Matt looks back at Conrad.
Conrad says nothing.
Matt turns the hose on him.
Regina goes for Matt but Anthony catches her, pinning her arms and spinning her around. He leads her away and she doesn’t put up a fight, her face blank, her body slack as he talks into her ear, his dark eyes hard.
I can’t believe Regina is walking away while the swim thugs are drowning her brother. If anyone could take them on, it would be her. What’s she doing?
Matt and two thuglets grab Conrad and hurl him back into the pool, even though he’s still choking. As soon as Conrad hits the water, Matt spits out one final “Faggot!” then loses interest and wanders off. His brainless underlings trail after him.
“What’s with all the homophobia?” Holly asks, looking up at Robert for an explanation. “Is it always like this out East?”
“Union’s special,” Robert answers. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Um, shouldn’t we do something?” she says, turning toward the pool.
“We’ll just end up in there with him, and you’re too stoned to swim, darling,” Robert replies. I nearly gag for multiple reasons, not the least of which is Robert calling his girlfriend darling like he’s a 1940s movie star. “The guy’s a swimmer,” he continues. “I’m sure he can find his way to the surface of a pool without our help.”
“Okay,” Holly says uncertainly.
I follow her gaze to the water and see that Conrad is making zero effort to swim—in fact, less than zero. He’s letting himself sink.
“See ya, Rose,” Robert says, taking Holly’s hand.
I look at the cup Robert’s still holding. “Wait, you’re not going to drive right now, are you?” I ask.
For a second, I see the old Robert, the one who was always looking for my approval, even after I kept not giving it to him. But the new Robert surfaces quickly. “Holly’s driving the vintage Mustang tonight.”
I look at Holly, who seems embarrassed again, then at Robert. “So she’s too stoned to swim but not to drive?”
“It’s okay,” Holly says. “We can just walk to my house from here.” Holly glances one last time at the pool. “So cool to meet you, Rose! See you at school on Tuesday,” she adds as Robert pulls her into the crowd that has no interest whatsoever in the fact that Conrad Deladdo is intentionally drowning himself.
Although, to be honest, drowning oneself is not a surprising response to one’s first Union High party.
I should do something.
The thing is, after last year, I want to keep a low profile, and I definitely do not want to be the party buzz-kill again.
Plus, he’s not really drowning—he’s just messing around.
Right?
I look at the pool. I can’t see him anymore from where I’m standing.
I wait a second for him to come up. I wait another second. Nothing.
I go to the edge of the pool and look in. Conrad is still drifting down, as if he’s being pulled to the bottom by some current I can’t see. He looks up at me and it seems like our eyes meet through the water for a second. Then his close.
I drop to my knees and reach into the water to grab him but of course I can’t get to him. I lean forward a little more, and the inevitable happens.
From across the pool, Tracy yells my name but it’s too late. Someone shoves my shoulder and I fly face-first into the glowing blue water.
My first thought is, I’m destroying the dry-clean-only silk T-shirt Tracy lent me after practically making me sign a contract in blood, promising that nothing would happen to it.
My second thought is, I didn’t realize how much the noise of the party was making my brain hurt until I ended up in the pool. It’s so peaceful down here—all the music and the yelling get lost beneath the sound of my pulse and the blood in my veins. It’s perfect.
I haven’t felt this calm in more than a year. For a while after my dad died, I had these weird episodes that my mom said were panic attacks—they felt more like rage attacks to me. They’re mostly gone now, but sometimes, out of the blue, I’ll be doing something totally normal when suddenly I see these crazy-violent images. I have no control over it.
Here, under the water, I don’t feel like that can happen. Maybe I need to spend my life floating around in a pool.
Conrad looks like he feels the same way. But he also looks like he might be turning blue from lack of oxygen.
I swim down to him and reach for his arm. He yanks it away and gives me the finger.
So much for underwater tranquility.
What did I ever do to him?
I grab his arm and pull as hard as I can. Conrad fights me for a second but then lets me win. As we break the surface, a crowd of people at the edge of the pool is watching Tracy calmly shred Matt, who, of course, is the one who pushed me. I know that without having to watch the instant replay.
“…and get her and that freshman out of the pool or I’ll throw you in myself.”
A big chorus of “Oohs” goes up from the crowd. Matt is too drunk to formulate any kind of retaliation, so he just does as he’s told, stumbling to the edge and reaching for Conrad. Conrad is lifting himself out of the pool for the second time in less than an hour when someone shoves Matt aside, sending him sprawling again, and holds out a hand. Conrad looks up and half laughs, half snorts, like he’s disgusted.
“Go help your savior-complex girlfriend,” he says. “Leave me the hell alone.”
I’m trying to figure out who the savoir-complex girlfriend is and why she needs help when I’m lifted straight out of the pool and set down—dripping wet, mascara running, silk T-shirt and white capris probably see-through—on the deck. The warm hands feel familiar on my arms, and I know who it is instantly. But even though I’ve been waiting an entire summer to see him again, it still takes me a second before I can look up into the beautiful, furious face of Jamie Forta.
dissidence (noun): conflict; discord; warfare (see also: the general state of being in Union)
2
IT’S A STRANGE FEELING TO BE STANDING IN A DRIVEWAY at a keg party, fully clothed but soaking wet and wrapped in an oversize towel, talking—or not talking, as the case may be—to the guy who may or may not like you and who you haven’t seen in months, who is standing next to your worst enemy, who may or may not be his ex-girlfriend. Throw in the pacing, wet victim of a Union High hazing and a few onlookers, and you’ve officially got a three-ring circus.
I’m shivering as I wait for Tracy to get our stuff so she can drive me home. Jamie Forta is two feet away and he looks totally different. He’s tan, his arms are super cut and his hair is sort of dark gold—he looks like he spent the entire summer at the beach. He looks…beautiful.
I imagined a bunch of scenarios for when I finally saw Jamie again, but I didn’t think he would ignore me, which is what he’s been doing for the past few minutes. But why would I think that he’d do anything else, when that’s exactly what he did all summer?
He didn’t return my calls after the night he spent in jail, and he wasn’t allowed to come back to school to finish the year. After a few weeks, I started to think that I’d imagined him. I could almost convince myself I had, until I thought about the kiss. That kiss was the most real thing ever—there’s no way I could