Sink or Swim by Bob Balaban Read Free Book Online Page B

“I’m almost in. Just give me a minute here.” I teeter at the edge as I lower myself another few millimeters, wishing that Coach Grubman would stop staring at me. The acrid chlorine smell burns my eyes and makes my extremely sensitive nostrils itch. The entire team swims over and gathers around me in the shallow end to watch. The ridiculous brushed satin bathing suit my mother made billows up around my haunches like a giant green parachute.
    â€œWhat are you wearing, Bigfoot?” Craig Dieterly yells. “You look like the Jolly Green Baby.”
    â€œYeah,” says Dirk or Dack Schlissel. “Where’d you get that stupid diaper?”
    â€œShut up, Schlissel,” I reply. “Haven’t you ever seen a bathing suit before in your life?”
    â€œOoh, now it’s mad,” Craig Dieterly taunts. “I’m so scared.” He splashes around and pretends to cry. Everyone thinks it’s the funniest thing they have ever seen in their life. “I want my mommy!”
    â€œCan it, Dieterly,” Coach Grubman grumbles. “And Drinkwater, you’d better get in the water this instant. I’m starting to lose my patience.”
    I remain frozen with fear at the edge of the pool, trying to figure out if fear of going into the shallow end is one of those fear that keeps me safe? Or would that only be fear of going into the deep end?
    Coach comes over and unceremoniously dumps me in the rest of the way. I stumble over my tail when it hits the bottom and my head nearly goes under. I inhale a snoutful of water. I cough. I splutter. I try not to panic. The clock on the blue-tiled wall says three o’clock. Only fifty minutes to go.
    â€œOkay, girls,” Coach Grubman yells. “Everyone hold on to the edge and kick. It’s warm-up time!” I quickly grab on to the side of the pool with my claws and start flapping my flippers.
    I’ve always wondered why the most horrible thing gym teachers can think of to call you is a girl. I don’t think girls are so bad. One of my best friends is a girl. My mom’s a girl. Or at least she was. Marie Curie was a girl and she discovered radium.
    I am just getting used to this kicking thing when Dirk and Dack Schlissel sneak up behind me and pull my bathing suit down. Craig Dieterly starts chanting, “Naked monster on the loose!” and the rest of team whistles and hoots. Grady Hollabird, the only sixth grader on the team, quietly hands me my suit back. I nod gratefully and slip it on as fast as I can.
    Coach Grubman blows his whistle again. Everyone freezes as he walks over to the edge of the pool and yells at me, “You’re a real troublemaker, you know that, Drinkwater? Five laps. Right now.”
    â€œBut . . . but . . .” I stammer. This is so unfair. “I didn’t
do
anything.” Everybody else should be punished. Not me.
    â€œNo excuses, Drinkwater,” he hollers. “Hop to!”
    I keep my head above the water as I inch farther and farther toward the deep end while moving my stumpy little arms around to give the impression that I am doing the breast stroke. Except for everyone making fun of me and feeling like the most uncoordinated idiot in the history of idiots, swimming practice isn’t actually as horrible as I thought it would be. It’s sort of bearably horrible.
    But then Larry Wykoff, the class joker, starts in on me. “Better keep an eye on Drinkwater, Coach. He’ll steal the water out of the pool if you’re not careful.”
    â€œYeah!” Norm Swerling shouts. “He’s one bad Kleptosaur.”
    I concentrate on Gandhi. And passive resistance. And getting out of the pool in one piece. I continue my slow walk/swim across the pool.
    â€œDrinkwater’s cheating, Coach,” one of the Schlissel twins whines. “Don’t let him get away with it.”
    â€œHe’s not even putting his head under the