6
Swim Test of the Danged
Tez
The swim test isn’t supposed to be fun. And that’s good, because it isn’t.
There are a million kids at the lakeshore, and as previously mentioned, Ohio decided to give us something like a fresh March day in the middle of June. Dark nimbostratus clouds sink over the far side of the lake, gusting a cold wind in our direction.
A bunch of the girls huddle together under their towels. Smart—they’re sharing body heat. If there’s an apocalypse, they’re the ones who are going to survive.
“Hiii-yah!” Knees shouts and kicks at my face. I don’t flinch. It’s not because I have nerves of steel. It’s because this is the sixth time he’s done it. We’re allowed to kung fu each other as long as nobody touches.
This rule came from Gavin, who didn’t want to hear that hi-ya is a bastardization of traditional karate breath flow and has nothing to do with kung fu. He did dock our cabin one bead because he didn’t understand that bastardization isn’t a curse word. (Since I’m not supposed to participate in heart-exploding activities, I mostly watch, and try not to flinch.)
Knees whirls around. I think he’s trying for a flying spin kick. Instead, he face-plants and Bowl Cut laughs so hard he blows a snot bubble. Yep. When the apocalypse comes, the girls are definitely going to be the ones to survive.
The lifeguards blow the whistles. The sound goes straight into my brain. It makes me shiver and I don’t know why.
“Line up!” the lifeguards shout.
As soon as they take charge, Mary bolts. She’d said something about heading into the woods for some herbs. I hope she knows her field guide. There’s a lot of super-poisonous hemlock in the woods around Camp Sweetwater, and it looks just like wild carrots.
I hurry to get in line. I already know how to swim, and also, I’m good at tests. I listen to all the instructions. Then I ask questions if I don’t understand anything. Mom says lots of people are too shy to speak up, so if I do, I’m really helping everybody. Sometimes, I even ask questions when I already know the answer, to help the rest of the class.
Corryn ends up right behind me, wearing her orange-and-green-striped towel like a cape. She doesn’t recognize me at first. Probably because I wrapped my towel into a perfect turban. I wave a hand in front of her face. “Hey.”
Startled, Corryn looks at me hard. Then she looks around. “All right,” she says. But then she doesn’t say anything else. I wonder if she’s thinking about her mom and dad. I’ve been thinking about mine a lot. And I’m lucky. I know they’re both going to be there when I get home.
“The first test,” the lifeguard shouts, “will be a sixty-second float.”
“What are we going to do?” Corryn asks.
I look to the lifeguard, then back at her. She’s not paying attention; I can’t blame her. Quietly, I tell her, “A sixty-second float.”
With a roll of her eyes, Corryn pushes a finger into my ribs. Hard. “Not about the swim test, duh. About the faces.”
The wind shifts again, and my whole body prickles with the cold. Wrapping my arms around myself, I try to split myself into two. One ear listening to the lifeguard, one ear listening to Corryn. This is not an efficient use of my senses, but I try anyway.
“Nothing,” I say. “I mean. We won’t gather firewood from anything black and gnarly from here on out.”
The lifeguard blows his whistle. “When you hear that, you know what to do.”
Wait, what?! Panic rises in my chest. I don’t know what to do! But before I can raise my hand and ask, Corryn catches my wrist. She shakes my hand around, emphatic.
“What if it wasn’t the wood? What if there’s something freaky going on here?”
“Dead man’s float,” the lifeguard chimes in helpfully.
Now it feels like something freaky is going on for sure. The wind kicks little white waves up on the lake. The dark clouds drift toward us, and what’s weird is that in some places, it’s super sunny. But in others, it’s really dark. I don’t know why, but now I don’t want to get in the water, like at all.
Swallowing hard, I hunch my shoulders up and shake my head. “It’s just one thing. And yes, it was scary. But it’s just one thing. We don’t have enough data to decide there’s overall freakiness going on.”
“Tez. In arts and crafts, we were drawing the same thing. And neither one of us could stop!”
My guts kind of flop over, and I break out in a queasy sweat. My mouth is all sour, warning me that barf could happen anytime. Gathering up a bunch of spit in my mouth, I swallow it all at once. I say, reasonably, “We were drawing the same thing because we saw the same thing. We had counselors breathing down our necks; of course we couldn’t stop. Coincidences aren’t causation.”
“Okay, fine! What about the bug flood?”
“We’re outside,” I say reasonably. “The outside is full of bugs.”
Corryn huffs at me; her breath smells like Juicy Fruit gum. “I can’t believe you’re going chicken on me.”
Before I can reply, Knees yells, “HIII-YAH,” and lands his very first high kick.
In the middle of my face.
I go down hard, the salty taste of blood in the back of my throat before I even land. My chest feels remarkably calm. This heart isn’t ready to say goodbye. However, my guts decide that now is definitely the time to say hello.
All the girls around me scream and scatter when I puke. Chunky scrambled eggs, orange juice, and red, red, red from my nosebleed.
I’m thinking, if they can’t handle a little barf, they might not survive the apocalypse after all.
Corryn
“Oh brilliant, Chickenlips chundered all up and down the dock. Lovely, just lovely, Chickenlips.”
Gavin is really not pleased about this.
“Um, Knees kicked him in the face,” I try to explain, but Gavin rushes past me, arms flailing and British swears flying.
I guess “chundered” means threw up and “lovely” means not lovely. “Brilliant” also means not brilliant. Some of the other words he yells I don’t have any idea about. All I know is that he drags Tez out of his bloody chunder puddle and marches him toward the infirmary.
The lifeguard guy isn’t fazed at all. He is very tan and very wrinkly, like a human walnut. With a handlebar mustache. He’s also wearing a tank top that I think is sewed to his trunks.
He’s also seriously old. He’s supposed to guard our lives, but what I want to know is, who’s guarding him from the grim reaper?
“You’re next,” he says, stroking his mustache. I just stare at him.
“Get floating!” He grabs me by the arm. Old Lifeguard is sinewy and strong. His grasp is hard, his hands rough. I slide across the slick dock and can’t hit the brakes. I tumble gracelessly into the lake. I hope my parents feel really guilty if this guy gets me killed.
The water bites with a fierce cold against my skin. I sink deep into the green water. Deep and deeper still, tasting muck and algae. I had my towel around my shoulders, so it follows me into the water. It looks like a jellyfish or terry-cloth sea creature from the great beyond.