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open the door and peered inside.
    My eyes swept from the top shelf to the bottom. Ace bandages and other medical supplies on top. One shelf of gray towels. Books and papers and equipment manuals on the next shelf.
    And on the bottom of the cabinet, my precious supplies. The things I needed to pay Mary back. To win Hope back.
    The white plastic, gallon-sized bottles of chlorine. I knelt down and counted six of them. Six gallons of chlorine.
    That should be more than enough, I thought.
    A few days before, I’d hidden back by the lockers and watched the coach add chlorine to the Jacuzzi. She’d poured about two cups into the dispenser on the side. The chlorine would be fed into the circulating water a little at a time.
    Six gallons would do the trick, I knew. I hoisted the first one off the floor. Heavier than I thought. But I dragged it over to the bubbling Jacuzzi, pulled off the cap—and poured the clear liquid into the steaming water.
    I carefully replaced the empty gallon bottle on the floor of the cabinet and lifted out another one.
    It took longer than I thought to pour all six gallons of chlorine into the Jacuzzi. I was just emptying the last bottle when I heard the door swing open and heard girls’ voices from the hall.
    I swung around quickly. Tossed the empty bottle into the cabinet. Shut the door.
    Behind me, bare feet slapped against the concrete floor. I heard a girl complain about how cold the pool was. A girl sneezed. Two girls called out, “Bless you.”
    I backed away from the Jacuzzi. Found the hiding place I’d picked out days ago—an empty cubby way in the back where no one ever went.
    In front of me, the Jacuzzi steamed and gurgled.
    Holding my breath, I slipped into my dark hiding place.
    And waited.

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8
    T he girls changed quickly into their street clothes. Most of them seemed in a hurry to leave.
    I heard someone call to Mary, “Are you coming to dinner?”
    Mary moved into view. I saw her pull off her swim cap. Her red hair bounced out. She had her back to me. She adjusted her swimsuit. Then she raised one leg and rubbed her knee.
    â€œMary—you’re always the last one dressed,” one of her teammates said.
    â€œI just want to go in the whirlpool for a few minutes,” Mary replied. “My leg muscles are all cramped.”
    Voices trailed off down the hall. The training room door slammed shut.
    A few seconds later, the room stood silent.
    I peeked out from my dark corner and, between the row of metal lockers, I could see Mary. She dropped a white towel beside the Jacuzzi. Then, resting a hand on the chrome ladder, she stepped into the steaming water.
    I poked my head out farther. I wanted to see what happened next.
    I watched her lower herself into the swirling, hot pool.
    I could see her face and her pale shoulders above the water.
    It took a few seconds before she started to scream.
    Her mouth opened in shock. Her hands shot up.
    Her shrill cry echoed off the walls and metal lockers.
    â€œOhhhhh! Help me! Somebody— help!”
    She thrashed the water. She raised herself up, but appeared to fall.
    She screamed again. “It burns! Oh, help! It burrrrrrns!”
    Her face flamed bright red now.
    The water splashed and churned.
    She pulled at her hair with both hands. “Help me! Somebody! I’m burning! I’m burning!”
    Screaming, she lurched across the whirlpool, sending a wave of water crashing over the side. She splashed and thrashed some more. Then I saw one hand grab the railing, and she pulled herself out.
    Her eyes were wild. She held her head with both hands. And staggered over the floor.
    Her skin—her arms, her legs—were red as fire.
    Squinting through the lockers, I saw the skin on her arms start to peel.
    â€œHelp me! Help me!”
    She dropped to her knees, still wailing and crying.
    And someone appeared. A woman bent over Mary. The swim team coach. She tried to wrap a towel around