Chapter 2

As he grew older, the neighborhood pool was still a place where he and his friends hung out, but for the others, their focus seemed to shift. Rory continued to swim laps, building his endurance, because he loved the way he felt when he was in the water. He loved the rush of coolness around his face and arms and chest; he loved the sting of chlorine when he opened his eyes underwater. He loved diving, and the sudden impact his body made on the flat surface below. But his friends kept coming for a different reason that had everything to do with the girls in bikinis and nothing at all with swimming.

Personally, Rory didn’t see what the fuss was all about. Sure, bikinis looked like underwear, and he found it hard to look at a girl’s face when she was talking to him and her brightly-colored boobs were right therelooking back at him. But his friends started acting stupid around girls they hadn’t even noticed during the school year. In the halls of the junior high, the same boys had teased these girls until they cried, and now suddenly there were sniggers and giggles and batting eyelashes…Rory just didn’t get it.

* * * *

One morning the year he turned thirteen, Rory got to the pool super early. None of his friends would be there, he knew—Bobby and Tommy were on a Boy Scout camping trip, Matt had vacation Bible school, and Joel was preparing for his bar mitzvah. Rory didn’t care; his goal for the day would be bettering his speed by sprinting the length of the pool. For his birthday, his parents had given him a very expensive diving watch with a stop watch feature he planned to use to improve his time. Without the distractions of his friends, he hoped to maybe even beat the world record. It was a long shot, he knew, but at least he could give it a go.

Usually when he arrived at the pool, he was so early, he had to wait for the lifeguard on duty to open up. But this day, though, the gate already stood open, and he could hear men’s laughter beyond. As Rory reached the gate, a shrill whistle sounded, startling him. Suddenly the air was filled with splashing, and a chorus of enthusiastic calls echoed off the concrete walls of the buildings surrounding the pool, hiding it from view.

Cautiously Rory stepped inside the gate and peered around the side of the women’s locker room.

The water in the pool roiled from a half-dozen swimmers whose long, bare arms arched above the surface with a dolphin’s grace. Heads encased in caps bobbed up for air, then disappeared into the water, over and over again. Mesmerized, Rory ventured farther in, his gaze locked on the swimmers. He felt as if he’d fallen asleep in his average, everyday life and woke up at the Olympics. That’s going to be me someday,he thought.

It would be, he knewit.

He drifted closer to the pool, close enough to get splashed when the swimmer in the lane nearest to him turned against the wall and headed back to the shallow end.

“Hey, kid!” a man yelled, angry. “Get away from there!”

Rory glanced down at the other end of the pool and saw more swimmers milling around. All young men, maybe high schoolers, maybe college kids. Older than he was, at any rate. Their chests were bare and tanned and muscled, beaded with drying water. But instead of the loose swim trunks Rory and his friends all wore, these guys had on skin-tight Speedos, dark against pale skin. Form-fitting Spandex hugged every ass, outlined every cock and balls. Rory stared, feeling his face flush with color as his own baggy trunks suddenly seemed two sizes too tight.

Who needed girls in bikinis? Where had theseguys been his whole life?

He heard footsteps and looked up as an older man approached. This guy wore long khakis and a polo shirt, and the whistle dangling around his neck made him look like a lifeguard, though Rory doubted he’d be jumping into the pool since he wore so many clothes. “Go on, get out,” the man hollered, his voice booming louder as he came closer to Rory. “Pool’s closed!”

Confused, Rory frowned up at the man. “Why?”

“Swim practice,” the man snapped. “Now get.”

“But I want to swim, too,” Rory told him. “I come here every day—”

“Well, come back at noon.” The man stopped an intimidating few inches from Rory, forcing him to take an involuntary step back. With his hands on his hips, he towered over the gangly teen. “You can swim then. Right now the pool’s closed to the public.”

Rory could feel his eyes tear up, and he blinked rapidly. He didn’t want to leave! “But…”

Water splashed Rory’s legs; the swimmer was back, and this time, instead of turning, he pulled himself up onto the side of the pool and pinched his nose to blow out the water in it. He had a tiny pair of goggles over his eyes, so Rory didn’t know quite who he was looking at, but his head was upturned in their direction. “Hey, coach, don’t be so hard on the kid,” the swimmer said with a smile, water dripping from his cheeks and neck. “He might be on your team one day. You any good?”

This last was directed at Rory, who shuffled his feet with embarrassment. “I’m not too bad,” he mumbled.