Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [62]
chapter twenty-one
TIM OBEDIENTLY WASHED himself in the algae-filled shower stall, as per the Columbia Civic Center rules. I waited in the locker room. Though Tim was wearing his swim trunks, I pointedly looked in the opposite direction.
It was the annual honor roll field trip. Bigger districts awarded high-performing students with tickets to Cardinals games or Six Flags. At Boyer, anyone who maintained a B average all year got to spend a Thursday afternoon at the huge indoor pool in Columbia.
The water turned off and Tim walked with me to the pool area, his man-boobs quaking as he moved. He kind of looked like Buddha, only without the all-knowing expression (and with a visible ass crack).
Columbia had a population of about eighty thousand not counting the college students, so the pool was enormous. It boasted a two-story water slide, a Jacuzzi, a high dive, and two sissy dives. The building was already packed with screaming preschoolers, veiny senior citizens, and half a dozen developmentally disabled adults.
I don’t know why I come to these things. I didn’t care for swimming, and none of the female honor rollers looked very impressive in their swimsuits. Brenda always qualified to come, but she never did. She didn’t feel comfortable swimming. She was the only girl I ever knew whose bathing suit had sleeves.
Tim waddled to the high dive and made a fairly graceful plunge. I scoped out the girls from my school. Chubby, wobbly Cindy. Tall, gawky Vanessa. Chestless Carla. Hey, who’s that?
She was sitting on the edge of the pool with her back to me. She didn’t look familiar, at least from behind. This girl was talking to Carla; probably a friend of hers who’d already graduated. Well, maybe I should go introduce myself.
I approached cautiously, keeping an eye out for any gross physical deformities. The strange girl stood up to medium-range scrutiny. She was wearing a bikini top and swim skirt, though she wasn’t exactly skinny. Still, her curves were nice. Her hair was totally crammed into a swim cap. Her skin was freckled; it looked as if her shoulders had been dusted with cinnamon.
So far, so good. Of course, I still hadn’t seen her face. I decided to hop in the water next to her. If she was cute (or even average-looking), I’d say hi. If she was ugly, I’d just swim on.
I subtly checked myself for obvious wood, then splashed in. When I looked the girl in the face, I almost became the first person to drown in the shallow end of the Columbia pool.
The girl, the person standing there in a bikini top, was Sage.
That wasn’t even the jarring part. Something made me forget to swim when I hit the water. Something made me forget to hold my breath when I went under.
Actually, two somethings.
“Logan? Are you okay?” Sage bent over me with concern.
I coughed violently, trying to ignore the area below her neck. “Fine, fine, good to see you, didn’t know you’d be here!”
“Yeah, my grades—”
“Great! Well, I’m going to go see Tim!” I dog paddled off, trying to think of a logical explanation for what I’d seen.
Sage had breasts.
Now, from the age of about eleven, every straight guy cannot stop thinking about boobs. Dirty magazines, porno movies, swimsuit catalogs, women’s health pamphlets … We drool over whatever we can get our hands on. A lucky few get their hands on the real thing.
Sage had the real thing.
I bobbed by the rope that separated us from the deep end and stared at her. She was all the way in the water, though it only came up to her navel. The bunchy swim skirt completely obscured her crotch. Her tits, however, were almost on display.
That whole story about her being a boy was a lie! That was the only explanation. All this time, I’d assumed she stuffed her bra, that her real chest was as flat as mine, and now this! That was a woman’s body.
Then I remembered my confrontation with her dad. He had flat-out said Sage was male.