Sun beams blaze the back of my neck just above the collar of my t-shirt. The line at the diving board winds longer. Every few seconds I hear the splash. I could drive home and get my swimsuit, but I’m waiting for someone. He’s late.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

Aren’t you always? 

“Ready to take pictures?”

My hair sticks to my forehead from sweat.

His thick eyebrows raise. “Well?”His hairline is receding already. Why did I used to find him attractive?

“Ready when you are.” I position myself by a tall oak, but he puts me in a stiff pose. It’s for his photography company, so whatever.

As he clicks the shutter a dozen times, (he’s an insufferable perfectionist) my eyes look past him. My neighbor saunters into the pool area, blonde ponytail swinging. Summer just started, and she’s already tan. She catches me. I look down as she smiles.

He lowers the camera. “Pay attention to me.”

Never again. “I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean? I need these pictures for tomorrow.”

“Find someone else.” God knows I will.


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