The Color War Page 3
When they reached the cabin, though, the boys drew to an abrupt stop. Waiting on the front steps was Melody. They froze, certain they had already been caught for spying on Matthew. "Raymond," Melody said, as if he were the only one there, "I missed you at swimming."
The other campers, recognizing their good fortune at not being singled out, hurried into the cabin and closed the door. "I was sick," Raymond said.
"Well." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I wanted to give you this."
She took a folded piece of paper from her shorts pocket. "Cullen Jones," Melody said. "He won a silver medal in the Olympics in 2012. He holds a world record." Melody handed him the paper, and for a moment their hands brushed.
Raymond didn't notice the similar shapes of their fingernails, or the way his own palm was so light it matched the inside of hers. He just saw the contrast, brown to peach. He thought of his grandmother, who had once ripped out a whole row of her quilt because she had mistakenly placed a red flannel beside a calico print. "Don't you see, child," she had told him, "they can't stand to be so close."
"You're not broken," Melody said. "You're not what needs to be fixed."
Raymond opened the paper as she walked away. His eyes skittered over the words, which were still hard for him to read, settling instead on the picture. The famous swimmer was holding up his medal. But here was the thing: he was just as dark-skinned as Raymond.
*
The biggest event at Camp Konoke was the Color War. It had begun years before, when there were only ten campers--all from Dorchester. The counselors had pitted them against one another in a friendly series of Olympic games, not realizing that when the kids went back home, they'd still be competing--just not for trophies. Over the years--fueled by gang rivalries in the off-season--the fight had grown fierce. Blue campers snubbed Red campers in the mess hall. Red campers trashed the cabins of the Blue campers. The staff, in the spirit of sportsmanship, had turned a blind eye; and Raymond and his cabinmates--being among the youngest campers--had been insulated from the battle, until today.
The games included archery and track and field, a tug-of-war, and swimming races. The winners took home ribbons that were either blue or red, to match their team. Raymond's cabin had been assigned to the Blue team, and Raymond was being counted on as the star of the swimming relay, just as Melody had predicted. He knew he could win, because he was the best swimmer in the beginner group, and he hadn't even really given it his all. He wanted to see the look on Melody's face when he crossed the finish line, the fastest by yards.
The day of the Color War, the Blue team lost in archery but won the 100-meter-dash. Swimming was scheduled as the last event before dinner, and Raymond changed into his swim trunks in the locker room and stretched, bending at the waist like he'd seen Melody do before she did her daily laps. James came up behind him and clipped him on the shoulder. "Red's dead," he sang. "We're countin' on you, man."
Every camper had been grouped into a swimming heat by ability, and Raymond found himself in competition with an older girl. He walked down the length of the starting dock, from the beach all the way to the cordoned swimming area in the lake. He tested the water with his toes, waiting for the previous heat of swimmers to get out of the lap lanes, trying to catch Melody's eye.
She was on the finish dock, fifty feet away. She stood beside the other lifeguard, the one with the strawberry birthmark on his shoulder. Melody gave Raymond a thumbs-up sign, and he jumped into the water.
Reverend Helm used a cap gun to start each heat. When Raymond saw it, his heart pounded a little faster. He covered his ears, and in his head he could still hear the sound of a real gunshot, how it was so much louder than in the movies and left you so deaf you couldn't even hear yourself scream.
He saw the quicksilver flash of the girl's feet in the lane beside him as she started to move. Raymond pushed off the dock with all his strength, churning his arms as if Melody was standing behind him, adding her power; as if he could propel forward fast enough to shove Monroe out of the way. He kicked and he pulled as his lungs fought for air and the currents made by the other swimmer threatened to sway him. Each time he stretched out an arm, it was a millimeter farther than he'd stretched before, and finally Raymond's palm cracked down on the plank of the far dock that was the finish line.
The girl who had been in the lead was just now pulling up beside him. Raymond gasped, his narrow chest rising and falling as the shouts of the Blue team covered his shoulders like a cloak. "The Blue team recaptures the lead," Reverend Helm announced as Raymond glanced around wildly, trying to find Melody.
She stood in the path of the sun, so that Raymond had to squint, and even then he could make out only her silhouette. She was cheering, like everyone else. She was leaning back against the lifeguard with the birthmark, whose arms encircled her like a walled city, like she belonged to him.
It was harder for Raymond to breathe now than it had been when he was swimming. He ducked beneath the buoys that formed the swimming lanes, so that he was in the no-man's-land of the lake, the part that was not roped off for swimming. He pointed himself toward the horizon, toward the far side of the lake, where he'd never been. Then he began to swim so hard that the muscles in his arms burned and his chest was on fire. He swam as if he were being chased. He knew that Melody was watching, and that he was surprising her with a skill he wasn't supposed to have as a beginner. He knew she would not have believed he had it in him.
Raymond swam until he couldn't hear people calling his name, until the sun branded the lake with a hiss. Then he stopped, treading water. In the falling light, he saw a rowboat coming toward him, all planes and angles. The world in that moment was two-dimensional, nothing but stripes and edges and marks. The lines, he realized, were already drawn; even a kindergartner knew that color was meant to stay inside them.
"Raymond?" Reverend Helm's voice came from the boat. "Let us help you."
For a moment Raymond hesitated. He could see the far shore of the lake now--the whisper of reeds, the bruised sand. He was certain he could make it--but he also was certain they would follow. So Raymond pivoted and swam wearily toward the rowboat. He felt himself being pulled into a shiver of air, tucked onto the narrow wooden seat, wrapped in a clean towel; and he knew as he sat surrounded by their safety that he was drowning.
About the Author
Jodi Picoult is the bestselling author of twenty-one novels, including The Storyteller, The Pact: A Love Story, Lone Wolf, Nineteen Minutes, Keeping Faith, and My Sister's Keeper. Among her other works is the young adult novel Between the Lines, co-written with her daughter Samantha van Leer, and five issues of the Wonder Woman comic-book series. A graduate of Princeton and Harvard, Picoult is the recipient of the New England Bookseller Award for Fiction, among others. Her volunteer work includes serving on the Writers Council of the National Writing Project, and she is active in promoting youth theater and athletics. She lives with her family in Hanover, New Hampshire.
Read more of Jodi Picoult's best stories at Byliner.com
Photograph courtesy of Jodi Picoult
About Byliner
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