“Go on loserr!” Zsófia winks up. From here she’s a little brown figurine. I squint, squashing her with my eyelids.
I’m still clothed. How to jump in with all these things to take off? Jeans, a button shirt, my lame socks and trainers. But I can’t take them off perched narrowly here, I’ll fall. I keep making my way up and now, I’m hot.
At the top I feel something like glee. A humongous blot of turquoise extends out in front taking up most of my vision. Everything else is blurred. I take off my shoes and pants but leave on my shirt and socks because I remember I’m bra-less, and because I forget to take them off.
A cluster of upturned heads dotted on the grass and more of those green birds, almost blended in with the trees. The birds are singing.
Big jump from the pool’s lip, it’s five metres or so before I hit the water. I sink and sink. Its clearness, its sharp coolness is an unexpected serenity. I keep speeding down rapid as a leaden anchor. A sock sops off.
My feet softly land on the pool floor. I only see artificial aquamarine.
And then I’m propelled upward with such velocity, as if I’ve got on a jetpack. In milliseconds I’m atop the pool surface, launched out. I hover for some time in mid-air, suspended high above the pool.
Triumphant, exhilarated, my underwear has fallen off. One heavy dripping sock.
I bounce down to the ground, landing upright next to the table of boys whose glasses are now empty and lips now smudged inky blue. They laugh and clap in discordant appraisal.
Zsófia throws me her hat to dry off.
