Love, Hate & Other Filters(20)

“So should we get started with, you know, the lesson?” I stumble over my words, wondering if he meant to add he wished he lived here with her. “The sooner we get started, the sooner it’s over.”

“Okaaayy.” Phil scrunches his eyebrows together

He leads the way to a larger clearing. As we emerge from the narrow path between the trees, a perfectly round, still pond magically appears. The sun glistens off the water. The truly enchanting part is that there’s a small carpet of sand and a folded lawn chair.

“Don’t tell me. This is your beach.”

“I’m pretty proud of it. I lugged a few wheelbarrows of sand here from that playground they’re building off of Maiden Lane.”

“You stole sand from little kids.”

“For a good cause.”

“Meaning you,” I tease.

“Well, yeah, but also teaching you how to swim.” Phil walks over to the beach and lofts the plaid blanket in the air; it billows out as he brings it to rest on the sand. I kick off my shoes and settle on my back. The sun warms my skin.

He stands over me and takes off his shirt, momentarily blocking my sun. I stare up at him, happy to be wearing sunglasses so he can’t see my eyes grow wide.

“Is it … the water … clean?” I ask, not moving. I’m still covered up. I don’t know how I can face him in a bikini.

“It’s spring fed, so it’s relatively clean. I wouldn’t drink it, but it’s not all gross and leech infested … at least I don’t think it is.” He smirks and runs into the pond with a splash, diving forward and swimming to the middle until the water is up to his chin. Then he raises his hands to show he’s standing. “See, this is deep as it gets.”

“That’s still over my head.”

“C’mon. The water’s pretty nice, actually.”

I stand up. Phil’s hands fall beneath the surface. He treads water, staring at me.

“Can you turn around? I’m self-conscious.”

Phil does as I ask, but before he turns his face away, I catch a glimpse of that dimple emerging from his smirk.

I drop my dress on the blanket, and every inch of my exposed skin blazes red. I sprint into the water for relief.

“It’s freezing.” I’m in three and a half feet of cold water, goosebumps popping up all over my skin. “I thought you said it was nice in here.”

Phil swims up alongside me. “You’ll get used to it. You need to dunk your entire body in. You’ll see.”

“As in, put my head under? As in, get my hair wet?”

“Getting wet is pretty much a requirement if you’re going to learn to swim. I forgot I have something for you.” Phil swims back to the beach. Thin rivulets of water stream down his back and arms. He plucks the mystery gift from his backpack and wades back toward me. I hope it’s an inhaler because I can’t quite breathe.

“Goggles,” he says, handing them to me. “You wear contacts, right? I thought this would make it easier for you.”

I put on the goggles. I probably look ridiculous, but I’m impressed at Phil’s attention to detail. “Thanks,” I whisper.

“No problem. Now hold your nose and dunk your head—for a second.”

I bob up and down a little and then splash into the water. I come up. My eyes are squeezed shut, despite the goggles. “Much better. Now I’m only mildly hypothermic.” I speak through chattering teeth.

Phil laughs. “Can you do the dead man’s float?”

“That’s the name? That’s terrible marketing.”

“It’s called that because that’s how corpses float. You have to float before you can swim.”

“So on my stomach … pretending I’m dead.”

Phil nods, businesslike. “I won’t let you die. Now take a deep breath and relax your body into the water, extend your arms in front of you, and keep your head down. When you need a breath, come up.”

Then he demonstrates. His voice is calm and patient. He shows me exactly how to do everything—flawlessly, athletically. I try to copy him, but how can I? My muscles tense in the water. My jaw tightens, and I pop up after only a few seconds, blowing out the air from my lungs.

“Good,” he says. “Let’s do it one more time, except when you need air, raise your head for a breath and then go back into the float.” He demonstrates again. “You’ll drift forward a bit, but don’t panic. You can always stand up.”

I bite my lip. I can always stand up.

I repeat Phil’s words as I try again. I manage to float for three pop-up breath lengths before inadvertently getting water up my nose. I stand up gagging and sputtering.

Phil gently takes my arm. “It’s okay. I’m right here. Try to relax and enjoy the water. Don’t overthink it. You won’t drown.”

“How do you know?”

“You have built-in flotation devices.” Phil eyes my cleavage.

My mouth drops open. I immediately cover my chest with my arms. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you said that.”

He shrugs with an impish grin. “I’m just stating a fact. As your instructor.”

Despite myself, I grin back. I quickly put my face back in the water to hide my reddening cheeks and practice the float for a while longer until I realize I’m not going to drown. I’m actually floating. In the water. By myself.