Page 5 of Within These County Lines

The swim club is twenty minutes south, just above the West Virginia border. My eyes flick between the road and my phone, waiting for an onslaught of texts from Murray. He hasn’t reached out since I left yesterday.

That’s what I wanted, so why does it feel so wrong?

“You’ve arrived,” my phone announces as I pull up to a shaded driveway with no sign.

I double-check the address—it’s right. But the internet calls this place Pinehurst Swim Club, permanently closed.

Rainbow Valley must be the new name. This is where having Victor by my side would actually come in handy.

I drive past a pile of moldy umbrellas and crumbling beach chairs, relics of a once-busy summer spot now left to rot. There are no crowds to count—just a lonely rectangular pool wedged between the trees like a piece in the game of Operation.

My jaw slackens once I get close. The water is a thick, murky green with garden snakes slithering across its surface. I gasp, glancing at nearby tree roots.

These snakes aren’t hallucinations.

They’re real.

“What the . . . ?” I stumble back over my own feet.

“Hello?” I shout, spinning around. “I’m from the county . . . here to inspect the pool.” My voice echoes through the trees. It’s silent.

I press my palms against my ears, rubbing at the cartilage to create a static that’s better than the quiet.

Then, a slurping sound.

It startles me like a cold splash of water to the face.

I turn.

A shirtless boy suns himself on a lounge chair. He sips Coca-Cola through a yellow bendy straw and tosses a Skittle into his mouth between gulps.

I swear he wasn’t there two seconds ago.

His skin is slick with sweat, pooling in the dips of his stomach muscles. He’s tan as if he’s already lived through an entire summer.

I want to say something, but I’d rather stare for a little bit longer.

He’s around my age, lean and striking, like when I spot a lone, pink flower in a grassy field or catch a glimpse of a bald eagle diving from one of Penango’s cliffs. His looks fill me with that same need to gasp at the rarity of the sight.

His funky, blue-lensed sunglasses and neon green earpieces add to his mystery.

If the pool’s lore contains a hot boy like this, I might reconsider having a look. Heavy emphasis on might.

“Hello,” I say, slowly approaching.

No response. Instead, he runs his hands through his curls. They bounce along with my heart.

“Do you work here?” I ask. “We got a report that this pool was reopening. You’ll have to fill out a permit and undergo an inspection.”

He pulls The Dog Encyclopedia from an orange backpack and rests it on his lap. Judging by his colorful getup, he might as well be the Rainbow Valley Swim Club mascot.

Still nothing.

I huff. His whole too cool to acknowledge me act is suddenly the biggest turnoff. Another boy from Penango who can’t communicate. I shouldn’t have expected anything different.

“Hello?” I try again. It almost comes out as a yell.

Finally, he glances up.