Vanilla 4, chocolate 13, strawberry 28: Swimming Lessons
Title: Swimming Lessons
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Vanilla 4 (I can't believe you (don't) know how to ___), chocolate 13 (humility), strawberry 28 (waves).
Word Count: 1174
Rating: PG.
Summary: He who teaches must be careful what he teaches. Or, how Summer learned to swim.
Lars stopped mid-popsicle to stare incredulously down at the top of his companion's head. "Are you kidding me? You don't know how to swim?"
Summer shrugged, and kicked her feet gently, and had another lick of her ice cream cone. "No," she said. "I never learned. We never go to the beach so there isn't any point."
"What if you fall in the river and drown?" he asked. "Then there would have been a point."
She shrugged again. "I never go near the river."
He refrained from pointing out that they were currently sitting in East River Park, not thirty feet from the river. If Summer was going to be willfully oblivious nothing he could say would penetrate. "Well, what if you cross the mob? They might put you in concrete shoes and drop you in."
"If I had concrete shoes on I wouldn't be able to swim anyway," she pointed out, with irrefutable logic. "Anyway, I wouldn't cross the mob. Is there even a mob anymore?"
There were lots of mobs, but Aaron and Ivy would probably kill him if he told Summer that. "Probably not. None that have problems with nine-year-olds, anyway." He ruffled her hair.
She ignored the gesture. "I don't know why you're on about swimming all of a sudden."
"You remember my brother Mort?" Lars asked. "Yeah, he almost drowned last weekend. He's okay, thankfully, and that's what happens when you decide to go inner-tubing and don't check for rapids, but Mort knew how to swim and he almost drowned anyway and... well. I know Ivy can swim and Aaron used to beat me in laps every damn time at camp, but you I didn't know about, and I'm glad I asked."
There was a brief pause, while Summer processed the story and Lars returned his attention to his popsicle. Finally, she said, "Yes, I remember your brother, I'm sorry he almost drowned, I'm glad he's okay, and I wouldn't be that stupid. And of course Aaron beat you in laps. He beats you in minigolf too."
"Not anymore he doesn't," Lars said, rather smugly. "But that's not the point. You need to learn to swim, Summer."
She scowled. "Why? I'll never need to know how."
"You don't know that," he said. "Besides, it's a useful skill to have."
"It is not useful," Summer insisted. "I don't want to learn. I don't have to."
Ah, she was going to be obstinate. Well, Lars knew how to handle that. "Okay," he said, and ate the last bit of his popsicle.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Okay? That's it?"
"Sure," he said. "Won't bring it up again."
"You're planning something," Summer said. Her ice cream was melting all over her hand. "Reverse pyschology. It won't work."
Lars grinned. "First of all, reverse psychology doesn't work that way. Secondly, I am planning something, but you'll never see it coming. Thirdly, it will work, and I will teach you to swim by the end of the summer."
"You won't," Summer said, with the air of one delivering an unshakable argument.
Sounded like a challenge to him.
--
Summer picked at her bathing suit with a look of complete disgust. "You said," she said to Lars, accusingly, "you said you wouldn't bring it up again."
"I didn't," Lars said. "With you. Your parents are an entirely different matter."
"That's cheating," she said. Lars couldn't tell if she was more offended by the cheating or the fact that he'd won.
"It's not cheating, Summerchild, it's winning. Now get in the pool."
She poked a toe in the water, then pulled her foot back. "It's cold. I don’t want to go in."
Lars, about to begin the agonizing task of getting his swim trunks wet, gave her an odd look. "The whole way here you were complaining about how hot it was." Which was why he'd picked this day; a heat wave in New York City really made you long for a swim.
Not, apparently, if you were Summer. "It is hot," she said, crankily. "And the water's too cold. I won't go in."
He shrugged again. "Okay. Don't." Better to just kamikaze the swim trunks, he decided, and backed up out of the pool.
"Are we done now?" she asked.
"No," he said, and backed up a little bit more. He couldn't dive, not at this end of the pool, but he could do a cannonball and not kill himself.
Summer, sitting on the edge of the pool, twisted around to look at him. "Then what are you doing?"
"Getting a running start. Banzai!"
Lars surfaced a minute later, thoroughly soaked, to find waves crashing against the side of the pool and a very irritated Summer glaring at him, her red fluff of hair plastered against her skull.
"Oops," he said, unrepentently. "Well, you're already wet. Might as well get in."
"I hate you," Summer said, but she got in the pool.
--
"...and that's a breast stroke," Lars said, standing upright at the other end of the lane. "Think you can do it?"
Summer frowned, and waved her arms in the air. It took him a minute to realize she was practicing the movement. "Yes," she said, at last. "I can do it. Time me."
"You might be slow at first," he said, knowing what a perfectionist she was. She'd nearly cried with frustration when she couldn't get the doggy-paddle right first time. The freaking doggy-paddle. "It's okay if you are. Everybody is."
"I won't be," she said, with certainty. "Time me."
With a sigh, Lars hoisted himself out of the pool and grabbed the stopwatch. "Okay. Ready when you are."
Summer slipped into the pool and treaded water for a moment, then nodded in his direction. "Ready!"
"Right. On three. One... two... three!"
She beat Aaron's time.
--
"Summerchild," Lars said the next day, walking her to the playground after a lengthy conversation with his best friend, "you cheated."
"I did not." She almost sounded offended. The broad grin spoiled it, though.
Lars raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really. What do you call conning me into thinking you hadn't made Aaron teach you the breast stroke already?"
"Winning," Summer said. "Why?
He might have had that one coming. "I still win the big game, you know. I said I'd teach you to swim by the end of the summer and voila. You can swim."
She considered that for a moment. "Okay."
Okay? That was it? "Okay," Lars echoed, uncertainly. "So you concede that it was a useful exercise?"
"No," Summer said, and shook her head for emphasis. "I don't need it. But it's kind of fun."
From Summer, that was a vast concession. He'd take it as a victory. "Whatever you say."
"And I still beat you," she added, brightly, and skipped ahead.
Lars sighed. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" he called.
Summer turned back, poised on the edge of the playground like a bird about to take flight. "No!" she said, cheerfully, and plunged towards the swings.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Vanilla 4 (I can't believe you (don't) know how to ___), chocolate 13 (humility), strawberry 28 (waves).
Word Count: 1174
Rating: PG.
Summary: He who teaches must be careful what he teaches. Or, how Summer learned to swim.
Lars stopped mid-popsicle to stare incredulously down at the top of his companion's head. "Are you kidding me? You don't know how to swim?"
Summer shrugged, and kicked her feet gently, and had another lick of her ice cream cone. "No," she said. "I never learned. We never go to the beach so there isn't any point."
"What if you fall in the river and drown?" he asked. "Then there would have been a point."
She shrugged again. "I never go near the river."
He refrained from pointing out that they were currently sitting in East River Park, not thirty feet from the river. If Summer was going to be willfully oblivious nothing he could say would penetrate. "Well, what if you cross the mob? They might put you in concrete shoes and drop you in."
"If I had concrete shoes on I wouldn't be able to swim anyway," she pointed out, with irrefutable logic. "Anyway, I wouldn't cross the mob. Is there even a mob anymore?"
There were lots of mobs, but Aaron and Ivy would probably kill him if he told Summer that. "Probably not. None that have problems with nine-year-olds, anyway." He ruffled her hair.
She ignored the gesture. "I don't know why you're on about swimming all of a sudden."
"You remember my brother Mort?" Lars asked. "Yeah, he almost drowned last weekend. He's okay, thankfully, and that's what happens when you decide to go inner-tubing and don't check for rapids, but Mort knew how to swim and he almost drowned anyway and... well. I know Ivy can swim and Aaron used to beat me in laps every damn time at camp, but you I didn't know about, and I'm glad I asked."
There was a brief pause, while Summer processed the story and Lars returned his attention to his popsicle. Finally, she said, "Yes, I remember your brother, I'm sorry he almost drowned, I'm glad he's okay, and I wouldn't be that stupid. And of course Aaron beat you in laps. He beats you in minigolf too."
"Not anymore he doesn't," Lars said, rather smugly. "But that's not the point. You need to learn to swim, Summer."
She scowled. "Why? I'll never need to know how."
"You don't know that," he said. "Besides, it's a useful skill to have."
"It is not useful," Summer insisted. "I don't want to learn. I don't have to."
Ah, she was going to be obstinate. Well, Lars knew how to handle that. "Okay," he said, and ate the last bit of his popsicle.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Okay? That's it?"
"Sure," he said. "Won't bring it up again."
"You're planning something," Summer said. Her ice cream was melting all over her hand. "Reverse pyschology. It won't work."
Lars grinned. "First of all, reverse psychology doesn't work that way. Secondly, I am planning something, but you'll never see it coming. Thirdly, it will work, and I will teach you to swim by the end of the summer."
"You won't," Summer said, with the air of one delivering an unshakable argument.
Sounded like a challenge to him.
--
Summer picked at her bathing suit with a look of complete disgust. "You said," she said to Lars, accusingly, "you said you wouldn't bring it up again."
"I didn't," Lars said. "With you. Your parents are an entirely different matter."
"That's cheating," she said. Lars couldn't tell if she was more offended by the cheating or the fact that he'd won.
"It's not cheating, Summerchild, it's winning. Now get in the pool."
She poked a toe in the water, then pulled her foot back. "It's cold. I don’t want to go in."
Lars, about to begin the agonizing task of getting his swim trunks wet, gave her an odd look. "The whole way here you were complaining about how hot it was." Which was why he'd picked this day; a heat wave in New York City really made you long for a swim.
Not, apparently, if you were Summer. "It is hot," she said, crankily. "And the water's too cold. I won't go in."
He shrugged again. "Okay. Don't." Better to just kamikaze the swim trunks, he decided, and backed up out of the pool.
"Are we done now?" she asked.
"No," he said, and backed up a little bit more. He couldn't dive, not at this end of the pool, but he could do a cannonball and not kill himself.
Summer, sitting on the edge of the pool, twisted around to look at him. "Then what are you doing?"
"Getting a running start. Banzai!"
Lars surfaced a minute later, thoroughly soaked, to find waves crashing against the side of the pool and a very irritated Summer glaring at him, her red fluff of hair plastered against her skull.
"Oops," he said, unrepentently. "Well, you're already wet. Might as well get in."
"I hate you," Summer said, but she got in the pool.
--
"...and that's a breast stroke," Lars said, standing upright at the other end of the lane. "Think you can do it?"
Summer frowned, and waved her arms in the air. It took him a minute to realize she was practicing the movement. "Yes," she said, at last. "I can do it. Time me."
"You might be slow at first," he said, knowing what a perfectionist she was. She'd nearly cried with frustration when she couldn't get the doggy-paddle right first time. The freaking doggy-paddle. "It's okay if you are. Everybody is."
"I won't be," she said, with certainty. "Time me."
With a sigh, Lars hoisted himself out of the pool and grabbed the stopwatch. "Okay. Ready when you are."
Summer slipped into the pool and treaded water for a moment, then nodded in his direction. "Ready!"
"Right. On three. One... two... three!"
She beat Aaron's time.
--
"Summerchild," Lars said the next day, walking her to the playground after a lengthy conversation with his best friend, "you cheated."
"I did not." She almost sounded offended. The broad grin spoiled it, though.
Lars raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really. What do you call conning me into thinking you hadn't made Aaron teach you the breast stroke already?"
"Winning," Summer said. "Why?
He might have had that one coming. "I still win the big game, you know. I said I'd teach you to swim by the end of the summer and voila. You can swim."
She considered that for a moment. "Okay."
Okay? That was it? "Okay," Lars echoed, uncertainly. "So you concede that it was a useful exercise?"
"No," Summer said, and shook her head for emphasis. "I don't need it. But it's kind of fun."
From Summer, that was a vast concession. He'd take it as a victory. "Whatever you say."
"And I still beat you," she added, brightly, and skipped ahead.
Lars sighed. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" he called.
Summer turned back, poised on the edge of the playground like a bird about to take flight. "No!" she said, cheerfully, and plunged towards the swings.
