Chapter 22

Rowena

Eric’s hand felt like an electric shock as his fingers grazed across my cheek.

I slapped it away. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as I wrenched my wrist out of his other hand and walked across the room.

“Enough of that,” I ordered. “I’m tired of your pranks.”

“Pranks?” Eric asked. “What are you talking about, Rowena?”

The way my brother played stupid made my blood boil, and I whipped back around to face him. “I’m talking about that little kiss at the homecoming dance,” I growled. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that. It was disgusting, and… and… cruel!”

“Disgusting, huh?” Eric scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me, Rowena.”

“You’re my brother, Eric. Or have you forgotten since you were gone for three years? You shouldn’t be kissing me, and I won’t let it happen again.”

Eric huffed and crossed the room to meet me. The heat emanating off of his body seemed to warm the front of my shirt as he came so close he could touch me.

“We’ll see about that,” he whispered.

There it was again: that husky, low voice of his. Despite the warmth of his body, his voice made me shiver.

I quickly looked away and grit my teeth together. “Stop being weird, Eric. You’re crossing too many boundaries lately, and I’m getting tired of it. It’s not funny anymore.”

There was a long silence in the wake of my words. When I finally raised my gaze once again to look back up at Eric, his jaw was clenched tightly beneath his skin.

He stared at me for a long moment, his blue eyes searching my face, before he turned around and stalked off toward the door. There was a certain stiffness to his movements that I hadn’t expected.

“Alright, then. I’ll stop being ‘weird’.”

…

I stapled the last flyer up on the bulletin board with a sense of satisfaction. The colorful paper seemed to stand out amongst the other notices; maybe it would catch people’s attention. Maybe then people would start visiting my utility closet office.

With a yawn, I hiked my shoulder bag back up and began heading toward the exit; but it was then, just as I rounded a corner, that I saw it.

One of my flyers had fallen.

I furrowed my brow as I walked up to it and picked it up. Figuring that it must have fallen on its own, seeing as how the halls were now empty that classes were out for the day, I stapled it back up with a satisfying click.

But then, as I continued walking, I saw that another flyer had fallen; only this time, it had been…

Torn to shreds.

I felt my heart sink as I crouched down to look at the torn-up pieces. No breeze could have done this—someone had ripped my flyer apart and scattered the pieces across the tiled floors.

But who? It had to be Heather; I couldn’t think of anyone else who would want to destroy my chances at gaining recognition.

It had to be Heather, or maybe…

Suddenly, a bright white sneaker came down on my fingers as I reached for one of the pieces. Hard. I yelped, pulling back and shaking my hand to relieve the pain.

“You thought you could just get me kicked off the cheer team, bitch?”

I knew that voice.

Slowly raising my eyes, I saw who was standing over me: Emma. Her dark brown hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders as her cold gray eyes swept over me. From here, she looked like a hulking shadow.

“So you tore up my flyers?” I asked, standing with the pieces held between my now-sore fingers.

Emma scoffed and tossed a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “I was just doing a little school clean-up. Those flyers are… unsightly.”

I frowned. “Look, I’m sorry you got kicked off the cheer team, but you did actually try to kill me at my own birthday party,” I retorted.

“Oh, please.” Emma laughed and placed her hands on her slender hips. “I wasn’t trying to kill you. How was I supposed to know you can’t swim?”

Tossing the shreds of my flyer into a nearby trash can, I shrugged and adjusted my bag on my shoulder. “Whatever, Emma. Just leave me alone.”

As I turned to walk away, though, it seemed as if Emma wasn’t quite finished. Her voice echoed throughout the empty halls as she called after me.

“You should be thanking me, Rowena,” she called out. “Maybe your little embarrassment at the party will finally make you realize that an eighteen-year-old should know how to fucking swim.”

…

The words on my textbook page seemed to fade in front of my eyes. No matter how much I tried to focus, I just couldn’t; not with Emma’s parting words floating through my mind.

An eighteen-year-old should know how to swim.

That was what she had said. And while I was furious with her for what she had done at the party, not to mention what she had done to my flyers, I couldn’t completely deny the fact that…

Maybe she was right.

I was eighteen, and I still couldn’t swim. In fact, I wouldn’t even go in the shallow end of the pool. I was lucky to even have the courage to dip my feet into the water from the edge after I had almost drowned as a little kid.

I still remembered the sensation of my dad’s soaking wet suit as he pulled me out of the pool. I could still feel the water in my lungs, if I concentrated hard enough.

Ever since that day, I hadn’t swam for… fourteen years now.

Well, not counting the incident at my birthday party—not that that could even be counted as ‘swimming’ anyway.

But still, Emma’s words cut deep. I had known for years now that I needed to get over my fear of the water, but I had always figured that I had time. I always told myself that I could try it tomorrow, next week, next month, next year.

For the millionth time that night, I tried rereading the same paragraph on the page; but the words seemed to spin on the page in front of me, as if they, too, were underwater.

Finally, I slammed the book shut with a huff of determination and stood up abruptly from my chair.

Eric was lounging on his bed, shirtless, when I barged into his room without so much as knocking.

He looked up from his phone with shock; his blond hair was slightly mussed from moving around, his muscles taut and gleaming with sweat. The weights on the other side of his bed had been moved around, indicating he had just been doing his nightly workout routine.

“Need something, Rowena?” he asked. There was a bitter edge to his voice, indicating that he was still upset with me for what I had said earlier in the art room. Maybe he thought I was going to apologize or something.

But I wasn’t here for apologies.

“Eric, I want you to teach me how to swim.”