Twelve (17 page)

“Could you be a little more obvious?” Cinnamon said. Mocking Louise, she thrust out her chest and wiggled her boobs. They bounced in her red bikini top, which she'd paired with yellow board shorts. Her tummy poofed over the top of her shorts, but I thought it was cool that she didn't care.

“Cinnamon, stop,” I said, giggling.

“Why? She can't hear me,” Cinnamon said. Then she dropped the act and let her posture go back to normal. "C'mon, let's go off the diving board.”

I followed her to the ladder. The air smelled like chlorine, and squeals and yelps echoed off the walls. Toddlers in water wings made bright orange spots in the shallow end.

“Can you do a flip?” she asked from the board.

“Uh . . . I can try,” I said.

“Just jump up high and tuck into it,” she said. “It's easy. Watch.”

Cinnamon sprang off the board and did a neat flip. She popped up out of the water and swam over. “Now your turn.”

How hard could it be? I felt powerful there on the board, droplets glistening on my thighs. I was one of the cool people, swimming at Louise's party when it was forty degrees outside. I was aware of Amanda watching me from near the rope with the floaty things on it. She gave me a thumbs-up.

I bounced on the end of the board, then turned around and walked back to the middle. I did a three-step approach, jumped high, and flung my whole body over like I was doing a somersault. I went way too far and landed really sloppily, but I did it!

“Yeah!” Cinnamon cheered when I emerged. “Nice one!” I grinned. Funny how trying a flip off the diving board was less scary than putting in a tampon.

“Do it again,” Cinnamon said.

“Okay.” I climbed up the ladder, water sluicing from my skin. As I walked to the board, I felt something between my legs. Something wrong.

Uh-oh,
I thought. The Tampax box stated very clearly that if the tampon was inserted correctly, you shouldn't be able to feel it. But I could feel this for sure. Was it filling up with water? Was it expanding? What was going on?

I didn't want to go off the board. All that jouncing—not a smart idea in my current condition. But Cinnamon was waiting.

My flip this time was dreadful, worse than my first, because I didn't get nearly enough height. I swam up toward the surface of the water, and the sensation of wrongness increased. In my V-word area.

“That one kind of sucked,” Cinnamon said. She laughed. “Want to try again? Third time's the charm.”

“Uh . . . not right now,” I said. All I could think about was my tampon. It was coming out. It was coming out right here in the pool. What in the world was I going to do?

Cinnamon wrinkled her forehead. “You all right?”

“I'm fine,” I said. No way was I telling this to
anyone
. “Um . . . why don't you do one, and I'll watch?”

“Ah yes, learn from the master,” she said, heaving herself out of the water.

I had only a few minutes till she was back. What was I going to
do
? A sneaky-quick feel told me that the tampon was sticking out in a way that would surely be visible if I got out of the pool. Everybody would see, even if I kept my legs clamped together. Everybody would be like,
Oh my god. Look!

Gail's laugh rang out from the hot tub, where she and Amanda and Malena were probably analyzing each girl's body and ranking them on a scale of one to ten. Did things like this
ever
happen to Gail? Why was it always me?

The bathroom wasn't an option, since I'd have to climb out of the pool to get to it. Nor could I stay in the pool for all of eternity. Unfortunately.

Cinnamon caught my eye from the diving board, and I gave her the best smile I could muster. When she jumped, I reached up under the crotch of my suit, found the string, and yanked. The tampon brushed against my fingers, pillowy and waterlogged. I shoved it down as deep as I could, then kicked it even deeper with my foot.

“How was that?” Cinnamon said, emerging with a flick of her head.

“That was
great,
” I said with too much enthusiasm. Worry panicked through me like tiny needles. “Come on, let's go to the shallow end.”

“The shallow end? Why?”

I was already swimming away.

“Isn't this fun?” I said, sitting with my lower body submerged on the fish-shaped tiles. “Those kids going down the slide are so cute. I could watch them all day. Couldn't you?”

“Uh, no,” Cinnamon said. She looked at me strangely. “Don't you want to dive some more?”

“You go on,” I said. “I'll watch from here.”

So she did. That was one thing about Cinnamon: she had no problem doing her own thing. She trotted off and joined Ansley and Sydney, and I stayed put, legs tightly crossed.

When it was time for everyone to go to the upstairs party room, I hopped out of the pool and dashed for my towel, which I wrapped snug around my hips. I didn't enjoy my cake. I couldn't have cared less about watching Louise open her presents. All I could think about was me and my leaky body and how desperately I wanted Louise's party to be over.

Please don't let anything show through,
I prayed when we headed for the dressing room. I clanked open my locker and grabbed my clothes.

“Why are you putting your jeans on over your suit?” Sydney asked me.

I laughed, like
huh, would you look at that
. “Whoops!”

“Your butt's going to get wet,” she pointed out.

“Oh well.”

Jeans on and sweatshirt tied around my waist, I told Louise thanks for inviting me.

“I had a blast,” I said.

“Don't you want to ask your mom if you can stay longer?” Louise asked. “A bunch of us are going to hang out at the snack bar.”

“I wish I could, but we've got errands,” I said. “Bye!”

I fast-walked out of the locker room, acutely aware of the dampness between my legs. I thought of the tampon floating somewhere in the pool, then blocked it from my mind. All I wanted was to go home.

That night, I had nightmare fantasies of the lifeguards finding my soggy tampon. What if they had some way of identifying who it belonged to? What if they fingerprinted it and connected it to me? What if they made a huge announcement and everybody found out and I got in big, big trouble?

I couldn't make my brain stop worrying about it. I tossed and squirmed in my bed, imagining them thumbtacking the tampon by its string to the pool's bulletin board. THIS IS NOT ALLOWED, the sign underneath would read. WOULD THE OWNER PLEASE REPORT TO THE FRONT DESK IMMEDIATELY.

Last summer a baby pooped in the Garden Hills pool, and they had to drain the entire thing. What if they had to drain Mulberry Pool because of me? What if they contacted Louise's parents, because we were the main teenage-ish girls there that day, and Louise said, “Ohhhh, I do remember one person who was acting kind of funny. It was Winnie Perry. She put her jeans on
on top
of her wet bathing suit. Suspicious, isn't it?”

Shut up,
I told my brain.
You're being ridiculous
. Even if they did have to drain the pool, they couldn't blame it on me, could they?

I got out of bed, because I thought I'd probably go crazy if I stayed put. I padded barefoot to Sandra's room. Her lights were out, but I sat down on her bed anyway. She grunted.

“Did you finish your pot holder?” I said. I felt hostile toward that pot holder, and toward Sandra, too. She should have been instructing me in feminine hygiene instead of making pot holders for her boyfriend.

“Yes,” Sandra said. “It's the most fabulous pot holder in the world. Why are you bothering me?”

I scowled. I wanted her to just
know;
I didn't want to have to tell her.

“Did something happen at the pool party?” she asked.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because. You came home in a major funk, you didn't say a word at dinner, and now you're in here bugging me when I should be getting my beauty sleep. What's your deal?”

“Fine,” I said. “Be that way.” I got up and stalked to the door.

“Winnie, come
back,
” Sandra said. She sighed and pushed herself to a sitting position. Grudgingly, I returned.

“So what happened?” Sandra asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “But I am
not
a fan of tampons.”

“Oh no. Did it come out when it wasn't supposed to?”

I nodded.

“Not . . . in the pool, did it?”

“No!” I said hotly. I burst into tears.

Sandra put her arm around me. She pulled me to her, and I pressed my forehead to her shoulder. It felt good to cry.

“You've just got to make it go in further,” Sandra said. “Next time, just push it all the way in.”

“There's not going to
be
a next time.”

Sandra rubbed my back. She could be really nice when she wanted to be.

After a long minute, I sniffled and pulled away.

“Am I a bad person?” I asked.

“No, you're not a bad person.” She looked me in the eye. “Every single female on the planet has an embarrassing period story, I guarantee you.”

“Really?”

“Really. It just . . . comes with the territory.”

“Oh, great.”

“So go to bed and forget about it. You're still the same old you.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. I'd gone to Louise's party feeling like the queen of cool, and now fate and the joy of being a woman had toppled me from my throne with one quick smack. Dinah, who was uncool, was the lucky one. Far better to have stayed at home than to have left a waterlogged tampon as your personal calling card.

But my tears had washed me clean. And the next day failed to bring a squad of police cars to my door, ready to hustle me away to jail. No unidentified tampon was featured in the morning news. Louise, when I saw her Monday morning at school, treated me the same as ever. So did all the other girls.

If the tampon had been traced to me, it would have been bad.
Very
bad. And that was freaky to think about, how life could go from wonderful to terrible in the blink of an eye.

But for now, miraculously, I was safe.

February

LET'S CALL DINAH,” Cinnamon said. She'd come home with me from school, and we needed something to do. We'd already pigged out on Doritos and Dr Pepper, and neither of us wanted to watch TV. Anyway, the
Oprah
that was on was one we'd already seen. It was one with Dr. Phil, who, face it, could be a little too parentish.

“Okay,” I said. My eyes followed the embroidery on Cinnamon's brown hoodie. It looked like a dragon, kind of, but it wasn't a “for sure” sort of thing. What was for sure was that it was adorable. She'd paired it with jeans that she'd trimmed herself with a length of funky blue ribbon. I had total outfit envy.

“But we won't tell her that both of us are here,” Cinnamon said. “I'll talk, and you listen in.”

“Why?” I said.

“So that she and I can talk about you, and you can find out what she really thinks.”

I must have looked shocked, because Cinnamon gave me the eyebrow quirk she reserved for when she thought I was acting young.

“Have you never done this before?” she said.

I shook my head.

“Well, it's fun. Just stay quiet—I'll do all the talking.” She grabbed the phone and punched in Dinah's number. As she did, I wondered if this was such a good idea. But I kept my mouth shut.

Cinnamon snuggled next to me on the sofa, the phone nestled between our ears.

“Hi, Dinah, it's me,” Cinnamon said.

“Hi, Cinnamon,” Dinah said. She sounded pleased. And far away, like a little-bitty Dinah off on her own. She'd also recognized Cinnamon's voice right away, which surprised me for some reason. I guess they talked on the phone more than I realized.

“What's up?” Cinnamon said.

“Not much, just doing my homework. What's up with you?”

They chatted about an English assignment and about Ms. Eaton's hair, and I leaned back against the cushion. So far, their conversation was completely normal. Boring, even, although there was a thrill in listening in without Dinah's knowledge. “The Secret Life of Dinah,” I thought, as if it were a sitcom.

“Uh-huh,” Cinnamon said. “Uh-huh.” Then she nudged me with her knee. “So what about Winnie? Was she there for any of that?” Dinah had been describing a bathroom run-in with Louise, in which Louise had told Dinah that Dinah's pants were too short. Which was true, actually.

“No, Winnie was in French,” Dinah said.

“With
Lars,
” Cinnamon said. I stifled a giggle. “Do you think anything's ever going to come of that?”

“Winnie and Lars?” Dinah said. “They are so cute.”

“I wish she'd go ahead and make her move, though,” Cinnamon said. I opened my mouth indignantly, and she gave me a look that said,
Relax
. “I mean, it's kind of annoying how all they do is talk. Don't you think?”

“What else would they do?” Dinah asked.

Ha,
I thought.

“I just think she should be more aggressive,” Cinnamon said.

“I think she's doing just fine,” Dinah said loyally. “Anyway, it's working, isn't it?”

“But her
clothes
. She doesn't even try to dress sexy. And what's up with those baggy T-shirts?”

Cinnamon was talking trash about me more than Dinah was, and it kind of made me laugh, but it kind of made me feel weird, too. Did she believe the things she was saying, even a little? Did she really think my shirts were too baggy? I liked baggy. Baggy made me feel safe.