Page 22 of Lessons in Chemistry

“Uh, Casey won’t get home from swimming until after nine.” Why am I entertaining Auggie’s crazy suggestion?

“He’s a swimmer?”

“He’s on the university swimming team. One of them anyway. The most serious one. They have three. Performance, competition, and development.” I wave my hand. “And none of that is interesting to you.”

“Maybe not, but now I know why you like him.”

I blink. “You do?”

“Yeah. Not only does he have a cute face, but he’ll also have a sexy swimmer’s body. Nice choice, Emory. Nice choice.”

I swipe the essay off the table and hold it in front of my burning face. Now the image of Casey in his Speedos is sitting side by side with one of Auggie teaching me how to kiss. What’s happening?

“Tomorrow night will be perfect,” Auggie says, either not noticing or ignoring my embarrassment. I’m voting on it being the latter.

“It will?”

“Yes. I can come to yours and cook for you like I promised I would, and then we can be snuggling on the sofa by the time your boy comes home.”

“He’s not my— Wait. Snuggling?”

“Yes. The cosier we look, the more he’ll believe we’re on a date, and the more likely he is to get jealous. And if he’s jealous, it means he’s interested in you.”

I lower the essay so I can peek at him over it. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He looks me right in the eyes. “Deadly.”

I shiver. “Do you think it will work?”

“I know it will.”

“And we wouldn’t need to kiss to make it work?”

“Not unless you want to.”

My stomach quivers. “Oh, fuck.”

“Is that a yes?”

I press my lips together, nod, and make a funny squeaking sound.

He rubs his hands together. “That’s a yes.”

6

CASEY

I can’t concentrate on my essay. Em seemed off this morning. He kept saying he was okay, but he was short and snippy, and he wasn’t making as much eye contact with me as he normally does. I know Em is shy, but he’s never been that way around me. Have I done something wrong? Have I upset him without realising it?

I drop my pen on my textbook and rub my hands over my face. He’s having coffee with Auggie right now. I hate that Em believes Auggie doesn’t like him for him. I hope it’s not true. Em is a great guy. I tried to tell him so last night. Did he listen to me? I doubt it. He puts too much stock in movie stereotypes.

I check the time. Maybe I should have gone with Em to meet Auggie, except the thought of it made me feel weird inside. I shut those thoughts out, pick my pen up, and read a few more paragraphs. I even copy down a quote I could use in my essay before scratching it out with my pen. This is hopeless.

I grab a Post-it Note and write ‘Gone swimming, back soon’ on it, and stick it to Emory’s door. I grab my swimming things.

The Edge has a twenty-five-metre pool, but the university swimming and water polo society trains at John Charles Sports Centre in Beeston. It has a fifty-metre and a twenty-five-metre pool, making it much better for training for long-course competitions than The Edge. It’s the pool I’m familiar with. The one I know how to get to. So even though it takes two buses to get there from where Em and I live in Headingley, it’s the one I go to, even if I’m swimming for pleasure. Who am I kidding? I’m not here to swim for fun. I’m here to swim the weirdness out of my bones.

It’s busy, as it’s a public swimming session, but part of the fifty-metre pool is divided into lanes for swimming laps. I find an empty lane and do a few slow laps of breaststroke to warm up.