The Best Possible Answer(26)

I’m lying to Sammie and I’m lying to myself.

I’m totally into him.

But denying it is my only choice. I mean, it’s the kind thing, right? I refuse to be the one to break Sammie’s heart. And there’s no point in getting in her way.

My mind is distracted by this new, stupid complication, and I have to do everything to breathe my way through the week, not to let any more Episodes happen. I get through finals, somehow. Grades won’t be posted until next week, but I get a real day off today, the kind that my mom has wanted for me since that day I fell off my bike. I do have to hang out with Mila, though. It’s Sunday, but my mom has a meeting with her lawyer about the separation stuff. Since I don’t have to work, Sammie and I decide to take Mila down to the pool. Except for my one panic-driven immersion, I haven’t really been in the water yet, not for, like, a relaxing, fun summer swim.

We arrive at noon, and the pool is swarming with families and their kids.

“It’s crazy busy again,” I say. “Don’t tell me it’s going to be like this the rest of the summer.”

“Not really,” Sammie says. “We’ll try to get mostly weekday shifts, when the kids are all at camp.”

We leave our stuff in the office locker and head to the water. Sammie’s wearing her very small bikini—so small, in fact, that even Mila is pointing and mouthing at me: I can see her butt. I ignore her.

Before we get in, Sammie asks me to take some photos of her for Instagram. She has me do this by the deep end, so that she’s in direct view of Evan, who’s on duty on the lifeguard chair.

“I want to look like this.” Before she hands me her phone, she flashes it in my face to show me a black-and-white photo of Marilyn Monroe sitting on the edge of an empty pool; her feet dangle in the water, and her arms stretch behind her, so that her breasts are perky and high.

“Well, don’t we all?”

“I mean, I’m going to sit like this, and I’m not going to look at the camera. I’m going to look up above your head, so that it looks like I’m flirting with someone, like she is. Just see if you can get the angle right.”

“Okay.” I take the phone from her and switch it to the camera mode. “I’ll try.” Sammie takes her pose, legs stretched, back arched, chin angled up. I crouch down and take a few shots. Mila’s leaning against my back, looking over my shoulder—right at Evan, of course—as I take the pics. He’s wearing mirrored sunglasses, though, so it’s hard to tell if he’s actually even looking at her.

“You look pretty, Sammie,” Mila says.

Sammie does look pretty—I mean she always looks pretty—and I know that whatever photo I take of her will be beautiful. A few kids, maybe middle schoolers, decide to have a cannonball contest right next to our photo shoot. It’s completely on purpose, and I can’t help but laugh. They’re about to jump in, when Sammie yells at them. “Hey, can you move your contest to the other side of the deck?”

They giggle at her mischievously, but they don’t argue.

Once they’re gone, I take a few more shots and then show her. “There are a bunch of kids in the background.”

She looks at the phone and then hands it back to me. “I don’t care about that. But can you, like, angle it so my double chin isn’t showing?”

I try not to groan, but I can’t help it. First of all, she doesn’t have a double chin. And I wish she wouldn’t say that stuff around Mila. The kid is completely confident and sure of herself, and I want her to stay that way. “It’s hot out here, Sammie,” I grumble. “I just want to go in the water.”

“Just a few more shots. Please?”

“Can I try?” Mila asks. “I have a really good eye for pictures. I watch TV, like, all day.”

“It’s sad but true,” I say. “Both that she watches TV all day and that she’s a much better photographer than me.” When I was Mila’s age, my parents were on me to spend all my extra time reading, but Mila gets to do whatever she wants in a way I never did.

“Sure,” Sammie says. “Go for it.”

I hand Mila the phone, and she gets this very adult look on her face. She’s focused and determined, full of intent. She chooses one angle, then shakes her head and tries another one. She takes about ten photos.

“Employing children now?” Evan yells from his perch. “Aren’t there laws against that?”

My stomach goes hollow with the sight of him, but thankfully he doesn’t look at me.

“Very funny,” Sammie says, and she flips her hair.

Mila hands Sammie her phone. “These should be good,” she says.

Sammie scrolls through the photos and laughs. “These are perfect, Mila. Thank you! I’m going to hire you as my official photographer.”

Mila’s beaming with the compliment.

“Can we go in now?” I ask.

“Yes, you can go in now,” Sammie says before she heads back to the office to put her phone away.

Mila and I jump in, finally. It feels perfect. Cold. Fresh. Mila swims over to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “Give me a ride!” she yells.

I laugh and pretend to be a magical dolphin for her. She even makes me squeal.

This is exactly what I needed. To be laughing. To be submerged and silly and separated from the incessant reminders of the past six months, how everything’s changed. I’m here with Mila, and she hasn’t changed. Not yet. She still loves me as much as she did before I messed everything up.