My Cousin's Keeper by Simon French Page A

annoyed and embarassed to see my own name mentioned. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of tearing the page out, but instead closed the book and shoved it back into his bag before deciding to go for a swim as well.
    The pool was fairly crowded with other people staying at the motel. Gina and Emily were playing some kind of chasing game at the shallow end with a bunch of other little girls. Mom was in the middle of the pool, trying to keep away from all the splashing at the shallow end, and was talking with another parent. Bon was up near where the kids were playing and whooping. He wasn’t part of any game or group, and he wasn’t doing much of anything. I’d heard Mom tell Dad the day before, “Bon’s actually a really good swimmer. I’m surprised. Where would he have learned?”
    Because I’d been doing my best to stay away from him, I hadn’t seen any evidence of this fantastic talent. Maybe Mom was trying to find nice things about Bon, and a bit of leg kicking and dog-paddling passed for good swimming.
    I found an empty patch of pool, dived in, and swam to one end, thinking it might be possible to do some laps without bumping into annoying little kids or, worst of all, Bon. I knew I could show him a thing or two about swimming because, like Gina, I had learned before even starting school.
    â€œTen laps,” I murmured, wiping the comfortably warm water from my face. “Too easy.” The pool was short, and ten times would be, I guessed, about two hundred yards. I launched myself away.
    And it
was
easy. I managed one, two, three laps without a pause and without anyone else getting in the way. At the third turnaround I glanced sideways and found that Bon had moved across to my part of the pool.
    â€œKeep out of the way,” I muttered quickly at him, before setting off for lap number four. But when I returned next and set off on lap number six, Bon launched himself off beside me. Trying to ignore him, I focused on my stroke and speed, but knew by quick glimpses and the close sound of his own hands and feet splashing in the water that he was keeping up with me. Bon
could
swim.
    â€œStop following me,” I told him, feeling both surprised and annoyed.
    â€œI’m not following you,” he replied. “I’m just swimming.”
    Without saying any more, I launched myself into lap number seven. And so did Bon, who kept up with me again, all the way to the other end of the pool. We stopped next to the tiled edge and looked at each other. Bon wiped water from his face. His braid half floated in the water behind him and his mouth was open a little, as though he were at a loss for something to say.
    I wasn’t. Against the noise of little girls shrieking and splashing, I asked, “Who taught
you
to swim?”
    Bon hesitated. “Sam,” he answered at last.
    I remembered Bon at Dad’s soccer practice.
Which one is Sam?
“Who are you talking about?” I demanded.
    â€œSomeone my mom used to know. When I was little.”
    â€œYou mean a boyfriend — that guy with the black pickup.”
    â€œNo,” Bon answered abruptly. “That was
Brian
.” He said the name as though spitting it out. “Sam taught me how to swim. He was nice, but Mom . . .” He looked away from me, as though distracted.
    â€œYeah — what?”
    â€œNothing.”
    I wanted to finish my laps, but had something else to say, something else to make him feel awkward. “Where is Julia the Fair going?” I asked.
    Bon blinked in surprise. “Why did you look in my book?”
    â€œBecause I wanted to see what you were writing and drawing. And anyway, I’ve looked at it before — Bon the Crusader.”
    He paused. “It’s just a story I’m writing and drawing. It’s imaginary.”
    â€œBut parts of it are real — the names. And I’m in the story, too. How come I’m Kieran the