Saying Goodbye (What the World Doesn't Know) by Mahima Martel Page A

silence.
                “Dance,” he suggested.
                “We can’t hear the music,” said Frankie.
                Alex stepped before Frankie and leaned toward her. “Music is in the soul and in the heart,” he said. “You don’t need a record player to listen to music.” He then took her in his arms and began to waltz her around the pool.
                “What are we dancing to?” she asked.
                “‘Great Balls of Fire,’” he said, gently waltzing her in circles.
                Keeping step with him, Frankie said, “I don’t think you know the song.”
                “Sure I do.” He lifted her onto his shoulder and yelled, “Great balls of fire!”
                “Funny!” she screamed. “Now put me down!”
                Alex spun Frankie around in the air. “Song’s not over yet,” he said, dangerously tipping her over the edge of the pool.
                Frankie screamed and kicked. “Put me down!”
                When Alex set her down gently, Frankie playfully shoved him into the pool. Laughing, she watched him sink to the bottom and waited for him to resurface. When the bubbles stopped appearing, she became concerned. “Alex?” she called. “Alex?!”
                When he didn’t appear, Frankie kicked off her shoes and dived into the pool, fully clothed. She reached under his arms, attempting to lift his torso and pull him up to the surface.
                He struggled away from her. “What’s the matter with you? Who goes around pushing people in the pool?” he asked. I could have drowned, you know.”
                Frankie laughed and said, “But you didn’t.” She splashed water in his face. “Besides, you deserved it.
                Alex splashed her back. “Yeh're a yampy lassie.”
                She swam to the wall and said, “You’re so sexy when you speak cockney to me.”
                He met her at the wall. Both of them took a moment to catch their breaths. Alex leaned closer to Frankie. “I want to give yeh a nasty bloody,” he whispered in her ear.
                She had no idea what he said, but his breath on her neck gave her the chills. She sighed, nervous of his advance. “Do you want to race?” she asked to dissuade Alex.
                “Do yeh
really
think you can beat me?”
                “I know I can,” she said. “I’m a good swimmer; besides, Americans are better swimmers than Brits.”
                “Well, that does it—you have offended my national honor,” said Alex.
                They held on to the wall and counted down together, “Three, two, one . . . Go!”
                Both pushed hard off the wall and started swimming. Underwater, Frankie could see Alex getting ahead of her.
Damn him,
she thought. Her competitive nature kicked in, and she swam over to him and pulled at the waistband of his jeans, hoping that would get him to stop. It didn’t. She then held on to his body to keep him from swimming further. When that didn’t work, she pushed his head down. Alex still kept swimming even with Frankie on top of him. Together they reached the opposite wall, with Alex winning by an arm’s length.
                “What the hell?!” he shouted, standing up in the shallow end.
                Staring up at him, she was surprised by how muscular he was in his wet T-shirt. He appeared to have more of an athlete’s physique than a musician’s. Frankie splashed him with water. “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she exclaimed. “You were supposed to let me win!”
                “Who do you think you are?” he scolded, looking down at her. “Why should people just
allow
you to win? You should win on your own merit, not by cheating; and besides, I can see your nipples