The Best Possible Answer Read online

  “Sure. On your days off,” he says. “And during breaks, if you want.”

  Our lunch break isn’t for another three hours, so that doesn’t really help. It’s only getting hotter by the minute. I guess the perks of semifree membership are supposed to keep us satisfied, but by midmorning, I’m sweating so hard, I’m ready to quit and tell my mom that she was right, that this is too much for me, that I’d rather spend all summer with Mila than sit in the heat and deal with crabby residents who yell at us when we can’t fully explain why their passes from last summer are invalid or their whiny kids who cry because the snack bar doesn’t carry Kit Kats.

  “Forget inertia,” I say to Sammie. “Didn’t you promise me ‘awesome’?”

  Sammie rolls her eyes.

  But then, something interesting happens. Not awesome. But interesting. Entertaining, at the very least.

  The Nut arrives.

  There he stands—the man who lives a few floors below me with his nervous Chihuahua and self-portraits—in front of us, chewing gum, snapping it loudly. When I ask him to sign a form sent from the association for all first-time swimmers, he grumbles at me. “I gotta use a black pen? Goddamn Mercury retrograde—it’s a bitch.”

  After we check his ID and finish scanning him in, Sammie reads his form. “Harold Joseph Cox?” she says. “That cannot be his real name. Let’s hope he doesn’t ever go by Harry.”

  I can’t help but giggle. “Not much better than ‘the Nut.’ Poor guy. That is quite unfortunate.”

  “I’m a nut, I’m a nut, a nut, nut, nut,” she sings under her breath.

  “Stop,” I say. “Be nice.”

  We lean over the counter to watch him. He’s bone-thin, and his skin is like leather. He throws his towel onto an empty chair, dives headfirst into the deep end, and swims the length of the pool underwater until his bald head pops up in the far shallow end. Then he jumps out of the water, grabs his towel, and whisks right past us without saying good-bye or anything.

  “Well, that was a short swim,” I say.

  Sammie laughs.

  And that’s that.

  Or so we think.

  Because then twenty minutes later, he comes back. He’s completely dry and in a new bathing suit—a red one in place of the black one before.

  He walks to the edge of the pool, dives in, swims just like he did before, pops out of the water, grabs his towel, and leaves.

  “Um. Okay, freak,” Sammie says.

  Another half hour goes by, and he appears, dry and in another new bathing suit—this one blue. We scan his card. He dives in. He swims. He leaves.

  “That’s weird, right?” Sammie asks.

  “Yeah. That’s weird.”

  He repeats this routine three more times before our break at 1:00 P.M.

  Arrives in a new, dry bathing suit (yellow). Dives in. Leaves.

  Arrives in another new, dry bathing suit (white). Dives in. Leaves.

  Six times in two hours.

  “What the hell?” Sammie says. “How many bathing suits does he own?”

  Virgo reminds us to take our break. The pool is too packed to swim and we’re starving, so we run down the street to Rocket Subs, where we split a twelve-inch veggie with extra pickles. We could easily have gone up to either of our apartments for leftovers, but we want some semblance of a summer.

  When we get back an hour later, Virgo and Vanessa are sitting in for us at the front desk, playing with their phones. It’s calmed down. There’s no line and a lot of the families have left for the afternoon.

  “You’re back!” Virgo says. He looks straight at me. “Your friend came looking for you.”

  “Our friend?” Sammie asks.

  “Harold Cox?” Virgo reads the log. “The guy who was here like ten times this morning?”

  “Six,” I say.

  Virgo and Vanessa stand up to give us our chairs back.

  “I didn’t know you were counting.”

  “Yeah, well,” Vanessa says before she leaves us to relieve Evan from his chair. “He was here. He got in line, and we were about to scan his card, but when he saw it was us, he turned around and went back upstairs.”

  “It’s like he’s waiting for you guys,” Virgo says. “Like he’s just here for you.”

  “Shut up. Gross!” Sammie says. “No thanks. There’s no way I want the Nut waiting for us.”

  Evan approaches from the deck. “The Nut? Who are you talking about?”

  “You know. Your friend,” Virgo says. “Mr. Harry Cox.”

  I can’t help but laugh. I mean, it is a terrible name.

  “Professor Cox is a great guy,” Evan says earnestly.

  “Professor Cox?” Sammie asks.

  “He teaches psychology at St. Mary’s. I met him here last year and we talked for hours. He’s fascinating. Won’t tell you a thing about himself, but he’ll discuss the effect of neurochemistry on interpersonal relationships, ideas like love maps and the triangular theory of love for hours and hours, if you have time. I don’t even need another psych class on my schedule after finishing 101, but I signed up for social psychology with him anyway in the fall.”

  “The triangular theory of love?” I ask.

  “Intimacy, passion, and commitment,” Evan recites. “The three essential components of love, according to one theorist.”

  “What was up with his little parade of Speedos this morning?” Sammie asks.

  “I don’t know. I saw that. And he didn’t say a word to me all morning. It was like he didn’t remember me at all,” Evan says. “Why do you call him ‘the Nut’?”

  “It’s what Vivi’s little sister calls him,” Sammie says, and then she makes me tell them the story about the pistachios, and we sing two verses and the chorus of the “I’m a Nut” song.

  He gives us a guess you had to be there look, and I suddenly feel like a child for making fun of someone who probably suffers with issues. “Sorry,” I say finally. “Do you think he has a mental disorder?”

  “Honestly, I don’t think so,” Evan says. “He’s incredibly intelligent. Sure, he exhibits some behaviors, as he himself might describe, that fall outside of the normative, but he can’t help it. It’s probably his own little game, some experiment he’s conducting to test our reactions. He’s probably the one doing the observing.”

  God, I like Evan. Besides the hotness factor, I like how he talks, how he thinks. I like that he’s smart and sharp and—I don’t know—open to possibility.

  Evan’s smiling. “Hey, you guys. I just thought of something. Do you want to play a game?”

  “Oh no,” Virgo says. “Not a game.”

  Sammie explains. “Each summer involves some kind of game.”

  “Usually it’s just a bet,” Evan says. “Like how many banana hammocks in one day. Or how long until a kid throws up.”

  “Banana hammocks?” I ask.

  “Speedos,” Sammie explains.

  “Nothing too serious,” Evan insists. “No one will get hurt or anything like that.”

  “Well, except last summer,” Virgo says, “someone”—he looks at Evan—“stole the stamp from Rocket Subs and a bunch of those ‘Buy eight, eat one free’ cards. They tallied how many free subs they could get before the owner realized and got a new stamp.”

  “Sixteen days, twenty-two subs,” Evan says with pride.

  “Yeah, and that didn’t end well,” Virgo says. “Jasmine Picard almost got fired for that little escapade, since she was the one in charge. And now you’re on my watch.”

  “Walk away if you’re not interested,” Evan says. “Bennett pool games are a long-standing tradition, one that cannot be stalled by one minor unfortunate conclusion.”

  Virgo takes his advice and walks away.

  Evan opens a locker on the wall behind us, pulls out his wallet, and then jumps up and sits on the counter, right next to me. “Are you betting girls?”

  His face is lit with excitement, and I answer quickly. “Depends,” I say. “I could be a
betting girl.”

  Something about him strikes something in me—maybe it’s the lame memory of my fifteen seconds in heaven—but I instantly regret my response. I am not a betting girl. I am a play-by-the-rules, don’t-ever-get-in-trouble girl. I mean, I used to be. Once should have been enough to teach me a good lesson.

  And then Sammie kicks me under the counter.

  “Ouch.”

  I look at her. He’s mine, her eyes say.

  She’s into him. I hadn’t realized. Of course. Why wouldn’t she be? He’s cute. He’s smart. He’s funny.

  My friendship with Sammie matters more than anything, except Mila. And anyway, the last thing I need right now is the distraction of a cute, smart, and funny guy. Her kick forces me to recall my promise—to myself, to my family—to keep it all together.

  But before I can back out, Evan smiles at me and says, “Excellent.” And then he turns to Sammie. “What about you? Play with us?”

  She pulls out her wallet, even though I know money’s tight for her. “Of course I’m in. What are we betting on?”

  “Simple. What time he’ll come back. Two bucks each. The one closest to the real time wins the pot.” He puts his money on the counter. “But we need to round up more players.”

  Evan leaves us to invite the other guards to join the pot, and Sammie collapses onto the counter.

  “Why are you kicking me? Do you like him?”

  “Ugh,” she mumbles. “It doesn’t matter. It’s obvious he’s into you.”

  “No thanks,” I say, lying to myself and to her. “You know I’ve sworn off guys forever.”

  She lifts her head. “Oh come on, Vivi, forever? Just because of one minor incident?”

  “No,” I remind her. “Just because of one major scandal involving one major jerkwad who ruined my reputation for life.”

  “What reputation? Here at Bennett Tower Pool, there is no scandal. You have no reputation. No one here knows anything about you.”

  “Seriously. You should totally go for Evan,” I say.

  “But—”

  “Really. I’m not interested. At all. He’s all yours. I just want to take it easy this summer, use my time to get back on track in school, and enjoy not knowing anyone.”

  “Excellent.” She leans over the counter and kisses me on the cheek. “Let the flirting commence.”

  Evan returns to the counter. “We’ve got a pretty decent pot going. Virgo’s sitting out, but everyone else is in.”

  “I’m in, too,” I say, and I pull the money from my wallet. “Two bucks each, right?”

  “Yes!” Evan yells. “She’s in!”

  And so it begins.

  This silly game and our wait for Professor Cox to return.

  The job isn’t quite awesome yet, but it’s interesting, at the very least. Much better than the McDonald’s alternative. I’m surrounded by people who aren’t judging me on my past or scrutinizing my future life goals.

  Evan puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes tight. “We have a game!”

  His hand rests there for a good long moment. I don’t want him to let go.

  Sammie kicks me again.

  I shrug off Evan’s hand and try to send a psychic message back: He’s all yours. I don’t want any more trouble. I want to do right by you and everyone else in my life. I just want to be good again.

  College Admissions Tip #3

  College admissions boards seek well-rounded students who show an investment in a sport or an activity where you have learned something, developed a skill, and perhaps even contributed to the group in new and meaningful ways.

  I win the first round after guessing that Professor Cox will return in twenty-nine minutes, which is only one minute off from when he actually returns. I win eight bucks, and Evan sends me the happiest smile. “Aren’t you glad you decided to play?”

  I don’t answer. I refuse to flirt back.

  Marquis and Vanessa join in on the second round, and Marquis wins. Thirty-four minutes, three minutes off. He wins fourteen bucks. The others are down four.

  Evan finally throws Sammie a thumbs-up from his post on deck when Professor Cox arrives thirty-one minutes later, which she guesses right on the dot.

  Professor Cox repeats his pool-dip routine six times after that.

  Just as the sun starts to duck behind the Bennett Tower, we’ve each won one round, except for Evan and Sammie, who have both won two. Of course, she’s incredibly pleased.

  Each time Professor Cox comes down, he’s in a new bathing suit.

  Once, while Evan is hanging out in the office, he attempts conversation with him—“Hey, Professor Cox, are you teaching summer classes?”—but Professor Cox ignores him.

  Each time, there’s no eye contact, no interaction.

  But then, on what is the twelfth time that day (twenty-eight minutes, my win), Professor Cox talks to us.

  Well, not really to us, more like to himself, or to no one in particular.

  That seems to break the seal on his weirdness. I swear I hear him say “Didya ever eat a wallaby? Tasty little suckers.” And then he breaks into a hoarse fit of hysterics, his bony, bare shoulders pumping up and down.

  Evan isn’t here to hear it, and I’m wondering about all those fascinating conversations he had with him last year.

  Professor Cox does his thing and then leaves.

  Sammie takes two more dollars from her wad of cash and slams it on the counter. “I say twenty-eight minutes until he returns.”

  Our shift ends at four, but we stay so that we can continue playing. I don’t want the stupid game to end, and I don’t want to work at McDonald’s. I want to be here, sweating in this cabana/office, next to my best friend, placing stupid bets on an odd man. It’s going to be a long, hot summer, but I like feeling like I belong to a group of people who accept me just as I am, even if they don’t really know me at all.

  * * *

  “Only eighteen minutes until closing,” Vanessa says. “There’s no way he’s coming down again.”

  “Oh, he’s coming,” Evan says.”Put your money down, people! The final bet of the day is about to close!”

  The pool has pretty much cleared out. It’s near 7:00 P.M. and most of the families are gone, having showered and packed up. All the lifeguards, except for Virgo, who’s on duty in his chair, are gathered around us in the office.

  “He’s not coming!” Vanessa laughs. “Marquis, do you really think he’s coming?”

  “I doubt it, but I don’t want to give up hope, either. I’ll say twelve minutes.”

  “I call sixteen minutes,” Virgo yells from the deck. He’s finally succumbed to the lure of the game. “He’ll be here!”

  “I’m with Virgo,” I say. “He’s going to be here. Put down fourteen minutes for me. But I’m raising the stakes. I’m putting in ten.”

  Evan laughs. “Baller! Ten bucks! I’m in!”

  Vanessa steps back. “I need the money for gas. I’m out.”

  Marquis throws a ten-dollar bill into the pile. “I’m in.”

  “Ten?” Sammie snaps a sharp look at me. “I can’t do ten—” Sammie’s family struggles even more with money than mine. Her mom inherited their apartment from her family, but that was before Sammie’s dad died. Sammie’s mom, a nurse, is always taking extra shifts to make ends meet.

  “You don’t have to place a bet,” I whisper. “Vanessa’s out. You can sit this one out, too.”

  She looks at Evan, and then takes a deep breath. “Fine.”

  “What if he doesn’t show up?” Vanessa asks.

  “We all get our money back,” Evan says.

  “Then I hope he doesn’t show up,” Sammie whispers to me.

  There are only fifteen minutes to go.

  * * *

  Sammie is the winner.

  At nine minutes before closing, Professor Cox arrives, this time wearing a thick black robe.

  “Oh, thank God,” Sammie mutters under her breath.

  I take Professor Cox�
��s ID card and scan him in.

  He signs his name.

  I wait for him to say something.

  But he doesn’t.

  He just walks in.

  Evan walks over to the pool to test the pH of the water. Sammie and I step out of our little room to watch. We wait for Professor Cox to throw off his robe. To walk down to the deep end. To dive in. To do his thing.

  But instead, he heads to the shallow end.

  He takes off his robe and jumps in.

  But this time it’s feet first.

  And this time it’s delicate, deliberate, slow.

  His back is to Virgo, and he’s hunched over, like he’s holding his stomach.

  I can see the splashing, and I can hear some strange moaning, but I can’t really figure out what it is.

  Then, I hear it—the barking and yelping—and Virgo is jumping out of his chair, running toward Professor Cox. “Hey! No dogs! Come out of the pool, please! Now!”

  It’s Professor Cox’s Chihuahua, paddling around in dog-size goggles and red swimming trunks that match Professor Cox’s.

  At first, Professor Cox ignores Virgo, just lets his Chihuahua swim into the deep end, past the few remaining old women, who start yelping right along with the dog.

  Evan drops his pH gear and runs over. He’s crouching down and yelling out, but Professor Cox doesn’t respond.

  Finally, Professor Cox catches the dog, climbs out without saying a word to either Virgo or Evan. He throws on his robe and treks past us and back upstairs, that poor creature dripping and shivering under his arm.

  After they calm the old ladies and clear out the pool for final closing, Evan and Virgo come back to the office.

  “Nice going, Viviana.” Evan gives me a very serious look. “First day on the job and you’re already letting wild animals into the water.”

  My heart drops. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. Am I in trouble?” I don’t want to be fired on my very first day. My mom would kill me.

  “No.” Virgo laughs. “You’re not in trouble.”

  Evan’s face changes to a smile. “Come on. I was just kidding.”

  I feel bad, though. I like making trouble, but I don’t like being in trouble. “Okay, but really, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll pay better attention next time.”