"I'm a really good swimmer, so don't be mad when we race and I beat you," I said over the phone.
He laughed and said, "At freestyle?"
"At any style."
"Why do you like to win so much?"
I didn't have an answer for that, except to say that winning was fun, and anyway, who didn't like to win? Growing up with Steven and spending my summers with Jeremiah and Conrad, winning was always important, and doubly so because I was a girl and was never expected to win anything. Victory is a thousand times sweeter when you're the underdog.
Cam came over, and I watched from my bedroom window as he drove up. His car was navy blue and old and beat-up looking, like his hoodie that I was already planning on keeping. It looked like exactly the kind of car he'd drive.
He rang the doorbell, and I flew down the stairs to open the door. "Hi," I said. I was wearing his hoodie.
"You're wearing my hoodie," he said, smiling down at me. He was even taller than I'd remembered.
"You know, I was thinking that I want to keep it," I told him, letting him in and closing the door behind me. "But I don't expect to get it for free. I'll race you for it."
"But if we race, you can't be mad if I beat you," he >said, raising an eyebrow at me. "It's my favorite hoodie, and if I win, I'm taking it." "No problem," I told him.
We went out to the pool through the back screen door, down the porch steps. I threw off my shorts and T-shirt and his hoodie quickly, without even thinking-- Jeremiah and I raced all the time in the pool. It didn't occur to me to be self-conscious to be in a bikini in front of Cam. After all, we spent the whole summer in bathing suits in that house.
But he looked away quickly and took off his T-shirt. "Ready?" he said, standing by the edge.
I walked over next to him. "One full lap?" I asked, dipping my toe into the water.
"Sure," he said. "You want a head start?"
I snorted. "Do you want a head start?"
"Touche," he said, grinning.
I'd never heard a boy say "touché" before. Or anyone else, for that matter. Maybe my mother. But on him it looked good. It was different.
I won the first race easily. "You let me win," I accused.
"No, I didn't," he said, but I knew it wasn't true. In all the summers and all of the races, no boy, not Conrad or Jeremiah or certainly not Steven, had ever let me win.
"You better give it your all this time," I warned. "Or I'm keeping the hoodie."
"Best two out of three," Cam said, wiping the hair out of his eyes.
He won the next heat, and I won the last one. I wasn't fully convinced that he didn't just let me win--after all, he was so tall and long, his one stroke was worth two of mine. But I wanted to keep the hoodie, so I didn't challenge the win. After all, a win was a win.
When he had to leave, I walked him to his car. He didn't get in right away. There was this long pause, the first we'd had, if you can believe it. Cam cleared his throat and said, "So this guy I know, Kinsey, is having a party tomorrow night. Do you maybe want to come?"
"Yeah," I said right away. "I do."
I made the mistake of mentioning it at breakfast the next morning. My mother and Susannah were grocery shopping. It was just me and the boys, the way it had been for the most part this summer. "I'm going to a party tonight," I said, partly just to say it out loud and partly to brag.
Conrad raised his eyebrows. "You?"
"Whose party?" Jeremiah demanded. "Kinsey s?"
I put down my juice. "How'd you know?"
Jeremiah laughed and wagged his finger at me. "I know everybody in Cousins, Belly. I'm a lifeguard. That's like being the mayor. Greg Kinsey works at that surf shop over by the mall."
Frowning, Conrad said, "Doesn't Greg Kinsey sell crystal meth out of his trunk?"
"What? No. Cam wouldn't be friends with someone like that," I said defensively.
"Who's Cam?" Jeremiah asked me.
"That guy I met at Clay's bonfire. He asked me to go to this party with him, and I said yes."
"Sorry. You aren't going to some meth addict's party," Conrad said.
This was the second time Conrad was trying to tell me what to do, and I was sick of it. Who did he think he was? I had to go to this party. I didn't care if there was crystal meth or not, I was going. "I'm telling you, Cam wouldn't be friends with someone like that! He's straight edge."
Conrad and Jeremiah both snorted. In moments like these, they were a team. "He's straight edge?" Jeremiah said, trying not to smile. "Neat."
"Very cool," agreed Conrad.
I glared at the both of them. First they didn't want me hanging out with meth addicts, and then being straight edge wasn't cool either. "He doesn't do drugs, all right? Which is why I highly doubt he'd be friends with a drug dealer."
Jeremiah scratched his cheek and said, "You know what, it might be Greg Rosenberg who's the meth dealer. Greg Kinsey's pretty cool. He has a pool table. I think I'll check this party out too."
"Wait, what?" I was starting to panic.
"I think I'll go too," Conrad said. "I like pool."
I stood up. "You guys can't come. You weren't invited."
Conrad leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head. "Don't worry, Belly. We won't bother you on your big date."
"Unless he puts his hands on you." Jeremiah ground his fist into his hand threateningly, his blue eyes narrow. "Then his ass is grass."
"This isn't happening," I moaned. "You guys, I'm begging you. Don't come. Please, please don't come."
Jeremiah ignored me. "Con, what are you gonna wear?
"I haven't thought about it. Maybe my khaki shorts? What are you gonna wear?" "I hate you guys," I said.
Things had been weird with me and Conrad and also with me and Jeremiah--an impossible thought crept its way into my head. Was it possible they didn't want me with Cam? Because they, like, had feelings for me? Could that even be? I doubted it. I was like a little sister to them. Only, I wasn't.
When I finished getting ready and it was almost time to go, I stopped by Susannah's room to say good-bye. She and my mother were holed up in there sorting through old pictures. Susannah was all ready for bed, even though
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it was still pretty early. She had her pillows propped up around her, and she was wearing one of her silk robes that Mr. Fisher had bought her on a business trip to Hong Kong. It was poppy and cream, and when I got married, I wanted one just like it.