Building Blocks by Cynthia Voigt

had just understood, because that was more interesting right now than his problems. “Stores are crowded too. Streets are crowded. Here”—the idea took him away into a surprising direction—“do you think it drives people crazy being crowded all the time? This privacy—you know?—I’d be willing to rob a bank, or cheat someone, or almost anything, if I could get enough money to buy a place like this. And I’m not even dishonest. Imagine how tempting it would be, if you weren’t honest to begin with. I never thought about that before.”
    â€œYou don’t have to be rich to get privacy,” Kevin pointed out. “Uncle Andrew’s not rich and his farm has this same feeling. Of course, it’s not beautiful, not like this. But who cares about that?”
    â€œI do,” Brann started to say. Then he stopped.Because he didn’t, he really didn’t; and he hadn’t known that before about himself. It wasn’t the fancy house or the close-cropped, well-watered lawn. It was the space and silence, and the sense that they were the only ones there.
    â€œYou’re right,” he said instead. He looked at Kevin’s gray eyes, trying to see inside the boy, this strange kid who seemed to understand already things Brann was just starting to figure out.
    Suzanne paddled up to them and suggested a race. Brann had watched these children swim. “You two go ahead and I’ll be the starter. Twice up and back?”
    â€œI can’t swim that far,” Kevin objected.
    â€œOK, once up and back.”
    â€œAnd you’ll race the winner,” Suzanne announced.
    They started at the deep end, each hanging on with one hand. “Ready? Set? Go!” Brann called. Lazily, he watched them swim. Kevin had a dogged half-crawl and his feet sent up great splashes of water. His kick was rotten. Suzanne flailed her arms and her legs, making up in energy for all that she lacked in skill. She looked like a windup toy, splashing, splashing, lifting her head straight up to get a breath and check on Kevin’s position. They didn’tknow how to make a racing turn, either. Brann stood and watched this, wondering whether when his turn came he should swim as well as he could (which wasn’t that well, but was miles better than Kevin) or rein himself back just because he was so much better. He heard a dog barking, but he couldn’t even tell what direction the distant voice came from, because the hills and trees distorted sound. The dog didn’t sound alarmed.
    As the racers came back up the length of the pool, Suzanne pulled steadily ahead. Her arms rotated into and out of the water, like windmill arms. Her face—eyes and open mouth—gleamed with victory. She won by six strokes.
    â€œI get to rest before I race you,” she said to Brann. She hung onto the edge of the pool and gasped for breath. “He’s no race at all.”
    â€œFine by me,” Brann agreed. “I want a fair race,” he said, adding silently to himself, “So I can beat you to hell and back and there’ll be no excuses.” He leaned down to give Kevin a hand, pulling him up out of the water.
    â€œNobody beats Suzanne. No matter how good you are, she wants to win so bad she just does it.”
    â€œWhich some people never seem to learn,” she said to Kevin. She grinned up at Brann, “But some people are born stupid.”
    Brann began to be eager for this race.
    He started, like Suzanne, from the side of the pool. He went down the length, taking it easy, with long, regular strokes and quick butterfly kicks. He breathed every four strokes. He came to the end two strokes ahead of her and didn’t do a racing turn but touched the end and turned around on the surface of the water. Then, passing her on his second stroke out, as she went in to touch the wall, he turned it on. He kicked at maximum efficiency, from the ankles. He breathed