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Olivia.
EVA DIVED IN. She barely made a splash. She surfaced and trod water.
"I can't swim," I told her.
"Beebee! Everyone can swim! You fool me, eh?"
She used to call me Beebee, because, she said, I was small like the B.B. you put in an air rifle.
I assured her that I wasn't fooling her. I'd never swum before.
The maternal came out in her. She swam back and climbed the bank. She helped me get my pants off. She took my hand and guided me down the bank, and into the water. The water rose over my stomach and up my chest.
"That's far enough," I gasped.
She laughed and splashed water over me.
"E tamaiti, you scared, eh?"
I was, but I tried to pretend that I wasn't. She held me around the waist and tipped me over.
"You swim," she said.
I did. At least I made the motions, although I choked on water and gasped for air. But I didn't do too bad for a first time. Only when I was blue and shivering with cold, did she let me climb the bank. We sat together.
"You white!" she said.
I looked at myself. The water had turned my skin even whiter. A sickly white. My hands had wrinkled. I looked at her. I liked her brown; she glistened. I was ashamed of my whiteness.
Eva pinched the skin on her arm. She let it go. "White, too," she said. But soon the brown returned.
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