Every Summer After(44)

“Hello?”

“Percy, it’s Mason.” My eyes skipped to Sam’s.

“Hey. I didn’t think you woke up this early,” I replied as Sam turned and busied himself with the toaster. There was no privacy on the main floor of the cottage, and Sam was going to hear every word.

“It’s your swim today, right? I wanted to wish you good luck.” Mason called the cottage to talk about once a week. If he hadn’t, I think I would have forgotten about him almost entirely, the same way I forgot about nearly everything to do with my life back in the city when I was at the lake.

“It is, thanks. It’s looking a little gray outside,” I said, peering out the window, “but it doesn’t seem like there’s wind, so I should be good.”

“Who was that who answered the phone?”

“Oh, that’s Sam.” Sam glanced over his shoulder. I’d mentioned him to Mason before, and he knew that we were friends—I just hadn’t told him Sam and I were best friends or that I was harboring a not-insignificant crush on him. “He’s spotting me while I swim, remember?” Sam pointed to himself like, Who me? and I bit back a laugh.

“He’s there early.” It wasn’t an accusation. Mason was too sure of himself for jealousy.

“Yeah.” I laughed nervously. “He wanted to make sure I got out of bed. Busy night last night.”

“Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to check in before your swim. And”—he cleared his throat—“to tell you that I miss you. I can’t wait to see you when you come back. I want to hold you, Percy.” I watched Sam smear cream cheese on a bagel. His forearms were thick and covered in fine, fair hair that glowed in the sun. He looked big in our small kitchen. There wasn’t a hint left of the gawky thirteen-year-old boy I met three years ago.

“Me too,” I replied, feeling guilty for the lie as it left my mouth. I hadn’t really missed Mason at all.

When I hung up, Sam handed me the bagel on a plate.

I thanked him and sat on a stool chewing while he prepared one for himself. When he was done, he stood on the other side of the counter and took a bite out of his breakfast, watching me while he ate.

“Was that the famous Buckley?” he asked, his mouth full. I gave him a flat look.

“Mason.”

“Does he call a lot?”

I took a big bite of my bagel to stall. “Every week,” I said after a minute. “It’s probably good he does, otherwise I might forget he exists.”

Sam stopped midchew, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“What’s with the face?” I asked.

He swallowed and then cleared his throat before answering. “Nothing. It just doesn’t sound like you’re that into him.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him—he’s been sweet.”

“Good, Percy. He should be,” he said with a hint of exasperation.

“I know. That’s not the issue.” I looked down at my half-eaten bagel. “I told you before—I like someone else more.”

“The same guy you emailed about?” Sam asked quietly as I moved sesame seeds scattered on my plate with my finger. “Percy?”

“Yep, same one,” I replied without looking up.

“Does he know?” I looked up at Sam. I couldn’t tell if he knew we were talking about him. His expression was impassive.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “He can be hard to read.”

We finished breakfast in silence, and then I changed into a racer-back swimsuit Mom had bought. She had decided swimming was the perfect hobby and wanted me to try out for the swim team in the fall. I was considering it.

You couldn’t call it a nice day—it was muggy and overcast, but at least the lake was flat.

“You seem a lot less antsy today than you did last year,” I said as we stepped onto the Floreks’ dock.

“I actually had nightmares about it for a full week before you did that swim,” he said. “I thought you were going to drown and that I wouldn’t be able to save you. Now I know you can do it without breaking a sweat.” He kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head, leaving both on the dock. He rolled his shoulders in backward circles a few times.

“And now you’ve got all that,” I said, motioning at his bare torso, the shadows playing off the ridges of his chest and stomach. He chuckled.

“I’ll do a couple of warm-up laps with you, and then we’ll head out?”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

Sometime while we were at the water, Sue and Charlie had come out onto the deck with coffees. I waved at them from the water while Sam got the boat ready. And then, giving each other a thumbs-up, we set off.

It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as hard as last summer, either. I didn’t need to switch strokes or slow down—I kept a steady, rhythmic pace. My legs were tired but didn’t feel as though they were going to drag me to the bottom of the lake with their weight, and my shoulders ached but the pain didn’t consume me. When I reached the shore, I sat in the shallow water catching my breath while Sam pulled the boat up on the beach.

“Seven minutes faster than last year!” he announced, hopping out of the boat, dropping a cooler bag on the sand, and sitting in the water beside me, his skin slick with sweat. “I think your mom’s right; you should join the swim team. You didn’t even stop to catch your breath!”