Starting over in a new town after losing my mom was hard enough. I never expected that one afternoon by a swimming pool would change the way I saw myself forever.
The overhead light in my new bedroom flickered as it always did at around eight. I sat cross-legged on the carpet with three thrift-store swimsuits spread out in front of me like a bad multiple-choice test.
The walls were still bare because I hadn’t bothered to hang anything since we moved. We came here after Mom died. Two years ago, almost to the day, I completely shut down. Because of the constant stress, I gained weight.
Then my dad sold our house, and we moved to another town.
We came here after Mom died.
My room still looked as if I were just passing through.
I picked up the least awful swimsuit, a faded navy one with a little tear near the strap that I’d stitched up myself. It smelled of someone else’s laundry detergent, which was pretty much the story of my whole wardrobe now.
My phone buzzed on the dresser. Class group chat.
Brittany, my classmate and the most popular girl in school, had started picking on me during my first week there.
At my new school, my classmates constantly made fun of me.
I picked up the least awful swimsuit.
Brittany had posted, “Pool party dress code: cute swimsuits ONLY. If you can’t afford one, maybe sit this out.”
Three laughing emojis appeared underneath from her friends.
My name wasn’t in the message, but everyone knew.
I dropped the phone facedown.
For a second, I remembered Ronald smiling at me by my locker a few weeks earlier.
Three laughing emojis appeared.
***
Ronald was the star quarterback. He was handsome, tall, and every girl had a crush on him, including Brittany.
He’d said something about my chemistry notebook, and I’d mumbled a thank-you and walked away. It didn’t mean anything. Guys like him didn’t mean anything by things like that.
***
I heard the front door open downstairs, followed by my dad’s tired footsteps in the hall.
It didn’t mean anything.
***
Dad worked the warehouse shift until four, then drove straight to the diner to close.
I don’t think I’d seen him sit down for longer than 10 minutes since Mom died.
***
Dad knocked once on my doorframe.
“Hey, kiddo. I’m heading back out.”
“Okay, Dad.”
I don’t think I’d seen him sit down for longer than 10 minutes.
“Listen, I’ve been putting a little aside. Nothing fancy. We’ll talk in the morning before you go, alright?”
“Dad, you didn’t have to.”
“It’s not much, just… catch me at breakfast.”
He looked so tired. His shoulders were doing that slumped thing they did when he thought I wasn’t watching. His work shirt still had a coffee stain from the morning.
“Dad, you didn’t have to.”
It didn’t mean anything.
“Are you eating dinner?” I asked.
“I’ll grab something at the diner.”
“You always say that.”
“And I always do.”
I gave him a look. He gave me one back.
“Bella, listen. About tomorrow. Go to the party.”
“Dad.”
“I mean it. These are the last moments. You don’t get them back.”
“You always say that.”
“You don’t know what it’s like there,” I told him.
“I know more than you think. Go anyway.”
Dad tapped the doorframe twice, the way he always did, and left.
I heard the front door click shut, and then the old car engine coughed awake in the driveway.
“I know more than you think.”
***
I picked up the framed photo on my nightstand. My mom, laughing at something off-camera, was holding a coffee cup that read WORLD’S OKAYEST MOM. She’d bought it as a joke.
What would you do?” I whispered.
She didn’t answer.
I looked at the swimsuit on the floor, then back at her face, and wondered if walking into that pool party would finally break me or free me.
She didn’t answer.
***
The following morning, I found my dad at the kitchen table, hunched over a plate of eggs he probably wasn’t going to finish. The overhead light flickered as it always did, and his warehouse shirt was already tucked in; his boots were by the door.
“I don’t want to go,” I said, dropping into the seat across from him.
He looked up slowly. “Bella, come on.”
“Dad, you don’t get it. Brittany’s going to be there. Her whole crew.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“So?” Dad asked.
“So she’s going to say something. She always does.”
He put his fork down and rubbed his eyes. Dad looked extra tired lately, which made my chest hurt just watching him.
“Sweetheart, these are the last moments of your high school life. You don’t get them back. So don’t pay attention to anyone else.”
“I don’t want them back,” I muttered.
“Yes, you do. You just don’t know it yet.”
“She always does.”
I picked at a chip in the table.
***
I’d spent two years being tortured by Brittany. Two years of her always making comments like:
“Oh, look, the local frog is here,” or “Maybe next time the thrift store will actually have rags in your size!”
***
“Remember when I told you Brittany called me a frog?” I asked.
“I remember.”
“It got worse after I talked to that guy, Ronald, by my locker. Like, way worse. I don’t even know why.”
I’d spent two years being tortured.
Dad shrugged.
“Sweetheart, these are the last moments of your high school life. You don’t get them back. So don’t pay attention to anyone else.”
“I don’t want them back,” I muttered.
“Yes, you do. You just don’t know it yet.”
“She always does.”
I picked at a chip in the table.
***
I’d spent two years being tortured by Brittany. Two years of her always making comments like:
“Oh, look, the local frog is here,” or “Maybe next time the thrift store will actually have rags in your size!”
***
“Remember when I told you Brittany called me a frog?” I asked.
“I remember.”
“It got worse after I talked to that guy, Ronald, by my locker. Like, way worse. I don’t even know why.”
I’d spent two years being tortured.
Dad shrugged.
“Some people don’t need a reason.”
“Maybe.”
But it had always bugged me. One conversation, 30 seconds of a boy asking if I’d dropped a pen, and suddenly my school rival‘s comments had teeth.
“Anyway,” I said, “I’m not going.”
Dad reached into his back pocket and slid a small envelope across the table. It wasn’t sealed. I could see the corner of a $20 bill peeking out.
“Some people don’t need a reason.”
“What’s this?” I asked.
“For a swimsuit. A new one. Something you actually like.”
Most of my “new” clothes came from thrift stores.
“Dad, no.”
“Bella.”
“You worked doubles for this!”
“I worked doubles so my kid could have a decent last summer.” His voice cracked a little at the end, and he cleared his throat. “Take it.”
“You worked doubles for this!”
I stared at the envelope.
I thought about Mom and how she used to pick out my back-to-school clothes every August, always something bright because she said I looked good in colors.
“The mall doesn’t open until 10,” I said quietly. “I’ll be at the pool party by then.”
Dad glanced at the clock, and his face fell. “Oh.”
“It’s okay. I have the old one.”
“I’ll be at the pool party by then.”
“Bella, I’m sorry. I thought you had time,” Dad said.
“Dad, it’s fine. Really.”
We sat there for a second. I put the envelope back into his hand and folded his fingers over it.
“Save it for something else,” I told him.
“Bella…”
“I mean it. I’ll wear the old one. Nobody’s looking at me, anyway.”
“I thought you had time.”
Dad gave me that look then, the one he used to give Mom when she was being stubborn. Half exasperated, half something softer.
“Somebody’s looking at you,” he said. “You just don’t see it yet.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
I stood up and grabbed my bag off the counter. The old swimsuit was already inside, rolled up next to a towel that had been washed so many times it felt like paper.
“Somebody’s looking at you.”
“You’ll try?” he asked.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all I want.”
I zipped the bag shut. Dad got up, kissed the top of my head the way he used to when I was little, and headed for the door with his car keys in his hand.
I stood in that quiet kitchen for a long time, holding a bag that suddenly felt heavier than it should have, not knowing that the pool party was about to change everything I believed about myself.