bloom climbs the front railing. An elegant-looking woman with shoulder-length gray hair stands in the front window. She is holding a small dog who is wagging his tail. When the woman waves at us, the dog jumps out of her arms, and I can see the woman laugh. She laughs with her whole face—her eyes, her cheeks, not just her mouth.
“Is that your grandmother?” I ask Nathaniel.
“Yup, that’s her. At least he’s not there too.”
“Is that your dog?” Mason asks.
“Actually, it’s my grandpa’s—” Nathaniel stops himself. “I mean, my grandma’s dog. Willy’s a Pomeranian. He used to dance a circle around my grandpa every day when he got back from work. And after Grandpa got sick, Willy hardly ever left his side.” Nathaniel’s voice softens; he doesn’t sound as if he is trying to be a big shot when he remembers his grandpa.
An older man with a bald head and wire glasses comes to join Nathaniel’s grandmother in the window. He looks okay to me.
“That’s him.”
There is nothing soft about the way Nathaniel says it.