The Beresfords (7 page)

“I wanted to be on your team,” said Caroline. “Because you’re tallest, Tom.” She gave him another of her looks. I pressed my glass of ice water to my forehead and cheeks and wished I could throw a sandwich at her.

For once Tom noticed and took the cue. “This way I can keep an eye on you.” She acknowledged his bantering tone with a little hitch of her shoulder, but he was already back to practical matters, adding, “Besides,
Jonathan’ll
be on the other team and he’s as tall as I am.”

Caroline made a show of turning to look at Jonathan, running her eyes deliberately up and down him and ending at his face. “So he is.”

To my amazement, I saw my cousin color. His hand slipped where it was screwing the post into the anchor, and the aluminum pole clattered to the deck. Grimly, he retrieved it and set it
upright
again, the back of his neck burning even more scarlet. My feet moved without me thinking—I hurried over to hold the post for him—but I felt a premonition, a dread.

“Thank you, Frannie,” Jonathan murmured.

“Are you…okay?”

He looked at me then. I saw him swallow. “Sure I am. Just a little clumsy.” He smiled, and I felt some of the tension leave me. “You’ll play, won’t you?” I shook my head, but he was already calling to the others, “Frannie can be on my side, to make up for Tom’s supposed height advantage.”

“She’s nice and tall, at least,” said Caroline.

“No way,” protested Eric. “Then Jon’s team will have four, and we’ll only have three.”

“
Frannie’s
actually more of a handicap,” Tom said matter-of-factly.

“And she’s got a sunburn,” Rachel pointed out. “If she plays it could get worse.”

“I don’t want to play,” I said quickly, even though I’d gotten better since Tom last saw me. After two semesters of P.E. volleyball I could at least serve and bump and sometimes block. Only Jonathan heard me, but even if I had the nerve to call attention to myself, it wouldn’t have mattered. The argument was more for fun. It wasn’t long before Eric was shouting through the net at Tom and
beaning
his sister with the volleyball and dunking Julie, who shrieked in pretend outrage and shoved him in the chest when she struggled back up. Not to be left out, Rachel yelled, “Let’s get him, Julie!” and the two of them ganged up on Eric, splashing and screaming and forcing him to retreat until he backed into the net and brought the whole thing down again.

“Knock it off, you idiots,” said Tom.

Caroline fished the net from the water and held it up for him to re-tie. “This might be part of Eric’s strategy, you know. To wear you out fiddling with this and wear your sisters out horsing around.”

“I take it back, then,” said Tom. “You’re on my team and Grant’s on the other. He’s pissing me off. I’m gonna take him down.”

“I thought you wanted to keep an eye on me,” she said teasingly.

He didn’t answer.

I could’ve told her to save her efforts. Where competition was involved, it was like Tom put on blinders. It didn’t matter if it was football or pool volleyball or
Combat
on the Atari 2600—if there was something to win, Tom forgot about everything else.

“Tom.” I rapped on his shoulder to get his attention. “I don’t want to play. I won’t play, and then the teams will be even. I’ll sit in the shade.”

“Just go put on sunscreen.”

“But I thought—”

“You have to play, now.”

“Why?”

“
’
Cause
Rachel’s boyfriend just showed up.”

Greg’s arrival threw everything off, in more ways than one. Rachel had to climb off of Eric’s shoulders and come greet him. Her swain took in the scene with a glance and now looked like a thundercloud. Julie, too, was forced to disentangle herself, since she could hardly attack Eric on her own. The teams had to be rearranged: Tom, Greg, Rachel, and Caroline versus Jonathan, Julie, Eric, and me. Tom wasn’t the only one who wanted to make Eric Grant look bad—after cracking his knuckles menacingly, Greg kept his eyes trained on the interloper and spiked it at him at every opportunity. But where Tom was only focused, Greg had something to prove. Eric laughed the first few off. He wasn’t much better than me, but he managed to save or deflect most of the shots. Julie was so indignant on his behalf that she practically stood right next to him.

“You guys are being jerks!” she accused, when about the tenth spike went off Eric’s forearms and she had to dive to get under it.

“Yeah!” seconded Rachel, scowling at her brother and boyfriend. “No one else is getting a chance to hit, ball hogs.”

Caroline held up her hands. “I’m fine with not hitting it. This is a little too intense for me.”

“You’re making some pretty good saves over there,” grumbled Greg at Julie.

“Well, quit hitting it just at Eric!” she said, not mollified.

“Oh, shut up and rotate, then,” Tom said impatiently. “You and Grant go in the back row. Let’s get on with it.”

He served the ball with exaggerated gentleness, more of a lob over the net. Julie bumped it from behind me. I set, and Jonathan leaped to spike it. It crashed with the force of a meteorite in front of Caroline, sending up a huge splash as she ducked. Tom saw her cringe and lunged for the ball too late, swamping her in a second wave. When she emerged, her black curls streamed down her shoulders like a mermaid. She gasped, sputtering and wiping her eyes. “Oh! What was that? Didn’t I just say you all were too intense?”

“Sorry,” said Jonathan through the net. “Sorry about that. I thought you were ready.”

“I didn’t expect that from
you
,” Caroline said. I could see from Jonathan’s frown that he didn’t know what she meant. I didn’t either. She couldn’t be surprised to find he was good at volleyball like the others. You only had to look at the Beresfords to suspect they could finish you off in just about any sport they tried. Did she mean she didn’t think he would do that to
her
?

“I think I’ll just watch,” said Caroline, backing toward the steps.

“All right,” Tom said. He spun the ball to dry it off. “So then get out, Frannie, and the
teams’ll
be even again.”

“Hang on,” Jonathan protested, catching my arm. “Caroline, try one more time. I won’t hit it that hard at you again—”

“This is a game, not a tea party,” complained Tom.

Caroline shot Tom a reproachful look which he didn’t notice a bit. Twisting her hair to wring it out, she climbed out of the water and perched on the wall. I shook my arm loose from Jonathan’s grip and clambered out the other side, picking a lounge chair in the shade.

With Caroline and me out of the way, the match could get serious. Eric continued to crack jokes, which the girls responded to until they had to concentrate too hard. Tom and Greg wore their game faces—shuttered, narrow-eyed, communicating with each other with curt nods and loose high-fives. Only Jonathan seemed distracted. He glanced Caroline’s way several times. She was never looking at him when he did. She was laughing with Eric or picking seeds out of a watermelon slice or rubbing suntan lotion into her smooth arms. But when he turned his focus back to the game her gaze swept him thoughtfully.

The teams were evenly matched as long as Jonathan and Julie took the front row, but whenever Eric rotated up, the balance shifted in Tom and Greg’s favor. Their height gave them an insurmountable advantage over Eric, and they took it, at first pounding in spikes but then
merely tipping it over his block. Julie and Rachel went from anger to concern—they wanted very much to like Eric—Rachel in spite of herself—but how could they, when he was being shown up so pointedly? Could unimpressive pool volleyball performance be overlooked, despite his charm?

Rachel smiled on Greg again, seeing him at his best—shirtless, wet, and mouth shut.

The only person not mildly oppressed by Eric’s lack of pool volleyball prowess was Eric himself. To Tom’s annoyance, he began clowning. He sent the ball over with headers; he made
Six-Million-Dollar Man
sound effects when he served; he posed and preened and sculled like a synchronized swimmer whenever there was a pause. Even Tom gave up on trying to razz him into being serious, the hint of a grin appearing when Eric announced, “And now, ladies and gentlemen—the Dying Swan!” Caroline applauded and hooted while her brother
eggbeatered
his legs hard enough to get his hips out of the water, before falling back in a ludicrous pose of despair.

“That’s it!” Greg barked, when Eric resurfaced to general laughter. “You’re just doing that because it’s match point and you’re losing. If you’re so hot, let’s get on with it.”

“All right, all right, my zealous young man,” Eric soothed. “Keep your shirt on. Or off, as the case may be.”

Jonathan served. Tom bumped. Greg set. Rachel…bumped it easily back over the net.

“Rachel!” hollered Greg.

“Oh, what? Can’t we just have a decent rally for once, instead of always trying to put it away? This
is
stupid pool volleyball, not the Olympics!”

Greg’s well-defined chest heaved.

“Come on,” she coaxed. “This is for fun. Let’s have fun.”

“Great,” muttered Tom. But he hit another easy shot back to Jonathan.

“
Barf!
” said Julie, as Rachel traced a heart across Greg’s
pecs
.

Greg gave his girlfriend a
wavery
smile.

“
Aww
…” said Caroline. “Look, Eric. It’s like Elizabeth and Todd in
Sweet Valley High
.”

“Only sweeter,” said Eric. He crouched, sprung with a “
kuh-chuh-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-chuh
” and spiked the ball directly in front of the distracted Greg. It smacked the water with a flat sound, spraying Greg full in the face.

“That’s
it
!” Greg roared over Caroline’s and Julie’s giggles and Tom’s irritated “Wake up, Perkins!” He grabbed the ball and launched it over the net at Jonathan. “Serve it, Beresford! No more Mr. Nice Guy!”

This threat provoked another stifled snort from Caroline, but I think the blood must have been pounding in Greg’s ears because he didn’t seem to hear. Eric did. He caught his sister’s eye and gave the barest wink. A twitch.

Jonathan overhand served, a line drive which Tom barely managed to get under. Greg smashed it Eric’s way, but Julie dived and saved it. Back and forth, faster and rougher, too intense for conversation. It was after another spectacular save by Julie that Greg saw his window: Julie struggling back up—Eric all by himself, bobbing. Greg leapt up, fist cocked to meet the
ball and send it crashing right in Eric Grant’s smug face. But at that instant, the smug face vanished. Eel-like, Eric darted under the net. With both hands, he reached up out of the water—stretched for one endless moment—

And then, laying hold of Greg’s Ocean Pacific swim trunks, Eric Grant gave one lightning-quick, one—
almighty
—
yank
.

To that point in time, I could be forgiven for thinking the first penis I would ever see would be my husband’s on our wedding night. No brothers or male playmates shared my toddler years; Mom’s boyfriends at least wore underwear in my presence; and, by the time I came to the Beresfords, Tom and Jonathan were well past the age of parading around naked after a bath.

So Greg Perkins’ equipment was a real eye-opener.

It only lasted a split-second. There Greg was, airborne, poised to strike. Up zipped Eric Grant. Down came the trunks. Down came Greg Perkins. But not before everyone except maybe Tom got the full presentation.

Rachel and Julie screamed. Caroline collapsed, hugging her sides. Eric dove back under water to streak away. It required the combined efforts of Tom and Jonathan to restrain Greg after he’d managed to pull his shorts back up, crouching low, meanwhile, his face crimson. “That jerk! That asshole! I’ll
kill
him!”

Getting a hold of herself, Caroline shot her brother a warning look and came to lay a hand on Greg’s shoulder. “Greg—Greg—calm down. It was a dumb joke. Stupid and childish, but not a big deal. If you could see how often the guys in Eric’s fraternity pull pranks like that on each other just to make everyone else laugh—”

“It’s not funny!” Greg choked. His voice sounded shaky.

“You’ll see,” said Caroline. “When you’re at Cal—isn’t that where you’re going?—God, you’ll probably spend 90% of the time with your pants off.”

That stopped him short. “What?”

“What do you mean?” echoed Rachel.

Caroline laughed. “What do you mean, what do I mean?”

Rachel blinked a couple times. “Well, I don’t think you mean fraternity buddies will be
pantsing
him 90% of the time. So if you mean he’ll be running around naked, having sex constantly, he won’t.”

“Every other guy is,” Caroline said frankly. “But I get it.
You
’ll
be at Cal, too, and you expect him to behave with you around.”