Read Learning to Swim for Free Online

pathetic was that?
    “So,” he said. “When do you want to begin your swimming lessons?”
    “Um, I don't know,” I heard myself mumble.
    He plunged the toilet a couple more times and then flushed it. “You haven't changed your mind, have you?” he asked, handing me back the plunger and plucking me out of my trance. His hand accidentally touched mine and I honest to God quivered.
    “No,” I managed to blurt out.
    He smiled again. It was that same lopsided smile he had given me earlier that day.
    “How about tonight after the pool closes,” he said. “Nine o'clock?”
    “Are you sure we won't get in trouble?” I asked, hoping Keith didn't get the double meaning.
    “I wouldn't worry about it,” Keith replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at me. “I've snuck into the pool plenty of times.”
    I wanted to say, “That's pretty dangerous for a Boy Scout,” and wink at him.
    But what I actually did say was “Okay,” and then darted out of the bathroom.
    As I walked back to the clubhouse, I tried to ignore the sense of doom that had settled in my chest. Most girls would've been ecstatic to be in my position. Unfortunately for me, I was paying attention to this stupid thing called a conscience. And as much as I had wanted to take swimming lessons without my mother's permission, a little voice in my head was saying:
Just because Barbie is being deceitful doesn't mean you have to be that way too… Two wrongs don't make a right… You're not responsible for Barbie's behavior but you are responsible for your own… blah, blah, blah.
    Therefore, for the sake of my sanity, I had no choice but to come clean. I was going to inform Barbie of my intention to take swim lessons, and hope for the best. But that evening, the minute I walked in the door from work, Barbie greeted me with open arms, which was weird, because we Rogerses had never been keen on PDA. Still, there Barbie was, all dressed up with arms outstretched.
    “Guess what?” she said, giving me a big squeeze. “My friend just called and said they had an extra ticket to the Washington symphony and wanted me to come along. Isn't that sweet?”
    Apparently this mysterious friend didn't have a gender. He had become the proverbial “they” because my mother felt too guilty to lie outright and say “she” when it was really a very married “he.”
    “Emily Mills?” I asked. “The birthday girl?”
    A quick shadow passed over her face. A slight pang of guilt. But apparently not overwhelming enough to inspire a confession.
    “That's right,” she said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek (obviously so discombobulated that she had already forgotten she had just given me a big hug). “Call me on my cell if you need anything.”
    I probably could've blurted out my intent to take a swimming lesson before she slammed the door. In retrospect, I also could've called her on her cell and told her. But instead, I kept mum. The pendulum had once again swung back, and as far as I was concerned, she didn't deserve my honesty. My conscience would just have to deal. In any case, I really didn't have time to dwell. I needed a new bathing suit. And fast.
    Alice and I decided that with less than three hours to spare, the Parkfield Outlet Center was our best bet. Alice wasted no time in speeding over to get me in hergiant green Cadillac. Alice was so tiny and the car was so big that she practically had to reach up just to hold the steering wheel. Her husband had bought it used back in 1988, which meant that it had been on this earth even longer than me. Because it was from Roland, it was (as Alice had said) sentimental transportation. But there was nothing sentimental about the way Alice drove, which can only be described as maniacal.
    After several near crashes and a lot of obscenities, we reached our destination and began rummaging through the racks. I found a couple of bikinis for fifty percent off the sales price and headed into the dressing room with