quickly, waving his arms in the air for balance. “Careful,” I warned him, hunkering down again into the surfer position. “You have to walk like this.”
Chris joined me at the roof’s edge, and I pointed to the pool. There, reflected in the surface of the still water, was the coppery orb of the moon.
“Wow,” we both said.
It was one of those perfect moments that you tuck away to look at later, like rose petals pressed between the pages of a book. I remember the joy in Chris’s expression and the warm breeze that carried the scent of pool chlorine. The moon looked so real floating there in the water that itseemed you could dive in and retrieve it with your bare hands.
Then Chris put his arm around me and pulled me close to him. “Amy,” he whispered, “I’ve liked you for such a long time, ever since you first joined the—” But before he could finish his sentence, I linked my fingers around his neck and stopped him with a kiss.
His lips were firm, like in my daydream, and chocolate-brownie sweet. I could feel them humming against mine, as if they held some secret. Before, I’d always worried about the technicalities of kissing, like how to avoid bumping noses. Now I found that everything, even noses, fit together, without my even trying. Chris opened his mouth slightly, tasting my lips with tiny, gentle bites.
Around us, the night was alive with the late-night sound that my neighborhood makes, the pulse and hum of a hundred pool pumps. This solemn sound and the kiss made me restless, the way quiet hymns played in church sometimes make me want to shout. Or maybe I should blame the full moon for what happened next.
I broke away from Chris and blurted out—I can’t explain why—“I dare you to jump in the pool!”
Chris peeled his T-shirt off before I could say I was joking. He tossed it down into the courtyard and stood there peering over the roof’s edge, silently calculating the distance from there to the pool.
“Wait—are you sure you can make it?” I whispered.
“If I don’t,” he said theatrically, “at least the last thing I see will be you.” With that, he swung his arms out and leapt from the roof. Midair, he hugged his legs to his chest and cannonballed safely into the pool.
When he hit, the moon’s reflection exploded into pieces, then rippled back together. Water crashed on the deck, and the lounge chairs that surrounded it. I waited with my breath held, until finally Chris’s head popped up to the surface. “Come on in!” he stage-whispered, dog-paddling in place. “The water feels great!”
I imagined my mother’s voice warning me not to take chances even as I tossed my sneakers over and stood there, shivering, in my bare feet. Then I heard Blythe say that I was too cautious, that I’d never get anywhere if I lived my life stuck at a yellow light. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Now or never,” I said out loud.
I opened my eyes and dove into the darkness, aiming for the reflection of the moon. But instead of pulling a noisy cannonball, as Chris had, I sliced straight into the water and hardly made a splash.
“The water doesn’t feel great!” I complained. “It’s cold.” It was hard to keep quiet with my teeth chattering so hard.
Chris kept treading water and swimming in circles like a dog. “It helps if you keep moving,” he said.
Relieved that I had made it into the pool, I swam to the edge quickly and hoisted myself out onto the deck. “Let’sget out of here before the manager sees us,” I whispered.
Or my mom hears us
, I added silently. “Follow me—there are plenty of other pools we can hop.”
If you’ve never heard of pool hopping, you should come to Phoenix, where it’s practically a varsity sport. If you grew up here, you’ve done it: climbed over backyard fences, tiptoed across evergreen Bermuda-grass lawns, and tried out other people’s pools. I, for one, could tell you the size and shape and water
Chris joined me at the roof’s edge, and I pointed to the pool. There, reflected in the surface of the still water, was the coppery orb of the moon.
“Wow,” we both said.
It was one of those perfect moments that you tuck away to look at later, like rose petals pressed between the pages of a book. I remember the joy in Chris’s expression and the warm breeze that carried the scent of pool chlorine. The moon looked so real floating there in the water that itseemed you could dive in and retrieve it with your bare hands.
Then Chris put his arm around me and pulled me close to him. “Amy,” he whispered, “I’ve liked you for such a long time, ever since you first joined the—” But before he could finish his sentence, I linked my fingers around his neck and stopped him with a kiss.
His lips were firm, like in my daydream, and chocolate-brownie sweet. I could feel them humming against mine, as if they held some secret. Before, I’d always worried about the technicalities of kissing, like how to avoid bumping noses. Now I found that everything, even noses, fit together, without my even trying. Chris opened his mouth slightly, tasting my lips with tiny, gentle bites.
Around us, the night was alive with the late-night sound that my neighborhood makes, the pulse and hum of a hundred pool pumps. This solemn sound and the kiss made me restless, the way quiet hymns played in church sometimes make me want to shout. Or maybe I should blame the full moon for what happened next.
I broke away from Chris and blurted out—I can’t explain why—“I dare you to jump in the pool!”
Chris peeled his T-shirt off before I could say I was joking. He tossed it down into the courtyard and stood there peering over the roof’s edge, silently calculating the distance from there to the pool.
“Wait—are you sure you can make it?” I whispered.
“If I don’t,” he said theatrically, “at least the last thing I see will be you.” With that, he swung his arms out and leapt from the roof. Midair, he hugged his legs to his chest and cannonballed safely into the pool.
When he hit, the moon’s reflection exploded into pieces, then rippled back together. Water crashed on the deck, and the lounge chairs that surrounded it. I waited with my breath held, until finally Chris’s head popped up to the surface. “Come on in!” he stage-whispered, dog-paddling in place. “The water feels great!”
I imagined my mother’s voice warning me not to take chances even as I tossed my sneakers over and stood there, shivering, in my bare feet. Then I heard Blythe say that I was too cautious, that I’d never get anywhere if I lived my life stuck at a yellow light. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Now or never,” I said out loud.
I opened my eyes and dove into the darkness, aiming for the reflection of the moon. But instead of pulling a noisy cannonball, as Chris had, I sliced straight into the water and hardly made a splash.
“The water doesn’t feel great!” I complained. “It’s cold.” It was hard to keep quiet with my teeth chattering so hard.
Chris kept treading water and swimming in circles like a dog. “It helps if you keep moving,” he said.
Relieved that I had made it into the pool, I swam to the edge quickly and hoisted myself out onto the deck. “Let’sget out of here before the manager sees us,” I whispered.
Or my mom hears us
, I added silently. “Follow me—there are plenty of other pools we can hop.”
If you’ve never heard of pool hopping, you should come to Phoenix, where it’s practically a varsity sport. If you grew up here, you’ve done it: climbed over backyard fences, tiptoed across evergreen Bermuda-grass lawns, and tried out other people’s pools. I, for one, could tell you the size and shape and water
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