Page 17 of The Breakup Artists

I glance at Ella, who used that word to describe me only yesterday, but she stares at Justin, her eyes not wandering in my direction.

“Group race. Winner gets crowned King,” Justin continues. “The runner-up is Duke. And the loser is theAsshole. Until the next race in about... I don’t know, an hour, the King is boss—he can demand service or dish out shots. The Duke is next in command, and so on down the line. The Asshole is everyone’s bitch.”

So basically, high school.

“I’m in,” the seahorse guy says, pushing himself out of the water.

I toss my sunglasses onto the lawn chair, fully planning on participating. Like I said, competition is opportunity. I make eye contact with Tiny, but she shakes her head. While she loves the water, she’s a self-declared floater, not a racer. Same goes for running. If she’s running, I would too because something apocalyptic is happening.

“Babe?” Justin says to Ella, who’s sipping lemonade and looks content where she is.

I stand, pulling off my T-shirt and kicking off my shoes. “I’m in,” I reply before Ella can.

“Yeah, man,” Justin laughs. “Public enemy’s stepping up.”

Now Ella does look at me. I join the group poolside, where there are already about ten people lining up for the swim race.

Amber throws her phone down on her chair and gives a little shrug, shaking out her bob and readjusting her red bikini. “I’m in, too.” She joins the line, picking a spot between me and seahorse guy.

She eyes me with interest. “You showed,” she says like she’s impressed.

“Wouldn’t have missed it.” I gesture at Ella, who’s now headed right for us. “Scorpio is basically my best friend in this town.”

Amber smirks. “You know her name is—” she starts.

“My name is none of his business,” Ella says, pulling her long hair into a messy bun and squeezing in on the other side of Amber.

“None of his businessmight be your birth name, Scorpio, but it doesn’t roll off the tongue the same way,” I reply.

Amber laughs, and Ella ignores me.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Justin says loudly. “We’ll all swim to the far side of the pool and back. First one on the deck is the winner. Leah, can you count us off?”

Leah puts down her phone and holds three fingers in the air, her box braids loose and long down her back. “Everyone, get ready.”

Ella glances my direction, and her look is a challenge, one that says she’s going to eviscerate me.

But I know what she thinks I don’t—that she, Amber, and Leah have been on the swim team for four years. However, I also know me, and even though I only have the murky water in the dock and not some fancy pool, I’ve spent all the summers of my life swimming in it.

“Three. Two. One. Go!” Leah says from her lawn chair, and I dive.

The water cancels out the music and the hooting crowd, blanketing everything in a familiar whoosh. And I’m off, shoulders pushing against the water and eyes open. I reach the other side in no time, but with my momentum, my turn is clumsy. Ella’s, however, is graceful. We’re neck and neck as we kick off the wall. And as we approach the finish line, I steal a look at her. She’s a stroke behind, but we’re ahead of the pack—first and second of the group.

I pause, slowing my pace and strategically letting her take the lead. But instead of popping out of the water as the victorious Queen ready to smite the commoners with shots of Malibu, she touches the wall and stops, staring at me underwater. For a second, I’m confused.

Take your victory.

Still underwater, I motion at the deck above us. But my friendly gesture is met with annoyance, and just like in the coffee shop my plan goes to hell. Amber smacks the wall between us and lifts herself out of the pool, leaving us both without a title, frowning at each other underwater.

Now it’s Ella who points to the surface above our heads, eyes narrowed, clearly aware I was letting her win and flat-out refusing to accept the olive branch. Not that it matters at this point, considering half the group is already out of the pool. She points again more aggressively. And while I understand her, I’m not getting out now to take some middling position that no one will notice. I can’t, really. So I shake my head.

She looks like she wants to scream, which is kind of adorable underwater with her cheeks puffed out. She holds up both hands as if to say,What the hell is your problem?And I’m wondering the same thing—how is it that every time I orchestrate a plan, she does something I don’t expect? I can already hear Tiny tearing me a new one.

I push myself down to the floor of the pool and into a seated position, trying to tell her it’s no use and to give up. But she pushes down with me and stamps her foot against the bottom. And next thing I know she’s sitting on the floor of the pool, too, giving me the finger with both hands. We stare at each other. But our standoff is interrupted by lack of air.

She’s already struggling, and I know I don’t have more than five seconds left. She fights, but it’s no use. We both push forcefully out of the water, gasping.

“And we have our Asshole!” Leah exclaims. “Or two Assholes?” she says when neither of us makes a move to jump onto the deck. “I feel like that fail is definitely a tie. You two were practically having a conference down there.”