Magda. You know, my friend. The blond one. Though goodness knows when she’s going to get here. I bet she’s slept in.”
The doors open. I say I’d better wait for Magda so Zoë goes hurrying down to the changing room. She didn’t used to be anywhere near as thin. She’s got amazing cheekbones now. Her tracksuit bottom is all baggy. Zoë was never fat—not like me—but she used to be a bit pear-shaped with a biggish bum. Hey, maybe swimming really works!
I think I might start going every day too. Though not with Magda. She doesn’t arrive until
twenty past
.
“Hi, Ellie. God, isn’t it awful getting up this early,” she mumbles.
“You’re not early, Magda, you’re
late
.”
She’s not taking any notice, peering all over the place as we go into the center and pay for our swim.
“Have you seen anyone that looks like Mick, Ellie? You know, dark and truly dishy.”
“I don’t know. Heaps of people have gone in. I didn’t see anyone
that
fantastic—but we’ve got different taste when it comes to boys.”
“You’re telling me,” says Magda. “You’ve got Dan for a boyfriend.”
“He’s not my
boy
friend,” I say.
“Well, what is he, then?” says Magda.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Dan was so keen on me it was embarrassing. We’ve fooled around a bit together in a totally chaste sort of way, but it’s not been the Love Match of the Century. Or the year, month, week, day, minute. Scarcely Love Match of the
Second
. Though Dan’s always insisted he loves me. I’ve never worked out whether he was totally serious. I’m even less sure now. He hasn’t written to me recently. And he hasn’t phoned me back since that time I phoned him and he was watching some stupid rugby match.
Maybe I need a new boyfriend.
Ha. Who would ever want to go out with me?
Plenty of boys want to go out with Magda. I can see why she was so late getting here. She’s fully made up and her hair’s freshly washed and styled. She wriggles into a new slinky scarlet Lycra costume. It’s so tight it must feel like wearing a full-size elastic band—but she looks incredible.
I turn my back to take off my clothes, embarrassed to strip off even in front of Magda. My hair sticks up in a giant bush, my face is all blotchy from the cold and yet in the sudden heat inside my glasses steam up so I can’t see. It feels better when I take them off and shove them in my locker. If I can’t see anyone clearly I can kid myself that maybe they can’t see me.
I grope my way to the poolside and slide in as quickly as possible so that I’m hidden, up to my neck in sparkling turquoise water. It’s beautifully warm, but Magda takes forever to get in, standing on the side of the pool, dipping her toes in and squealing. It’s obviously just to show herself off. It works. I swim two fast and furious laps and when I get back to the shallow end there are
five
boys surrounding Magda, laughing and jostling and offering her advice.
I swim off again. I’m trying not to mind. I’m not here to get off with boys, anyway. I’m here to lose weight.
So I plow backward and forward, ten lengths breaststroke, ten lengths freestyle, ten lengths backstroke. Then repeat. Thank goodness I’m quite good at swimming so I don’t look too stupid. Some of the boys are faster than me but I’m quicker than all the women—apart from Zoë.
We’re about even-steven and find we can’t help racing each other. First she steams ahead so I concentrate fiercely and push myself that little bit harder so that I’m gasping every time I take a breath. I draw closer, closer—and then I’m suddenly in front, and I whiz off even faster, but it’s hard to keep it up. I’m slower the next lap, floating a little, and Zoë suddenly flashes past.
We carry on this mad competition and end up neck and neck, laughing at each other.
“We’d better get out now or we’ll be late for school,” says Zoë.
“Right,” I say, scarcely able to draw
The doors open. I say I’d better wait for Magda so Zoë goes hurrying down to the changing room. She didn’t used to be anywhere near as thin. She’s got amazing cheekbones now. Her tracksuit bottom is all baggy. Zoë was never fat—not like me—but she used to be a bit pear-shaped with a biggish bum. Hey, maybe swimming really works!
I think I might start going every day too. Though not with Magda. She doesn’t arrive until
twenty past
.
“Hi, Ellie. God, isn’t it awful getting up this early,” she mumbles.
“You’re not early, Magda, you’re
late
.”
She’s not taking any notice, peering all over the place as we go into the center and pay for our swim.
“Have you seen anyone that looks like Mick, Ellie? You know, dark and truly dishy.”
“I don’t know. Heaps of people have gone in. I didn’t see anyone
that
fantastic—but we’ve got different taste when it comes to boys.”
“You’re telling me,” says Magda. “You’ve got Dan for a boyfriend.”
“He’s not my
boy
friend,” I say.
“Well, what is he, then?” says Magda.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Dan was so keen on me it was embarrassing. We’ve fooled around a bit together in a totally chaste sort of way, but it’s not been the Love Match of the Century. Or the year, month, week, day, minute. Scarcely Love Match of the
Second
. Though Dan’s always insisted he loves me. I’ve never worked out whether he was totally serious. I’m even less sure now. He hasn’t written to me recently. And he hasn’t phoned me back since that time I phoned him and he was watching some stupid rugby match.
Maybe I need a new boyfriend.
Ha. Who would ever want to go out with me?
Plenty of boys want to go out with Magda. I can see why she was so late getting here. She’s fully made up and her hair’s freshly washed and styled. She wriggles into a new slinky scarlet Lycra costume. It’s so tight it must feel like wearing a full-size elastic band—but she looks incredible.
I turn my back to take off my clothes, embarrassed to strip off even in front of Magda. My hair sticks up in a giant bush, my face is all blotchy from the cold and yet in the sudden heat inside my glasses steam up so I can’t see. It feels better when I take them off and shove them in my locker. If I can’t see anyone clearly I can kid myself that maybe they can’t see me.
I grope my way to the poolside and slide in as quickly as possible so that I’m hidden, up to my neck in sparkling turquoise water. It’s beautifully warm, but Magda takes forever to get in, standing on the side of the pool, dipping her toes in and squealing. It’s obviously just to show herself off. It works. I swim two fast and furious laps and when I get back to the shallow end there are
five
boys surrounding Magda, laughing and jostling and offering her advice.
I swim off again. I’m trying not to mind. I’m not here to get off with boys, anyway. I’m here to lose weight.
So I plow backward and forward, ten lengths breaststroke, ten lengths freestyle, ten lengths backstroke. Then repeat. Thank goodness I’m quite good at swimming so I don’t look too stupid. Some of the boys are faster than me but I’m quicker than all the women—apart from Zoë.
We’re about even-steven and find we can’t help racing each other. First she steams ahead so I concentrate fiercely and push myself that little bit harder so that I’m gasping every time I take a breath. I draw closer, closer—and then I’m suddenly in front, and I whiz off even faster, but it’s hard to keep it up. I’m slower the next lap, floating a little, and Zoë suddenly flashes past.
We carry on this mad competition and end up neck and neck, laughing at each other.
“We’d better get out now or we’ll be late for school,” says Zoë.
“Right,” I say, scarcely able to draw
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