The Everafter by Amy Huntley

changed in that time: I have become a girl who trespasses—naked—into someone else’s pool.
    Can I get arrested for this?
    I think I’d rather not know.
    We hear muffled laughter on the other side of the fence. Everyone is checking to make sure we’re actually in the pool.
    Humiliating. Thank God the pool lights are off. Thank God no one seems to be home.
    The fence rattles.
    “Ohmygod,” Sandra breathes. “Someone’s coming over.”
    First, Roger Myers appears over the top of the fence, then Gabe follows. More giggling on the other side. I’m about to scream in outrage, but Sandra smacks me on the head, “ Shh! C’mon.” She pushes off farther into the deep end to hide beneath the shadow of the diving board. I don’t waste any time in following her.
    Roger says, “We’re just checking to make sure you’re really skinny-dipping.”
    “Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod,” is the only thing coming out of my mouth.
    “There’s no way we’re letting you check that out.” Sandra obviously has more presence of mind than I do.
    Roger laughs. “No choice. We’ll just grab these”—he bends over and scoops up the pile of our clothing—“and check to make sure it’s all there.”
    Carrying our clothes, he runs toward the fence. He throws them over (or tries to; Sandra’s bra gets stuck on the top of the fence), then scrambles up after them. He rescues Sandra’s bra and tosses it on the other side of the fence, then jumps down after it. Gabe shoots over the fence right after him.
    “Oh. My. God.” At least I’ve managed to change the tempo of my speech even if I haven’t managed to find any new words.
    “It’s all here,” Tammy announces, barely loud enough for us to hear. She doesn’t want to get caught, either.
    Roger’s face reappears at the top of the fence. Themuffled giggling from below him is making me feel crazy. He tosses down our clothes. They rain into a scattered mess in the dirt; then Roger disappears again, and within seconds we can hear pounding feet receding into the distance as a giggling herd stampedes its way back to Tammy’s.
    Quiet hangs heavy in the air again. The only sounds we hear are the whorls our limbs make in the water.
    “Time to get out,” Sandra announces. We stumble over to our clothes. No towels, of course. Not one of the amenities offered to trespassers. The clothes stick to us as we put them back on.
    “I can’t find my underwear,” I tell Sandra.
    “Forget ’em,” she says. “Let’s just get out of here.” Her long curly hair has already soaked the top half of her shirt. I can’t help being satisfied with the messy look of it. Sandra’s always dressed a bit too neatly. All her clothes—picked out by Mrs. Simpson, of course—are too well coordinated. Her socks, her hair clips, her shoes, everything all goes together. She sometimes looks like a present that’s been professionally wrapped by someone who doesn’t care at all about the gift inside the box. But as she stands here now, in a wrinkled and wet shirt, she seems more like the person I really know she is. “Hurry up,” she prods me.
    “I can’t just leave behind my underwear,” I protest.
    “Sure you can,” she insists. She grabs my arm and pulls me to the fence.

headache
    age 16
    The note comes back to me folded a few extra times.
    Thank God. That must mean Sandra had an aspirin. My head is pounding.
    Throbbing. In time to Ms. Winters’s voice. Chemistry class. Just where a girl with a headache and major problems doesn’t want to be.
    I unfold the note carefully, and a yellow and red Tylenol Geltab rests on top of Sandra’s writing. Right underneath my plea for an aspirin, she’s written:
    At least Winters is off on one of her tangents. Youwon’t have to know any of this stuff for a test. That must help with your headache.
    I write back:
    It would if she hadn’t decided to get distracted by something so scientific and complicated. Every once in a while I actually try to get all