Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,39

“In a sec!” every time someone asks me when I’m going to get in the water.

It’s not the most ingenious plan, but trust me, it tends to work. As a last resort, I can pretend that I need to go to the bathroom or run out screaming, “THIS IS A FREE COUNTRY AND NO ONE CAN MAKE ME!” if things start to go south.

“Are you all well protected?” my mom asks.

“Yes,” the four of us respond at once, like the audience of a game show.

“Now let’s get out of here. I’m ready to dive until my toes turn into prunes,” Becky says, and I find it equal parts hilarious and gross.

All the kids in the building are out of school, and it’s the first sunny day in months. The pool is obviously crowded. There are people running everywhere, boys and girls diving and splashing around, and endless screaming matches. I regret not having packed earbuds, too.

The pool area is surrounded by tables with umbrellas, chaise longues, and plastic chairs. We grab the last remaining vacant table and, one by one, place our junk on top of it. Becky is wearing one of those beach dresses that aren’t really dresses. (I don’t know what the official name is, but you know what I mean.) In a quick flourish, she sweeps it off and is suddenly wearing nothing but her bikini.

I hear a muffled laugh coming from a nearby table where one of my neighbors is sitting, wearing a big hat on her head and tanning lotion all over her body. She makes a comment I can’t quite hear, but another woman responds without even trying to be discreet.

“Some people really don’t have any sense, do they?”

Then the two of them share some more high-pitched laughter.

It pisses me the fuck off, because I’m an expert in laughter and mean remarks. They’re talking about Becky. Who’s fat. And wearing a bikini.

I want to punch my neighbors and hug Becky at the same time, but it doesn’t seem to faze her.

“Good thing my body isn’t here to please anyone else, isn’t it?” she says in a much louder voice than necessary. The whole complex must hear her, and I think that’s just great.

Then Becky walks toward the water as if she’s strutting down a catwalk and makes a perfect dive into the pool, like a mermaid. I’m relieved that she didn’t take offense to my neighbor’s comment. Proud that she killed it with her dive. And embarrassed because I would never have the guts to do the same.

“You’re not coming?” Caio asks, bringing me back from my imaginary scene in which I award Becky a ten out of ten for her dive.

And when I look to the side, I almost have a meltdown.

Forget everything I said about Caio in his pajamas, because now things have reached a different level:

Caio.

In.

His.

Speedo.

I’ll try to be brief on this subject, because I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, but I can promise that the view is pretty impressive. His tan body has all the right curves, the yellow Speedo perfectly hugging all the places they need to hug. Caio isn’t totally ripped in random places like the protagonist of an adult romance novel. But everything about him is distributed in just the right way. It’s hard for me to pick a favorite part, and yet, I immediately create a mental top three: thighs, shoulders, and butt.

“In a sec,” I say, trying to gather some sense of composure.

Caio smiles and makes a perfect dive, too. I feel frustrated because when did everyone learn how to dive?

When I sit on the plastic chair and pick out a comic book from my bag, I realize Melissa didn’t go in the pool, either.

“Want a comic book?” I offer, because it seems like the polite thing to do.

She shakes her head, and I try to focus on my reading, stopping every three seconds to watch Caio swim.

“You’re wild about him, aren’t you?” Melissa says.

“Pffff, no. We’re friends” is my answer.

“That’s what my ex-boyfriend used to say. We were together for almost three years.”

“Boyfriend? So … before Becky … you … I mean …” I say, fumbling for words.

“The word you’re looking for is bisexual,” she answers with an ironic laugh.

I feel like an idiot, but Melissa lightens the mood by giving me a light punch on the shoulder.

“We were talking about you and Caio. Don’t change the subject!” she says with a smile.

“You’re not going in the pool?” I ask, desperately trying to