The commanding, shrill whistle flips some kind of switch in me. And then I lay eyes on Weston.
Hunter gasps quietly.
As for me, I don't make a sound.
He’s four years older now, and his hairy legs are somehow even more toned. The years have bulked him up into a full-fledged adult man and carved his face into an impossibly more stern look. As a teenager, he’d always let his sun-kissed hair flop into his eyes, surfer style. Now, he sports a short, low-maintenance cut that complements the strong lines of his brow and the set of his square jaw. Summers spent under the sun are catching up with him, giving his eyes the faintest hint of crow’s feet.
“Everybody out of the pool!” The bullhorn crackles. “Hornets, line up!”
His voice contrasts the shrill, yet inexplicably arousing, whistle. Bullhorn distortion aside, his voice is deep, gravelly.
My pulse quickens as he descends the stairs and I take in the whole picture. The whistle jostling against his bare chest as he moves. The fitted, Euro-style swim trunks in signature Greenbridge green. A clipboard in one hand, a bullhorn in the other, and, for a touch of nerdiness, a No. 2 pencil tucked behind his ear.
The bullhorn crackles to life again as we scramble out of the water. “Line up behind the platforms! Alphabetically by last name.”
So loud. So abrupt.
And somehow, something dormant inside me is waking up and saying “Yes, please, and thank you.”
My stupid nipples are hard and begging for attention like a couple of problem children.
I’m last in line. I pass closely by him while he watches us move into order. The proximity affords me the pleasure of noticing the beads of water all over his chest, shoulders, and trickling down those amazing legs. Clearly he’s just come from the shower, and he smells like a woodsy kind of soap.
Do not picture him in the shower. Do not picture him standing under the hot spray…eyes closed…lathering up…soapy tendrils cascading off his erect man nipples. Do not wonder if he showered with or without those grown-ass-man swim trunks on. Of course he put on the trunks first. Who wants to struggle putting on fitted trunks over a wet body?
I blurt out a snort of laughter. Everyone turns to look at me. I turn pink and wish for the pool deck to crack open and swallow me up.
“Say ‘here’ when I call your name.” He sets down the bullhorn and scribbles something on the papers attached to his clipboard.
After he calls each name, Coach Ford glances up quickly with a disinterested expression to confirm each team member is present, checking them off his list one by one as we respond.
“Dana Bayside… (check)… Daphne Degrassi… (check)… Maria Lawndale… (check)… Hadley McKinley… (check)… Claire Ridgemont… (check)… Ridley Rushmore… (check)… Hunter Rydell… (check)… Adelaide Shermer…”
“It’s Addie,” I say, clearing my throat.
His eyes stay trained on his clipboard.
“Roster I received from the athletic director says your name is Adelaide.”
For one long moment, his eyes look up to connect with mine. He doesn’t look away, even while he takes a moment to tuck his pencil back behind his ear.
For the rest of the day I will analyze the meaning of that look. Is he annoyed? Exasperated? Cautious? Curious? I can’t tell. Of course, I’ve no idea that moment will set the tone for my entire senior year.
Regrettably, my voice comes out breathy and I speak in the form of a question. “That is my name, but everyone calls me Addie?”
What’s wrong with me? I never talk like this. Why is my voice doing this?
“In my pool, everyone goes by their last names anyway. Any more information you need to share with me, Shermer, or can I move on?”
“Uhm…”
But before I can reply yes or no, he turns from me and sounds his whistle. “Rushmore! Fifty freestyle. Show me what you got!”
Ridley’s tall, lithe body barely makes a noise
as she hits the water. Watching her swim is like looking at art; her body seems to skim through the water with no resistance. There’s a reason why her 100-meter freestyle is the second fastest in the state.
By the time she hops out of the pool like a ninja, I feel like maybe I should not have spent the whole summer working the counter at Yum Burgers and sun worshiping at Hunter’s house.