Emily Jenkins - Invisible Inkling

“Sporty stuff is good for you. Team stuff.”

I don’t mind sporty stuff. I just can’t remember the rules, and then everyone yells at me. It’s the yelling part I don’t like.

“I know you’re not in love with soccer,” Mom continues, “so I want you to try swimming. Once you finish Hammerhead, they have a team you can join.”

I look up at her, pleading in my eyes.

“It’s this or hip-hop dance,” Mom says. “There’s a boys’ class starting at the studio where Nadia takes.”

“Fine,” I say.

“Here’s the men’s dressing room,” Mom says. “Nadia is picking you up after class.” She hands me a bag with my swimsuit, goggles, towel, cap, and lock, plus a granola bar.

Inkling is in the bag. I can tell because he weighs nearly ten pounds. I can’t believe Mom didn’t notice.

When I get into the locker room, it’s empty, so I shake Inkling out of the towel, where he’s been rolled like a burrito. “What are you doing here?” I whisper.

“I’m not gonna swim. I just want to see you in action.”

“It’s not entertainment. It’s a class.”

“I just want to see!” he insists.

I sigh as I change into my suit. I put my clothes and my bag in a locker.

I don’t want Inkling to watch me in the pool. He claims to be a spectacular swimmer. Canadian otters and whatever. Also, he’s battled kangaroos and evil scientists. He’s traveled the world hiding in the backs of hatchbacks and the luggage compartments of trains. Even if none of that’s true, he’s defended me against that dirtbug Gillicut. And against Nadia, when Halloween brought out the evil in her.

Inkling is tough.

Swim class—well, I don’t expect it to be a shining moment. I don’t need anyone watching me.

“Can I eat your granola bar?” Inkling wants to know. “I wouldn’t ask except it’s the peanut butter kind. My favorite.”

“Go ahead,” I say—and a plan forms in my mind. I pull my swim cap on and throw my towel over my shoulder. “It’s in the locker.”

I wait, watching the bag inside the locker rustle. Then I seize my moment. “Watch your tail!” I cry.

“What?”

“Watch your tail!” I say again—and slam the locker shut.

“Wolowitz!” he yells from inside. “You did this on purpose!”

“Shhhh,” I say, lowering my voice to lie. “There are other people here now. You have to be quiet!”

“I’ll get you for this,” Inkling whispers back.

“See you after class!” I say cheerfully, clicking the lock into place.

We Look Like Defeated Supervillains

Turns out the locker room was empty because I am late. Most people are already in the pool, except a line of shivering kids waiting by lane five. A teacher in a red surf shirt barks at me: “If you know your level, go to your lane. Neons on the far end, Cuttlefish lane two, Barracudas lane three, Hammerheads lane four.”

“What if I don’t know?”

“Line up at lane five and we’ll test you,” says the guy.

Great.

Testing.

I was hoping they’d just shove me in Barracuda without testing me. That’s what level most fourth graders are.

I line up behind four other kids. We look like defeated supervillains. Colored goggles. Swim caps making us look bald. Hunched over and hugging our torsos, chilly from the shower we had to take before getting to the pool.

“Why our parents decided we should swim now that it’s practically winter, I have no idea,” says the girl in front of me. She is wearing a purple bathing suit and a silver swim cap with bright-green goggles. “All summer I begged to go to the pool, but did I ever go?”

I nod, but I am really looking at the kid in front of her. His brown skin and orange goggles are familiar.

Oh.

It’s Patne.

And in front of him, his friend Henry Kim. Kim has a mole on one cheek, so I recognize him right away, even in black goggles and a yellow cap.

“Drat,” I mutter.

“What’s wrong?” asks the girl.

“I know them,” I say, gesturing.

“So?”

“So.”

“So what?”

“So I don’t really like people I know watching me swim, okay?” I blurt. “It makes it like a performance. It makes me kick funny and then I go crooked.”

“What about me?” she says.

“It’s not so bad having strangers watch me swim,” I explain. “They’re not going to make unpleasant comments at school the next day or ask me why I kick like that.”

“You’re weird.”

“A little, yeah.” No use denying it.

The girl smirks. “No, I mean, you don’t recognize me.”

“I—”

I look at her. Her hair is completely covered by her silver cap. I can’t see her eyes because of her green goggles. Her skin is medium color. She could be Latina or Asian American or any kind of mix. She has dimples and black nail polish and—

Oh.

It’s Chin.

My actual friend. That I didn’t even know I was talking to.

“You’re that kid from downstairs who built the Great Wall of China from matchsticks, right?” I say, trying to make it like I knew it was her all along. “Weren’t you a dead ballerina for Halloween?”

She knows I’m faking it. “You didn’t recognize me in the goggles.”

“More the swim cap,” I confess. “Don’t you think we look like defeated supervillains?”

Chin nudges Patne. “Joe, get this. Hank didn’t recognize me in my swim cap.”

Patne pulls his goggles up and squints at me. “Is that Hank?”

“Hey there,” I mutter.

“I can’t recognize anyone ,” Patne says. “Everything is blurry without my glasses, and with the caps on, we all look bald.”

“For-serious, everything is blurry?” I say.

“Pretty much. For next time I’ll remember Sasha has the silver cap and the green goggles, and you have blue everything,” he says. “The details of your faces aren’t there, but I’ll know you by what color blob you are.”

“I’m a blue-everything blob!” I say, laughing.

Maybe it’s not so bad that Patne and Chin are swimming with me. Even if Kim is going to take most of Patne’s attention, like he always does—this could still be fun.

Then the teacher in the red surf shirt grabs my arm and points to an empty lane. “Swim here, you and the two kids behind you. We’re going to do two lanes at a time so you guys don’t waste your whole hour waiting for the test.”

“But I—”

“Go on. Front crawl to the end, backstroke on the return.”

Great.

Now I have to swim in front of everyone.

I’ll Sew Up My Wounded Stomach with Yarn

When I do the backstroke, it feels like I’m in the middle of the ocean. There’s nothing anywhere for miles but a few waterlogged boards from the shipwreck I was just in. I can’t hear the sounds of the pool like I can with breaststroke. I can’t see the bottom like I can with crawl. I can’t tell where I’m going, unless I crash into the buoys on the side of the lane.

I wonder if a shipwrecked kitten is floating, all alone, on a soggy raft. He’s scared of the ocean. He’s mewling. I have to swim over so I can rescue him, but I can only swim on my back because of this injury I have from the shipwreck. My stomach is cut open and nearly all my insides are spilling out. I can’t roll over or else my kidneys and liver and all my other guts will pour into the sea.