***
It was a hot Texas summer day and Annika had invited me over to swim at their country club-size backyard pool. When we pranced outside with our bottles of suntan lotion, magazines, iced teas and beach towels, my smile faded when I saw Dev on the diving board.
Hopefully he’ll go away soon.
I suddenly felt self-conscious in my white two-piece which Annika had convinced me looked “really sexy” on me. I felt like an idiot instead.
“Annika, let’s swim tomorrow,” I begged her as I watched Dev emerge above the water from his perfectly executed dive, his long, lean muscles enhanced by his bronze smooth skin.
“Can’t. We’re leaving on our trip tomorrow. Just ignore my stupid brother. The pool’s big enough for all of us.”
Dev swam up to our side of the pool and grabbed the edge, his handsome face in a full-on smirk.
“I can leave if you want, Scarlett. I mean, it is my pool, but I will be happy to vacate it if it makes you more comfortable. The public pool must be closed today?”
“No, it’s fine.” I forced a fake smile ignoring his clear jab at me. I decided he was too much of a jerk to let ruin my day. He pushed off the edge and started swimming a freestyle lap. I couldn’t help notice how nice he looked in his navy blue swim trunks. He was tall and muscled from hours spent on the soccer field every day. The fact that he was attractive made me his rudeness sting even more.
I found a spot in the far corner of the shallow end of the pool to submerge my body, keeping it hidden from Dev. It was becoming curvy and womanly, and I didn’t like the attention it was bringing me when I walked down the street, especially near construction zones. Regardless, I knew that Dev would ever see me as anything but a vapid trailer park kid mooching off his family.
Annika had gone inside to bring us some more ice tea when Dev swam over and stopped for a breath. I thought I would try and show him I could engage in civilized conversation—that I had a brain.
“Annika tells me your family is leaving on a trip tomorrow. Where is it you’re going?” I asked, making sure to annunciate each syllable perfectly.
He wiped the water from his large, dark eyes, and smiled at me incredulously.
“The U.A.E.”
Where was that? I tried to look like I knew what he was talking about, but he didn’t buy it.
“Do you know where that is, Scarlett?” he asked, his smirk returned. I felt my cheeks burn.
“Um, is it in Eastern Europe?”
He laughed at me. “I keep forgetting how most Americans don’t realize there are other places besides Canada and Mexico. No, it’s not in Eastern Europe.”
My initial embarrassment turned into anger.
“It must make you feel good about yourself…pointing out the flaws in others,” I accused him.
For a moment, he looked guilty, like I could see something in him he thought he had hidden. He shook it off.
“It stands for the United Arab Emirates, Scarlett. It’s a small country off of—”
“—Saudi Arabia.” I interrupted. “I know where it is. You must be traveling to Dubai, the capital and home to the world’s tallest building,” I finished like I was in the middle of an oral geography exam.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I guess you’ve heard of it then.”
“The acronym threw me off.”
He chuckled, amused there was something of substance in my empty head.
“I didn’t know Glamour Magazine covered any topics beyond make-up and dating.”
In that moment, I hated him. I turned away and climbed out of the pool, hoping he would notice my hourglass figure and would instantly kick himself for insulting such a goddess.
When he saw I was going, he threw me a stale crumb of an apology.
“Sorry Scarlett. Don’t be so sensitive.”
I grabbed my towel and put on my flip-flops. Annika walked out with two glasses of ice tea just in time to see my dramatic exit. Before rushing past her through the door, I shouted over to the pool in my most dramatic soap opera tone, my chest heaving in pent up rage.
“Dev, do me a favor. Never talk to me again!”
And he didn’t. For years.
But whenever I ate with his family, I could feel his eyes scowling at me, his disapproval like an invisible toxic cloud. For all the years I played at Annika’s house, I tried not to let his silent judgment affect me. I had better things on my mind, like studying for my advanced Algebra class, gossiping and laughing with Annika into the wee hours of the night, and wondering what his mother was cooking for dinner.
Whatever it was, it was certainly better than what I had waiting at home, which oftentimes was a peanut butter sandwich on white. Dad worked long hours as a mechanic and cooking just wasn’t his thing. So we had kind of an unspoken deal: he grabbed a hamburger at Dairy Queen and I ate at Annika’s house. I had a standing invitation.
Sometimes after dinner there would be an “extra” shirt or dress that Mrs. Bashir “accidently bought,” and would I mind taking it home with me to save her the trouble of returning it at the store? The nicest clothes I had were “accidental” purchases like this. It took me a few years to realize that this was her clever way of mothering her daughter’s motherless friend without making me feel like a charity case. Mrs. Bashir was very good to me.
I really miss that about her.