August, the Dunphy Pool
The last week of August, Claire decided summer should end with a party. She invited everyone: the Pritchetts, the Delgados, Mitchell and Cam, the neighbors on the block. And me.
I arrived with a tray of cookies my mother had insisted on preparing ("It's good manners, Leo. You're not going empty-handed") and a knot in my stomach I didn't know was nervousness or excitement.
Alex sat at the edge of the pool, feet dangling, when I arrived. She wore a navy blue swimsuit that fit her well, and her skin was more tanned than in spring. She saw me, smiled, and gestured for me to sit beside her.
"You're late," she said.
"My mom couldn't find the cookies."
"The cookies?" She looked at me with an expression mixing curiosity and amusement. "You brought cookies?"
"Oatmeal raisin. My mom likes making them for parties."
"Your mom is very... traditional."
"I know. But the cookies are good."
She took one from the tray, tried it. Her eyes opened slightly. "They are good," she admitted. "Don't tell her I said so, but they're better than my mom's."
"Your secret's safe with me."
We sat in silence watching Luke and Manny compete to see who could jump highest off the diving board. Phil stood at the grill in his "Dangerous Griller" apron, trying to convince Jay his burgers were "a culinary work of art." Claire and Gloria were in the kitchen, laughing about something we couldn't hear.
"Are you going in?" Alex asked, nodding toward the pool with her chin.
"Maybe later."
"Are you afraid of the water?"
"No. I'm just comfortable here."
She looked at me. In her eyes was a spark I hadn't seen before. It wasn't the analytical spark of someone calculating probabilities, nor the sarcastic spark of someone observing chaos. It was something more mischievous. Something freer.
"Bet," she said.
And she pushed me.
The water hit me with a cold shock that stole my breath. I surfaced, sputtering, hair plastered to my face, cookies floating around me. Alex was at the edge, laughing, legs dangling, with an expression of pure triumph.
"Those were my mom's cookies!" I shouted.
"Now they're the pool's!" she replied.
And then, without thinking, I grabbed her ankle and pulled her in with me.
The water enveloped us both. Alex surfaced, sputtering, hair plastered to her face, with an expression of pure fury. But when she saw I was just as soaked, that the cookies floated around us like little oatmeal boats, her fury turned to laughter.
"I'm going to kill you!" she shouted, splashing me with a fury that wasn't fury at all.
"You started it!" I replied, splashing her back.
And then, without knowing how, we were both in the water, laughing, splashing, chasing each other among the floaties Luke had abandoned. It was a senseless war, a battle going nowhere. And I never wanted it to end.
From the Kitchen, Gloria Watched
Gloria stood at the sliding door leading to the patio, a tray of lemonade in her hands, a smile she couldn't hide. Claire came to her side, following her gaze.
"What are you looking at?" she asked.
"Those two," Gloria said, nodding toward the pool. "Look at them. Fighting like children, laughing as if there's no one else in the world."
"They are children, Gloria. That's what they do."
"That's what they do?" Gloria let out a short laugh. "When I was their age, I also fought with boys in the pool. But I didn't laugh like that. I didn't look at them like that."
Claire looked at her. "How does she look at him?"
"As if the rest of the world didn't exist. As if the water, the sun, everything else were just a stage for the two of them." She paused. "I looked at Javier like that, before everything got complicated."
Claire didn't say anything, but her eyes stayed fixed on the pool, where Alex had just grabbed Leo by the neck and was dunking him with a cry of victory.
"And what do you think?" Gloria asked. "Do you like him? The boy?"
Claire thought for a moment. "He's good. Quiet. Smart. And he looks at Alex as if she were the only person in the room."
"As if she were the only person in the world," Gloria corrected.
"As if she were the only person in the world," Claire repeated. "And that scares me."
"Scares you?"
"Because Alex is... Alex. She's not like Haley. She doesn't fall for just anyone. Doesn't fall for anyone. And if she falls for him, if he breaks her heart..." She paused. "I don't know if she could recover."
Gloria set the lemonade tray on the table. She put a hand on Claire's shoulder.
"That's why we have to protect her," she said. "But we also have to let her live. If we lock her away because we're afraid of love, she'll never learn. Never grow."
"What if she gets hurt?"
"Then we'll be there to help her up. And make the boy regret it." Gloria smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. "In Colombia, we have ways of dealing with men who hurt women. They're not legal ways, but they're effective."
Claire let out a nervous laugh. "Gloria, you can't say that."
"Why not? It's true. Didn't I tell you before? In my family, we protect our own. And Alex is one of us. Leo is too, for now. But if he stops being..." She paused dramatically. "Well, in Colombia we have another saying: 'He who plays with fire gets burned.'"
"That's not a Colombian saying."
"It will be when I use it."
And then, as if nothing had happened, she picked up the lemonade tray and went out to the patio.
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