The back courtyard is narrow but extends for several hundred metres. Thick green grass waves with its thousands of strands as the wind hushes through.
“So, this is my yard”, hands flicked out like, ta-da. She’s put on a terry towel bucket hat and somehow managed to pull it off.
Mulberry trees line the left fence, underneath is the only strip of shade.
There’s a towering above-ground pool panelled with wood. A group of shirtless boys sits at the table beneath one of the trees, drinking something cobalt-blue with ice cubes. They sparkle of swim and sunlight. “Hey girlie, show us your jumps!” a brunette one yells. His perfectly straight teeth are stained lilac from the drink, perhaps too, the berries.
I walk toward the pool. It’s at least three times the height of me and, as I come closer, I get instant goosebumps in its shaded border. Chlorine wafts, the familiarity of it putting me at least a little at ease. I take my time climbing the tall steps, hoping to warm my blood by the time I have to jump. The water’s squiggly reflections further undermine me, wriggling lemony and intangibly up my feet.
At ten steps I’m not yet halfway there. I take time to breathe deep, not wanting to fall backwards, not wanting to do anything embarrassing. The table of boys are all smiling expectantly. Grinning iridescent teeth.
