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trains, and together he and my grandfather had built an elaborate, elevated train set atop a giant wooden table that filled more than half of the garage. Green felt-covered hills and valleys rose around an idyllic village complete with a post office and cars.
    Now the table was piled with cardboard boxes of who knew what—clothes or baby crap, perhaps. I wondered if my old Barbies were hiding in there, with their botched haircuts and chewed-up feet. My appetite for those minuscule hunks of malleable plastic had been insatiable. By the time I had been done with a Barbie, she was hairless and crippled.
    A bit wobbly at first, I pedaled past Mrs. Mayfield’s house, checking for the J ESUS L OVES Y OU flag waving from her front porch. Still there. I made a right at the corner. There was poor, tortured Nancy Fink’s house—her yard was crisscrossed with scraps of missing grass, the skid mark scars left from the giant trucks of the jackass jocks who tormented her at school. I plunged down the hill that led to the pool and saw the lot filled with cars I recognized. Here we go.
    â€œCoach Ruth, Coach Ruth!”
    I pulled into the bike rack to a flurry of six- and seven-year-olds chanting my name. They burst from the picnic area like puppies—their mouths ringed in red, pink, and blue popsicle smear.
    â€œCoach Ruth!” Tabitha exclaimed in a burst of sugar-fueled excitement. Oh Tabitha. Sweet, headed-for-teen-pregnancy Tabitha. Chubby, with an overbite that could shade a trailer, Tabitha always wore pink lipstick and jutted her hips just so when talking to any of the male lifeguards—especially David. She was six.
    â€œHi, sweetie,” I said as she hugged my knees. I patted her blond head and uttered a silent prayer that her parents would allow birth control when the time came. Tyler brought up the rear of the pack of ankle-biters. Round and solid, he was like a baby manatee when he swam.
    â€œHi, Ty.”
    He blushed. “Hi, Coach Ruth.”
    â€œHey, Coach Ruth!” screeched Crystal as she made a beeline for me. All angles and sinuous muscle, she reminded me of a panther. Crystal may have been the first kid in her family to know how to swim in a body of water that did not come with the requisite rope swing. Her father Travis showed up at every swim meet in his cutoffs and T-shirts advertising his car shop with his long mullet pulled into a shoulder blade–skimming braid. He was her biggest fan, standing nervously by the side of the pool when she raced and cheering her on like she was part of the Indy 500.
    â€œHey, girly.” I smiled at her. She smiled back at me and revealed pink gums. Three of her front teeth were missing.
    â€œLook at those missing teeth!”
    â€œI know, I lost ’em all this week,” she explained.
    â€œYou must be rich!”
    â€œI am,” she whispered solemnly.
    David was perched on top of one of the picnic tables talking to Julie. She was probably our best swimmer and had placed in the top ten for her age group in the city last year. That had been her last summer before high school, though, and I could tell just by looking at her that things had changed. Gone was the sweet, slightly nerdy eighth-grader who was obsessed with Twilight . In its place stood a daisy dukes–wearing temptress—her eyes ringed with black and a brand-new nose ring twinkling in the sun.
    â€œHey, Julie,” I said as I arrived at the table. She looked at me sideways with a blank stare for a second or two. Then it registered.
    â€œHoly sh—— cow, Coach Ruth!” She stared, dumbfounded. “You lost like a million pounds!”
    â€œUm, wow. Thanks. I didn’t realize I had a million pounds to lose.”
    â€œOh no, no. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you’re like, way skinny now.”
    â€œYeah, sure that’s what you meant,” I teased.
    â€œNo, really! I swear—”
    â€œOkay,