Céline joins her sister in two powerful strokes. “What are we doing this summer?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to earn some cash.”

“Saïd’s picking apples at Grandma and Grandad’s.”

“Yeah. I’d like a job too,” Jo says.

“You?”

“Yeah, me. What’s the matter with you?”

“What are you planning to do?”

“Patrick’s cousin told me about a community bar in Avignon. It opens during the festival.”

Jo lets herself sink. She hears Céline, Céline’s laughter, and sounds stretching like an echo, but she can’t make out the words. She stays like that a moment longer, her head numb under the water.

This is a game that began a long time ago; a secret game nobody, not even her sister, knows about: playing at drowning. Pretending to die. She stays underwater as long as possible, until her heart is thumping so hard it feels as though it’s about to burst. She then shakes her head in every direction and it becomes weird: painful and pleasant at the same time. When she’s on the edge, the very edge – or at least what she thinks is the very edge – she resurfaces and catches her breath, burning with the thought that she nearly died, and that she’s in control of this unspeakable thing. Her first breath of air is amazing, absolutely brilliant. Her blood pulsating violently in her body as though it’s about to split her veins, she feels the throbbing in her temples, her throat and her genitals, which suddenly swell up as though with desire. She loves that. Yes, she feels more alive than ever.

She comes back up, breathless. She didn’t play the game to the very end because she’s not alone. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re not exactly stylish enough to be a waitress.”

“It’s a community bar, not a nightclub.”

“And the difference is…?”

“Artists, actors go there, musicians. People who go to the theatre.”

“In any case, you’re not old enough. Besides, has Patrick’s cousin seen your eyes?”

“Bitch.”

“Does she know the customers are going to pretend they don’t see you?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“If you work in the fields at Grandad’s then at least the seasonal workers are so ugly they won’t notice you’re weird.”

“I may be weird, but I don’t screw everybody. And if I do, then I use a condom.”

“You’re the bitch.”

Céline hurls herself at her sister and pushes down on her head with all her weight. Jo struggles, laughing hysterically before sinking, then grabs Céline by the waist and drags her down with her. They sink together. Their bodies get tangled up in a ballet slowed down by the water. Their heels hit the bottom of the pool and they dart back up and catch their breath, spluttering.

“Are you going to tell me who’s the retard who screwed you this time? The guy who did this?”

Céline sticks out her lower lip as she chuckles, and accidentally gulps chlorinated water in the process.