Chapter 3

Zane climbed out of the pool and walked over to a small bar in the corner.

"You want anything to drink?" he asked.

"Um, water, I guess," I replied.

Zane poured a glass of water for me, and a drink for him, and brought both beverages to the edge of the pool.

"That's not alcohol, is it?" I asked, looking at his martini glass.

"Does it really matter?"

"It does if you're underage."

"Well, mother, what age would that be?" he said in a mocking tone. I glared and drank my water. We each finished our drinks, and Zane slid back into the pool.

"Alright, why don't you try the gutter excercises for breaststroke?" I suggested.

"Fine," he said, grabbing the kickboard.

An hour later, I had managed to teach Zane freestyle, breaststroke, and backstroke. I was feeling quite proud of myself, considering how difficult he had been.

"Well, I think that's about all you need to know," I said.

"Works for me."

The door opened and Mr. Irons walked in.

"I assume everything went well?" he asked.

"Splendid," I said, climbing out of the pool. I felt Zane watching me. Creeper.

"I'd like to thank you, Kitty. I bet tomorrow will be even more productive."

"Tomorrow?" Zane and I asked in unison.

"Well of course. If you're going to join the navy, you'd better be a very good swimmer," Mr. Irons said.

"I'll be on a boat, not in the water," Zane narrowed his eyes.

"Nevertheless, I want you to be as prepared as you can be," Mr. Irons smiled. With that, he left.



"Hey, I've got a question," I turned to Zane, "If Mr. Irons is your uncle, why doesn't he have the same last name as you?"

"Because my father changed his last name. He didn't really like the thought of being associated with my uncle."

"Then why is he running the club?"

"To look after me. Besides, my father's too busy to look after such trivial matters," Zane grabbed a towel from a rack on the wall. He threw one at me, right when I wasn't looking, so it hit me in the face.

"Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically. I threw it back at him, "I have my own towel."

"Whatever," he began to leave the pool room. Man he had a nice body. Hold on! Don't think like that! You're not that kind of girl, Kitty! You go to church, you do bible study, you don't use language…but oh, that body…

Moving on, I followed him out of the pool room. I mean, it would be akward to be in there alone. It's not like it's open to the public or anything. We parted ways when I turned to go to the staff locker room. I could've sworn he watched me, but it doesn't really matter. I dried off, changed, and went home.

When I arrived at my house, my brother, Socka, pulled into the driveway. Now, before you go thinking that he's got a weird name and my parents must have been drunk when they named him, it's actually a nickname. See, he plays soccer. He's actually really good at it. But in one of the games he played, this guy on the other team kept trash-talking him. Now, my brother has a bit of a temper. But, rather than get disqualified for hitting the guy, he waited for a time-out, took off his sock, put a rock in it, and launched it at the guy's head. Needless to say, his method worked. Ever since then, people have called him Socka.

"Hey, Kitty," Socka said, stepping out of his SUV.

"Hi," I replied. I saw Suki, his girlfriend, getting out of the passenger seat.

"Hi," she greeted me. I waved and smiled.

"How was the golf?"

"Flipping awesome!" Socka exclaimed. "You know the giant mushroom on hole 18? Well, guess who made a giant mushy friend?"

"Beats me," I said, before bounding up the stairs to our house and going inside. I went straight up to my room to check my emails. I checked and replied, then went to bed. Good thing it was summer and I didn't have homework.