Charisma by Jeanne Ryan

made to the Sierra Leone Sanctuary for Chimpanzees.

At the pool the next morning, I greet my class of five-year-olds, which includes Molly, a chubby-cheeked girl with long black bangs, who refused to budge from the side of the pool yesterday. Her mother calls from the bench, “Get your whole body into the water, sweetie.” Molly shakes her head.
    Patrick, my teaching partner, and I lead the other kids through bubble-blowing and blast-offs, while Molly stares balefully. When I invite her to join in, she stiffens. “Maybe next time,” I say.
    I wade off to launch a game of Sharks vs. Minnows, reminding myself not to feel rejected when the kids beg to be on Patrick’s team, the way they did yesterday. But a strange thing happens. One by one the kids announce they want to play on Team Aislyn. What? Even Patrick tries to hide his surprise.
    We play for five minutes, and then, with two kids laughing and hanging off of my arms, I swim to Molly’s side, keeping my gaze soft. “Wanna try a giant turtle ride?”
    Biting her lip, she nods. Buoyed by more than the water, I coax Molly onto my back and away from the wall. It feels like she’ll choke me with her death-grip.
    I gasp. “Not so tight, kiddo.”
    She releases her grasp, but my head suddenly feels light and a shaft of pain sears behind my eyes. I should slow down a bit. Taking steady steps, I stay close to the edge of the shallow end in case I need to unload Molly quickly. But by the end of the ride, Molly wears a huge smile and my head feels fine.
    The next class flows as effortlessly as the first. Again, the kids choose to be on my team. I joke with Patrick that he must’ve eaten garlic for breakfast. But he insists the reason for my newfound popularity is that my teaching skills have improved overnight. He can’t explain how exactly, only that I’m more present somehow.
    More present. Could genes have anything to do with that?
    As I shift from classes to lifeguard watch, my whole body pulsates with a weird kind of energy. Maybe it’s presence; maybe it’s my imagination.
    Five minutes into my shift, Heath, who’s usually linked to one cheerleader or another, saunters next to the chair. “Hey, Aislyn, ready for senior year?”
    I adjust my visor. “I guess. Going to enjoy summer first.”
    He slowly examines me. “You’re different than I thought.”
    I shrug. “Less mute or less hopeless? You posting any more public humiliation photos?”
    He startles and then laughs nervously. “I post crap like that all the time. None of my friends take it seriously.”
    â€œHow about your enemies?”
    He blinks a few times. “Wow. You don’t pull your punches, girl .” His eyelids lower and he clears his throat. “So, are you with anyone?”
    My butt slides toward the edge of my seat. “Huh?”
    â€œYou know. Do you have a boyfriend?” Along with his casual smile is a stitch of anxiety I’ve never noticed before.
    I shift my eyes back and forth between him and the pool. “Uh, not really.” But my odds are better than they’ve ever been.
    Heath tosses an upward gaze as well-honed as a samurai sword. “Then you wanna hang out tonight? Catch a movie?”
    I almost fall off of the chair. He wants to see a movie with me? Someone he thinks of as “a waste”?
    I scan the pool. “I’ve got plans.”
    â€œMaybe tomorrow?”
    At that moment, I catch sight of a boy getting ready to hurtle down the waterslide with another kid on his shoulders. I whistle and give them a warning over the bullhorn. Instead of ignoring me, one of them salutes and the other yells “Sorry” before they go down the slide one at a time. Wow, even my lifeguard communications are improving.
    Heath taps my ankle. “Aislyn? Tomorrow?”
    â€œUm, no thanks.” This shouldn’t feel as good as it does.
    Disappointment in his