The girl at the front desk slid the plastic wristband toward me, and my hand shook so hard I almost dropped my wallet.
I wanted to tell her I wasn’t scared of the price.
I was scared of the water.
The new public pool had opened across from my apartment building that spring, right where an empty lot used to collect broken bottles and weeds.
For more than a year, I watched it rise from my kitchen window.
Steel beams. Cement. Blue tile.
Every morning, I stood there with my coffee and stared at that bright, impossible blue like it was calling my name.
My name is Madeline.
Continue on the next page:
