The Stars of Summer by Tara Dairman Page B

wasn’t sure who to root for. Resolving to forget about both of them if she could, she turned her attention to Rolanda, who was now demonstrating the arm movements and breathing patterns for a basic crawl stroke.
    It turned out that Gladys needn’t have changed into her swimsuit for this lesson, since they never even went into the pool. After the demo, Rolanda moved in and out of the rows, straightening elbows and adjusting heads. Five minutes before the end of the lesson, Hamilton and the coach finally returned to the group.
    In spite of herself, Gladys craned her neck along with everyone else, trying to read Hamilton’s expression. Had he been punished? Or had he managed to maneuver his way into yet another set of special circumstances? Unfortunately, just as he came into her sight line, Rolanda reached out and jerked Gladys’s head back in the opposite direction.
    â€œYou breathe at regular intervals,” she hissed into Gladys’s ear, “or you drown.”
    By the time Gladys was able to peek up again, Hamilton had disappeared into one of the rows behind her.
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    The moment she got home from camp that day, Gladys made a beeline for the computer.
Please have found Wi-Fi, please have found Wi-Fi,
she thought desperately. But when she logged in to her DumpMail account, there was no message from Sandy.
    She shoved the keyboard away in frustration. She needed to get started on this crazy hot dog assignment—but, more importantly, she just really wanted to talk to her friend. In the week after school had finished, she and Sandy had hung out constantly. Gladys could hardly even remember what they’d talked about in all that time. All she knew was that now she was bursting to tell someone about Mrs. Spinelli, and swimming, and Hamilton, but Sandy wasn’t around to listen.
    At least tomorrow would be Gladys’s last day of camp for the week; Thursday was July 4, and Camp Bentley was shutting down for the long weekend. So Gladys would be off from camp on Thursday and Friday, even though her parents only had Thursday off from work.
    Gladys’s dad had grumbled about this all through dinner the previous night. “No rest for government employees,” he’d said between bites of a drumstick off the chicken Gladys had helped her mom roast. “When am I supposed to spend time with my family? Here’s my daughter, growing up before my eyes, and I’m barely home to see it. How tall are you now, Gladdy, five seven?”
    It was the best wrong estimate of her height that Gladys had heard all day.
    Just for that, Gladys was planning to surprise her dad tonight with a key lime pie, his favorite dessert.
I’d better get started if I want it to have enough time to chill before dinner,
she thought, and shut down the computer.
    The rest of the afternoon flew by as Gladys separated eggs, zested limes, and smashed graham crackers into bits for the crust. The harder she worked, the lighter her worries became, until they floated away like the steam that rose off her pie when she finally took it out of the oven.
    On the menu for dinner that night was leftover chicken and microwaved frozen vegetables. Gladys settled in at the kitchen table with her plate, and her dad started up again about having to work on Friday.
    â€œIt wouldn’t be so bad,” he said, “if all week long on the train I didn’t have to listen to everyone
else
talk about where they’re going with their families. Robbins is taking his kids to the Jersey Shore!”
    Gladys’s mom raised an eyebrow. “You’re jealous of someone who’s going to New Jersey?”
    â€œI—no—look, it’s the principle of the thing!” he spluttered. “On Friday, he’ll be strolling down the boardwalk with his boys, playing arcade games and eating junk food, and where will I be? Schlepping around the city as usual.” He sighed, then turned to