Delia flirts with Mike, giggling at his stupid movie star impressions. But Tonya and I climb off the sun-deck and go down to the pool. Tonya keeps pulling at the seat of her borrowed swimsuit. Mary Kelly must be two sizes smaller than her. She walks quickly to the water, probably to hide her exposed cheeks.

Even though I’ve never dived before, I pass up the low diving board and wait in line for the highest one. When it’s my turn, I climb the ladder, walk quickly to the edge of the board, and dive before I can change my mind. My body drops through the air and soars through the cold water.

For a moment I forget who I am, and the water and I become one.

Tonya swims over to me. “Hey, you’re good at that. Where did you learn to dive?”

I shrug, swim to the side of the pool, climb out, and dive again and again.

The Power of Chocolate

After supper, we talk about everything we can possibly talk about—Mike, the sisters, who we think is cute at school. We play four rounds of truth or dare, double dare, promise or repeat. We eat two giant bowls of popcorn and a supersized bag of M&M’s.

One by one, they fall asleep. Delia sleeps next to Mary Kelly in her bed. Tonya snores in a sleeping bag next to me. I listen to the big clock, ticking in the hall. The clock chimes twice; then, an hour later, three times. I get up and walk down the hall.

Mrs. Johnson paces back and forth in the living room, her hand on the small of her back. She gasps when she sees me staring at her a few yards away. “Oh, Isabel. You scared me. Are you okay?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either. Come on,” she says, leading me to the kitchen.

A few moments later we’re sitting at the table with mugs of hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies. “There’s nothing that chocolate can’t cure,” she says. And sitting there across from her in the dim light, I believe her. I want to stuff myself with chocolate and let my head clear.

“I’m so glad that Mary Kelly has made some nice friends here. It was such a relief to her father and me when we found a good Catholic school with the same program as the last school she attended.”

I nod like I already knew why Mary Kelly went to St. Cletus instead of the base school.

“Is Mike nice?” she asks.

I must look surprised because she quickly adds, “Yes, I know about him. Mothers know everything that goes on with their children.”

Maybe some mothers, I think.

“He seems nice enough,” I say.

“He’s too old for her, but I know Mary Kelly. She bores easily. I won’t have to break it off. And if I did, she’d be determined to keep seeing him.” She looks down and rests her hand on her stomach. “I’m afraid Mary Kelly isn’t too thrilled about this baby.”