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After a while I begin to get the hang of it, lifting my arm to smack the wet ball back over the net as people on my team cheer.
    We get ready for another serve. Brooke raises the ball, and I prepare for it to come sailing in my direction. Then, at the last minute, she shifts her focus and hurls it at another girl on my team, beaning her right in the chest.
    â€œDodgeball!” Brooke screams, and people start hitting one another with anything they can find—balls, foam sticks, even a wet towel or two. I freeze, figuring if I stand still I can keep from getting knocked over.
    I’m wrong.
    Somebody snatches my legs out from under me, and I go under. I fight my way back toward the surface, and there’s Brooke, wading toward me with a big, green Nerf ball. She aims it, spinning and dripping, at my head, and I turn to keep from getting hit. As I twist, I lose my footing. Splash —I’m under again. It’s a forest of legs down here, and I think I’ve got my ups and downs mixed up because I can’t get my feet underneath me anymore. A knee whacks me in the face and I bite down on my lip. Pink blood billows out of my mouth. I try to grab a shoulder, a hip, a hand, but everything is moving. I’m grasping, but all I get are handfuls of water. The surface shimmers just feet above my head, but I can’t reach it.
    Â 
    â€œGet out of the way! Out of the way!”
    I open my eyes and try to bring my hands to my facebefore I realize that Matt has both of my arms around his neck as he carries me, soldier-style, out of the water. He drops me onto the pool deck as people crowd around, some looking like they’re about to cry, some laughing like they haven’t figured out yet what’s going on. I cough and gag; I think I might throw up all over the patio. “Good thing we haven’t had dinner yet,” says somebody in the crowd, who gets shushed by somebody else.
    Brooke’s mother bursts out of the group, helps me to my feet, and rubs my back as I bend over, coughing the rest of the water out. “Are you all right, honey?” she says. “Should we take you to the emergency room?”
    I shake my head, stunned. Matt takes my arm. “She’s just shook up, I think. Maybe I should take her home.”
    â€œYes, of course,” says Mrs. Dempsey. “I’m so sorry the evening had to end like this. Are you sure you’re all right, dear?”
    Somebody gives me a washrag filled with ice for my bloody lip. “Bye, Kathryn. Bye,” people say in little, sympathetic voices. Brooke is the only person still in the pool. She fixes me with an icy glare as we go by, and I have to look away, just like I always do when things between us come too close to the surface.
    Mrs. Dempsey slides open the patio door and leads me into her air-conditioned kitchen. It’s as if a DVD has been set on pause and somebody just hit the play button;the cold brings my senses back and my thoughts begin to spool forward.
    â€œI put your bag in Brooke’s room,” Mrs. Dempsey says, ushering me into the foyer.
    â€œThanks,” I say, testing to see if my lip has quit bleeding. It has, and I bite again to stop it from trembling. “I can find it.”
    As soon as she’s gone and I hear the patio door slide shut, the tears come. I swipe my arm across my eyes so I can see my way up Brooke’s huge staircase.
    â€œI’m such an idiot!” My voice hitches with rage and humiliation.
    â€œWhat?” says Matt, following right behind. “What did you say?”
    I speak louder, but not much, because I have no idea who else might be in the house. “I knew something like this was going to happen. Something like this always happens with her.”
    â€œIt was just people being stupid,” he says. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
    â€œNot that bad? She tried to kill me!”
    â€œShe did not try to kill you, Kath. You’re