Jenny Duran

I

“This is one of those things you’ll regret not doing,” Jenny laughed from behind me.

“Really, Jen? What’s your proof?” I snapped back. I was not in the mood to deal with her derision. The sun was wearing through the skin on my neck, and my only respite from the heat would come from the one thing I dreaded most: the pool. Normally, I had no issue with pools (aside from the harsh chemical smell), but this day I had one. The issue being that it was about 10 feet beneath me, and I was attempting to balance above it on a fragile, wobbly plank.

“C’mon, Nora. I’ve done it a million times. Trust me.”

Contrary to Jenny’s beliefs, I wanted nothing less than to step off the board and go flying through the air, limbs tangled, panic escaping my throat in a scream that would be referenced for years to come.

“Let me down. I mean it.” I started for the ladder, acting as if I was going to push Jenny’s small frame out of the way. She was wearing a pink bikini — something I’d never seen her wear before, even though we had spent all of last summer together. It was unnecessary, really; Jenny had no boobs, so the bikini looked sad, hanging flat over her chest. I, on the other hand, sported the same sad, faded one-piece with the green apple pattern which I had worn for the past three summers. The stitching on the bottom had deteriorated so…