“Oh, Mom! We can still find a way.”

“Sure we can.” She smiles again. “So you just enjoy that beautiful bathing suit. Don’t worry about your father.”

Later in bed I think all of this over again. Morgan talked me into buying the knock-’em-dead red that caused all this trouble. Should I keep wearing my butt-worn Little Mermaid? Stuff the two-piece in my drawer? But I can’t dress like a kid if I’m going into high school. I need to wear that bikini. How can Dad object when there are no men at the private pool where Morgan and I swim? And I’ll wear sunscreen.

Hopefully Dad and Mom will still watch The Shape of Water together. I heard it’s a super-romantic love story.

Eyes closed, I picture myself lounging at the edge of the pool, then standing, tall and slim in the knock-’em-dead red, offering some donut bits to the cool girls, breathing in the evening air. I inhale deeply, imagining it, but smell disgusting dog fart instead. “Oh, Diesel!” The odour takes me out of my dream. Can there be anything worse? Maybe dog fart combined with a hint of bitter tomato and skunk.

I roll over, covering my head with a pillow to try to block out the smell.

17

Tuesday, June 29:

Knock-’Em-Dead Red

Next morning, standing in front of the mirror, I smooth my hands over my body and bikini, and they feel like one. Did Mom look like me when she was my age? I know Mom and Dad fell in love when they were really young.

Diesel crawls out from under the bed, paw over paw, and wags his approval. Are we swimming today?

“Later,” I tell him. I frown at myself in the mirror. “I’m a traitor, just when Dad could use my support.”

Diesel wags harder. Breakfast, then?

“In a minute.” I shrug. “Just look at this bathing suit. It’s the nicest piece of clothing I own.”

Diesel barks sharply. Breakfast, then to the pool!

“Not big on fashion, are you?” I shake my head at him. His tail thumps.

The smell of coffee drifts into my room, which tells me Mom’s still here. I quickly cover up with cut-off shorts and a T-shirt and rush out to join her, Diesel at my heels. It isn’t often that Mom and I can sit down for breakfast together.

“Good morning, Naomi. I brought home yogurt from the shop. Want some?” she asks.

“Sure.” Donut Time yogurt has always been my favourite, even before Mom worked there.

No toast again. Diesel slumps down under the table.

“I’ll just get the dog some kibble,” I say.

Kibble? “Mrouwww!” Diesel yowls his complaint.

I sigh. “And make myself some toast, too.” Diesel stands up and wags at that word. I slide some bread in the toaster and fill Diesel’s bowls with food and water.

“I like the way you’re taking responsibility for that animal.” Mom plunks a plastic cup in front of me.

“I am getting older, even if I stay pint size.” I check the yogurt container. Best-before date is only today. Score! I pull off the lid and remove the divider between the crumbly granola and the yogurt. I dip my spoon through the top layer and taste. Smooth creaminess with a hint of crunch. “By the way, tonight’s the night I’m going to Morgan’s for a sleepover. Remember?”