Barely Floating, page 11
“Who will she be working for?”
“Some fashion designer who I guess is really into the way things look.”
That’s not practical at all. Then it dawns on me. Why do synchronized swimmers need to have their hair gelled? How practical is that? I can do the routine just as well without having my hair cemented to my head. Why judge me on my appearance?
“We should abolish all presentation judging in competitive sports. I mean, didn’t they do away with the swimsuit portion of pageants?” This I remember because my mother made a big deal of it. She still said pageants should just be canceled altogether.
“What are you talking about?”
“I just think the owner should take into account how the workers feel about their uniforms. I bet they would work even harder if they didn’t have to wear white.”
Joanne furrows her brow.
“Mom can’t start a protest when she doesn’t even have the job yet,” she says. “Besides, are you planning to tell the judges not to judge you on presentation, start a protest right at the competition?”
“Maybe.”
“You sure flip-flop from loving everything about synchro to wanting to break the rules,” she says.
Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s like a battle is going on inside my head. I page through the fashion magazines and can tell they’re classist and racist. I can see how at the competition, the judges might give the girls who look the same a better score.
No, that’s not true totally true. My team sucked at our first competition. When we stop sucking, will that make a difference? It better, or I’m going full MMA on someone.
“Well, I hope your mom gets a job. Maybe then you won’t have to babysit.”
“Maybe,” Joanne says. She lifts up the silver fabric we nabbed at Goodwill. “I’m thinking a sash of some sort. What do you think?”
“Sounds good.”
Cosplay. Fashion magazines. Synchronized swimming. Costumes to transform us into other people. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I’ll have to keep weighing the pros and cons in my head.
CHAPTER 16
The texts I’ve received from Mayra are out of control. Each one gets more and more intense, which makes me hesitate in responding back. It’s one thing to be a member of Eggbeat This! It’s quite another for me and her to start texting each other like we’re best friends. We’re not. Eventually I send back a text when I feel like it. She asks to get on the phone.
“What’s up?”
“My parents’ friend is having a party and they want to hire us to do synchronized swimming.”
“How much are they paying?” Money! Exactly what I need. Mayra tells me, and I calculate the hours and divide it by five. “That’s not enough. We would only be getting paid like fifty dollars each if you break it down.”
“No, it’s only going to be me, you, and Olivia. A trio.”
“Why?” We’re a team, and that includes Daniel and Ayana.
“Don’t ask me. It’s how they’re doing it,” she says. “Anyway, do you want in, because if not I’m going to ask Ayana.”
Of course I want in. It’s money I can use to pay for another month’s worth of dues. I had no idea I could actually turn synchronized swimming into a side hustle.
“How many times have you done this?”
“Does it matter? My mom knows a lot of people and we need a third for our trio. Are you in, yes or no? I need to tell her right away.”
First, I don’t appreciate anyone pressuring me to commit to anything. Second . . . There is no second. I try not to make decisions in a rush except out of anger, and I know how that usually turns out for me. I can hear Mayra’s heavy breathing on the phone. I kind of like making her wait. Let her sweat it out.
“Well?”
“Mayra, I need a few minutes to think about it. I’ll call you back.”
I hang up right in the middle of her telling me why I need to hurry. I turn around a couple of times and do some stretches. I count to twenty and then I call.
“Okay, I’m in. Tell me the details.”
After our next Saturday practice, Mayra’s mom will drive us to the Palisades. The only thing I know about the Palisades is from a couple of Mom’s friends. People who have a lot of money live there, and it’s a place my family could never afford. Mayra confirms this by saying it’s a nice house and we are not to touch a thing. She also says the only reason she invited me to do this is because we’re the three best swimmers on the team.
She didn’t have to tell me that. I know I’m the best.
Mom and Dad will be gone all day Saturday, and Ramón will be at band practice. Sheila is “stuck” with me, which means she can do whatever she wants while I go with Mayra. Easy.
“Okay, Mayra, I’ll see you on Saturday.”
This is good. I’ll be making extra money by doing what I love. I can already see the possibilities. I can start advertising myself, sort of like a rent-a-magician for birthday parties, but instead it’ll be rent-a-synchro-swimmer.
* * *
Mayra’s mom, Mrs. Rodríguez, is really pretty. She wears a floral dress and her hair is completely straight and long, like a Kardashian. She also has long false eyelashes I can’t stop staring at.
Mrs. Rodríguez works at a famous law firm on Sunset Boulevard. Mayra says she gets to meet a lot of celebrities and go to cool events, including movie premieres. No wonder Mayra can be obnoxious. She probably thinks stars are way more interesting than us, but they’re not. They just have cool jobs. I also start to think about how much Mom would hate me doing this. Performing in front of rich strangers is a big no-no, but money is money and I need it.
Olivia and Mayra haven’t stopped talking since we got in the car. They met in dance class when they were like five years old. Olivia was the first to stop dancing, because of a knee injury. She convinced Mayra to join her in the water.
“Thanks, girls, for the last-minute ask,” Mayra’s mom says. “These are big clients and I thought it would be fun to do something different.”
“Thank you for asking me,” I say. On my lap I hold my sequined swimsuit. The butterflies in my stomach are talking. They’re not as intense as before a competition, but they’re still fluttering about, confused and wondering what I’m doing. I’m venturing into the unknown with the Evil Twins. Sure, they’re sorta friends of mine. Still, in the back of my mind I can’t stop thinking about how Daniel and Ayana gave me questioning looks when I got in the car after practice. I told them I was doing Mayra a favor and I would tell them about it later. I’ve been avoiding the Eggbeat This! chat. I let Mayra and Olivia talk while I go over the routine in my head.
The house is straight out of an Esther Williams movie. I can’t believe people actually live here. There are columns in front of the house. The driveway is endless and lined with rows of beautiful flowers. As for the house, it’s two stories with balconies and big windows overlooking the ocean. Mrs. Rodríguez drives toward the back of the house. An older Latina greets us at the back door.
“¡Qué preciosas!” she says. “Come this way. The guests will start arriving in half an hour. You can use this room to get ready.”
We walk past the kitchen, which is basically bigger than my whole house. There’s a whole team of people cooking and setting up trays. An older white woman gives orders to them. She does this quietly, not in an angry voice, just very efficiently.
“You girls get ready,” Mrs. Rodríguez says. “They’ll let you know when to come out.” Mrs. Rodríguez heads back outside to find her boss while we’re set up in a large room. There’s a TV, a sofa, and a tray with a whole bunch of snacks and even grown-up sparkling water to drink. I’m so nervous. I want to eat everything, but Coach Yvettte warns us not to eat too much before a competition or we might get a cramp. I hold off.
“They have the music and everything,” Mayra reminds us. “We do the routine once and that’s it. It’s all we got to do.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“When I was younger, Mom’s boss wanted us to dance for a fundraising thing. I asked a couple of the girls from the team,” she says. “It was cute. Now my mom only asks me to do it once in a while, for special events.”
I wonder what’s it like to perform in such a small setting. Mrs. Rodríguez said there wouldn’t be too many people, a group of about twenty adults. It’s strange to think they would want kids to be a part of this. It must be nice to have money, where you can ask for live entertainment. A vision of Mom staring at me disapprovingly pops into my head. I reach straight for a fancy appetizer: a cracker with cream cheese and the tiniest cucumber slice cut in the shape of a flower. For a moment, the image of Mom is gone.
Mrs. Rodríguez returns and does our makeup. It’s way more elaborate than what we did at our competition. I wish she would pull off her fake eyelashes and glue them on me. They’d have to be waterproof, or synchro-proof, for me.
“Where’s the pool?” I ask.
“You’ll see it. It’s really pretty,” Mayra says. “This house used to be owned by the actor Chris Something. Right, Mom? I can’t remember which Chris.”
When we’re done with makeup and our headpieces are set, Mrs. Rodríguez lines us up against the wall for a picture. I feel weird here with just Olivia and Mayra. It feels off, like I’m cheating on a test or something.
“I’m going to bring you out. They’ll make a quick introduction, and then you do your thing,” Mrs. Rodríguez says while she touches up her own makeup in the oversized mirror.
The woman from earlier knocks on the door. The knock must be our cue. We walk out barefoot. The house is so cold, goose bumps cover my whole body. As we step outside to the backyard, guests ooh and aah. I put on the most humongous grin, which makes my jaw hurt. People are not as dressed up as I thought, but some wear cute dresses.
Mayra was right. The pool is big, not Olympic-size but almost. There’s a large waterfall on one end and a separate Jacuzzi. I can even see the ocean from here.
We stand by the pool’s edge. Mayra counts us off quietly as we get into position. She nods to her mother, who alerts someone to start the music.
I dive in first, with Mayra and Olivia immediately following. The water is a little too warm for my taste. We do the routine exactly as we did during our competition. Actually, we do it even better. I make sure to count to the rhythm of the music. Make sure to scull and keep my toes pointed. Make sure to give a little extra attitude whenever my head pops out of the water.
When we’re done, the guests laugh and clap. They love us. I want to bottle up this feeling. In fact, I love it so much, I want to live in it. This must be how Esther Williams felt after performing.
As we pull ourselves out of the pool, we stand there wet while the guests take pictures. It’s a warm fall day, but I start to tremble. Our towels are back in the room because Mayra didn’t want to ruin our looks by covering up after the routine. I’m going into shock and I can’t do anything about it.
“Aren’t they cute?” an older white man dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt says. He’s the same man in the photos in the room we were in, pictured with important people. “Look at them.”
We do our L.A. Mermaids wave, raising our hands up high and shaking them, sort of like jazz hands. Mrs. Rodríguez wants to escort us back to the room to dry off, but the man stops her.
“You guys are amazing. How long have you been doing this?”
Because this is Mayra’s show, I let her answer, although everything in me wants to say something. You would think Mayra is being interviewed for television, the way she acts. It’s pretty funny—and slightly ridiculous.
An older woman approaches us, dripping in jewelry. Not gold necklaces. I’m talking about big sparkly diamond rings and necklaces that probably weigh as much as baby Noah. She walks over to me with her hand outstretched. She touches my bathing suit without even asking permission. Why is she touching me like I’m a mannequin at a clothing store? My fake grin fades fast.
“I remember when I was a little girl, I used to love watching Esther Williams,” she says.
“I love her!”
Finally, someone who can relate to my obsession.
“Aren’t you too young to know about Esther Williams?” she says, laughing at her own joke. There are others around her who laugh at this, too.
“I’ve watched every one of her films,” I say. “It’s why I want to be a synchronized swimmer. Well, her and Anita Alvarez.”
She pats my head like a dog. An actual pat.
“I didn’t know synchronized swimmers could be any size.”
This woman is looking right at me, though she’s talking to her friends. The world stops. “Any size,” she said, but she meant fat. I notice how the goose bumps on my arms intensify. I notice the looks on the faces of the people around me and I notice how I feel inside.
“Can we go now?” I say to Mrs. Rodríguez, who’s busy speaking to another guest. My voice shakes just like my body.
“In a minute,” she says.
They continue to sing our praises, but my stomach never lies. It’s like the butterflies were warning me to abort. I look around and notice that everyone serving food to the guests is brown like me. Every single person working at this party is brown. And me? I’m this cute fat thing here entertaining these rich people. I feel so gross.
It’s not the same as in the competition. When I compete, I’m competing with others. I feel equal. Here, I’m a weirdo swimmer they can point at and pet like a dog. Mayra and Olivia don’t seem to mind it all, but I do. I no longer wait for Mrs. Rodríguez.
The room is empty. I wrap an oversized towel around my body and sit.
“Do you want me to bring you some food?” the woman who first greeted us asks.
“No thank you.”
“Your mother must be so proud of you,” she says. “Debes de ser un orgullo para ella.”
I nod and try to smile, but I’m sure my smile looks more like a grimace.
When Mrs. Rodríguez, Olivia, and Mayra return, they are so happy. They ask me if I’m okay and I say yes. Later, as Mrs. Rodríguez parks in front of my house, she hands me an envelope with money. I take it. It weighs so heavily in my hand.
CHAPTER 17
Sheila is dressed up to take me to practice. She wears a miniskirt and a top that shows off her cleavage. She also wears a sparkly diamond-looking necklace. I’ve always loved this jewelry and even asked to borrow it, but seeing it now reminds me of last weekend and that rich woman drowning in bling. I haven’t spoken to anyone about the event, not even Joanne. The money is still in the envelope, hidden underneath my bed, right by the fashion magazines.
Mom and Dad both noticed how sad I was last Saturday when I got home after the party. I told them I had an upset stomach. They seemed to believe me. I keep adding to the lies. What would my mother think if she knew I had been paid to swim for rich people? She would probably drive right up to the house, me seated in the front seat and her giving me a speech on self-respect. Then she would tell the owners off. I’ve seen her do this sort of thing before, but this time it would be different. This time I would have been the one who failed her. I don’t like the heaviness of this shame, how it feels around my body and my heart.
“Sheila, have you ever done something you were embarrassed about?” I ask.
Sheila flips her hair back. We’re waiting for the train to take us to the Expo stop.
“What do you mean? Something you swore not to do and you do it anyway?”
I nod, although it’s not technically what I mean.
“Of course,” she says. “I mean, have you met my mother?”
Aunt Lupe has always been strict with Sheila. Ever since the love-letter business, she’s been super vigilant with Sheila. Recently Aunt Lupe made Sheila empty her pockets. She also started going over her cell phone for any evidence. Her father is always busy working, so he never interferes. It’s always just Aunt Lupe being a control freak. The funny thing is I don’t even think Sheila’s seeing anyone. Boys are always chatting her up. My mom likes to say she has admirers. Too many to count. But I’ve never once noticed her pay them any real mind. She jokes with them, but it never goes past that.
“What do you do?”
“I try not to let Mom ruin every little aspect of my life. I try to find happiness,” she says. A sadness sweeps across her face, and I feel bad for making her think about it. “Mom loves me. I know she does, but she’s afraid. She thinks keeping me caged up will keep me safe.”
There have been moments when Mom has spoken to Aunt Lupe about how she makes things worse for her daughter. Sheila’s mom doesn’t like to be told how to raise her kid. It’s funny how Aunt Lupe and Mom both have rules on how to raise us. I’d rather have a mom who allows me the freedom to speak my mind than have someone who wants to keep me trapped. Then again, how much freedom do I really have when I’m lying to my parents?
The train arrives and my thoughts keep spinning.
Daniel and Ayana glare at me as I walk on deck. They’re doing their stretches while our coaches meet. I place my yoga mat close to them, but they go from a death stare to ignoring me. I don’t even get a hello.
“What’s up? You forgot how to say hi?”
“Why don’t you speak to your friends Mayra and Olivia?”
Now I get why they’re giving me the cold shoulder. Great.
“It’s not a big deal. It was just a party we performed at,” I say.
“So why didn’t they invite all of us, the whole team?” Ayana asks.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask them?”
