Something Like Fate Read Online Free PDF Page B

oldest kid in my class. By a lot. Even the first graders can doggy-paddle better than me.
    We’re supposed to be doing drills with our buddies. My buddy is actually the instructor’s assistant, so he already knows how to swim. Everyone else is paired up with another kid their age. For this drill, I have to stretch my arms out and kick my legs straight back. Except I can’t. As soon as my feet leave the pool floor, I feel like I’m going to sink and I spaz out.
    I hate being so scared. I want to experience that awesome feeling of slicing through smooth water, the way I imagine it feels to other people when I watch them swim. It just seems like I’m never going to get there.
    My buddy disagrees.
    “You got this,” he says. “It’s all you.”
    He holds his hands out for me to lie on. I press my stomach against them and stretch my arms out in front of me. Then I lift my feet up.
    Can’t. Do. This.
    My feet frantically scrabble for the pool floor. I stand there with my heart pounding. I can’t even look at him, I’m so ashamed. It’s not that I think he’ll let me drown. I know he won’t. It’s just that I might be safe in this pool, but who’s going to save me when I’m swimming by myself in the ocean, out there where anything can happen?

8
    I’m all frustrated about what happened in swimming yesterday. Why don’t I just admit that I’m never going to learn how to swim? Forget diving and all that fancy stuff. Never going to happen. I’m obviously destined to drown in some freak boating accident.
    I should just accept my fate and call it a life.
    We have a new salad bar in the cafeteria. Which should be good news. Except that it’s seriously lame. Idiots are throwing stuff in. The lettuce looks like it’s been sitting there for a really long time. Even the carrot shreds are trying to jump ship. So I’m avoiding the salad bar, sliding my tray along the railing. I frown at the lunch selection. I’ve narrowed my choices down to two: bad or worse.
    Someone comes up behind me and bumps their tray into mine. I spin around, annoyed. Then I realize it’s Jason.
    He’s like, “Hey.”
    “Oh! I didn’t know it was you.”
    “Are you okay?”
    “Yeah. Or. Maybe not.”
    “Want to talk about it?”
    “Not especially.”
    “That’s cool.”
    We push our trays forward.
    “So who do you sit with?” he says.
    “Um . . .” I glance over at my table. “Some friends from One World.”
    “Oh, nice.”
    We push our trays some more.
    “We have a variety of delectable selections this afternoon.” Jason makes a sweeping gesture over the food case. “Appetizers include suspicious-looking potato things, an array of crumbly apple slices, and some green stuff over there.”
    “Sounds delicious.”
    “Absolutely. Moving on to the main course selections . . . uh . . . yeah, I don’t know what any of that is. But there’s some questionable Jell-O-like substance for dessert, which could be a plus.”
    “Yay.”
    “That’s exactly what I said when I saw it.”
    Five minutes ago I felt horrible. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. Now I’m laughing like nothing was ever wrong.
    When we get to the end of the line, Jason takes my lunch card. “It’s on me.” He hands our cards to the cashier. She swipes them, less than impressed.
    “Big spender,” I tell him.
    “I know, right?”
    And then we’re just there with our trays.
    “Anyway,” Jason goes.
    “Well, see you later,” I say.
    “Yeah.”
    I have this giddy, nervous feeling. I sit down at my table.
    “Hey, Lani,” Danielle says. “Did you get my note?”
    “Yeah. It was hilarious.” Danielle knows I’ve been in a skank mood all day. Sometimes when she wants to cheer me up, she writes me funny notes and slips them in my locker. They usually have parts of conversations she overheard that she knows I’d like. This one was about how some senior smokes so much pot that he only has like six brain cells left. And how he’s clinging to his six