he had known I was sitting there, and he didn’t look too happy about it.
“Enjoying the show?”
There wasn’t a hint of humor in his question, so instead of saying yes, I stammered, “Ahhh… well.” And then like an idiot, I looked around the empty bleachers as if there were someone else who could help me out with the correct answer.
“What are you doing back here?”
His unwavering gaze never left my face, and I detected a small amount of hostility. Maybe he didn’t recognize me as the girl who had saved his ass the other day. Maybe he didn’t remember me, which would be a bummer because I remembered him. And if this was some kind of test, I was failing. He sprang to his feet, the movement so sudden I stood in response.
“Eating crackers?” I offered, holding up my half-eaten pack of crackers as though he required evidence.
“Didn’t you see the sign?” He walked toward the gate with long purposeful strides. So different from the fumbling foal he had been the other day. I didn’t quite like him as much like this.
“What sign?” I looked around, searching frantically, afraid I looked as dumb as I felt. I couldn’t read it from the inside, but I could see it hanging on the back of the gate through the wooden slats. Pretty hard to have missed, actually. “Oh, that sign.”
He pulled the gate open in an irritatingly dramatic fashion so I could read it. My lips moved silently over the words “Authorized Personnel Only” written in big red letters and underlined. It was suddenly unbearably hot. Rivulets of sweat trickled down my back.
He glared at me, as if his eyes weren’t just eyes, but laser beams.
Okie-dokey.
Without looking down, I grabbed my pack and slung it over my shoulder, flopping my way down the bleachers, making sure I made as much noise as possible in protest of his rudeness.
“Don’t forget your trash,” he said with a slight nod, and that dumb hair of his fell over his shoulder and I wanted to tell him to get another haircut. I turned around to see my discarded cracker paper and water bottle right where I’d left them.
I felt his eyes boring a hole in my back when I went to retrieve the offensive trash, dumping it in the gray, plastic trashcan at the bottom of the bleachers, then held my hands up as if to say, “Are you happy now?”
He didn’t look it.
“Thanks,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he meant it. Why did all the pretty ones have to be such jerks?
He was still holding the gate open and I didn’t need to be told twice. I marched through without giving him so much as a glance, which took a monumental amount of self-control. The gate slammed behind me. I walked back through the complex with two thoughts on my mind:
First, I really needed to repaint my room. And second, apparently I could speak dolphin.
----
I ducked into the bathroom before heading home. The stamp on my hand was good for all day, but this place had lost its appeal. And not just because of a certain rude dolphin trainer or whatever he was. I kind of felt sorry for the animals, trapped in cages; concrete tanks that were in reality just giant fish bowls, with the open water and freedom only a hundred yards away. It seemed unusually cruel, maybe because I could somehow relate, as I was faced with the reality of the water everyday, the way it drew me in and stole my attention, and I was powerless to do anything about it. I was trapped by my inability to swim.
After using the bathroom, I stood at the sink, washing my hands. Looking in the mirror, I saw one of the stall doors open and the dark-haired girl I had seen at the picnic tables walked up to the sink next to me. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She had pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and she was even prettier up close, with big brown eyes set in a perfectly symmetrical face. She pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and before she could put it on, her phone buzzed from somewhere in the depths of her soft leather
“Enjoying the show?”
There wasn’t a hint of humor in his question, so instead of saying yes, I stammered, “Ahhh… well.” And then like an idiot, I looked around the empty bleachers as if there were someone else who could help me out with the correct answer.
“What are you doing back here?”
His unwavering gaze never left my face, and I detected a small amount of hostility. Maybe he didn’t recognize me as the girl who had saved his ass the other day. Maybe he didn’t remember me, which would be a bummer because I remembered him. And if this was some kind of test, I was failing. He sprang to his feet, the movement so sudden I stood in response.
“Eating crackers?” I offered, holding up my half-eaten pack of crackers as though he required evidence.
“Didn’t you see the sign?” He walked toward the gate with long purposeful strides. So different from the fumbling foal he had been the other day. I didn’t quite like him as much like this.
“What sign?” I looked around, searching frantically, afraid I looked as dumb as I felt. I couldn’t read it from the inside, but I could see it hanging on the back of the gate through the wooden slats. Pretty hard to have missed, actually. “Oh, that sign.”
He pulled the gate open in an irritatingly dramatic fashion so I could read it. My lips moved silently over the words “Authorized Personnel Only” written in big red letters and underlined. It was suddenly unbearably hot. Rivulets of sweat trickled down my back.
He glared at me, as if his eyes weren’t just eyes, but laser beams.
Okie-dokey.
Without looking down, I grabbed my pack and slung it over my shoulder, flopping my way down the bleachers, making sure I made as much noise as possible in protest of his rudeness.
“Don’t forget your trash,” he said with a slight nod, and that dumb hair of his fell over his shoulder and I wanted to tell him to get another haircut. I turned around to see my discarded cracker paper and water bottle right where I’d left them.
I felt his eyes boring a hole in my back when I went to retrieve the offensive trash, dumping it in the gray, plastic trashcan at the bottom of the bleachers, then held my hands up as if to say, “Are you happy now?”
He didn’t look it.
“Thanks,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he meant it. Why did all the pretty ones have to be such jerks?
He was still holding the gate open and I didn’t need to be told twice. I marched through without giving him so much as a glance, which took a monumental amount of self-control. The gate slammed behind me. I walked back through the complex with two thoughts on my mind:
First, I really needed to repaint my room. And second, apparently I could speak dolphin.
----
I ducked into the bathroom before heading home. The stamp on my hand was good for all day, but this place had lost its appeal. And not just because of a certain rude dolphin trainer or whatever he was. I kind of felt sorry for the animals, trapped in cages; concrete tanks that were in reality just giant fish bowls, with the open water and freedom only a hundred yards away. It seemed unusually cruel, maybe because I could somehow relate, as I was faced with the reality of the water everyday, the way it drew me in and stole my attention, and I was powerless to do anything about it. I was trapped by my inability to swim.
After using the bathroom, I stood at the sink, washing my hands. Looking in the mirror, I saw one of the stall doors open and the dark-haired girl I had seen at the picnic tables walked up to the sink next to me. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She had pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and she was even prettier up close, with big brown eyes set in a perfectly symmetrical face. She pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and before she could put it on, her phone buzzed from somewhere in the depths of her soft leather
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