Laura Eppinger

The first time I peed in a pool, I was at George Murphy’s birthday pool party and Clara had just shown George the hair growing underneath her arms.

Gross! Clara has armpit hair! George shouted. He and Clara had been swimming along the deep end, and once he shouted, Andy joined in and so did Kevin, who went honk-honk-honk with his stupid goose-laugh. They began treading water around her, forming a human Bermuda triangle. Earlier, I’d overheard Mrs. Murphy calling them her Three Musketeers, but she was wrong because they bullied us constantly. For some reason, Clara still had a crush on George. Something about his hair. I didn’t understand it and I don’t think she did either.

The thing was, Clara and I shared everything – from snacks to Spanish homework to lip gloss – and so I kind of felt betrayed that she hadn’t told me about her…

It was such a tiny, tremulous cry. A little robin’s egg beg, a small but bright

“help”

But I heard nothing, or I heard but didn’t hear because by the time I process the itty-bitty

“help me”

Enough to bother wondering where it came from, this precious wee

“please”

I immediately recognize that the situation has already escalated, so

If nothing else, there must have been other signs, and we’d missed them, as it is only just now that we all seem to be looking around, first at each other, and then, eventually, at

Oh such a little lost lamb of a lady,

Everybody’s grandmother (not mine, of course, my grandmother on the white side was an absolute ox, and my abuela was steel and fire and would have, with only a glance, commanded us to save her and be grateful to have had the chance) but the type of…