When No One Was Looking Read Online Free

armchair.”
    “I’m seventeen,” said Oliver, glaring at Kathy, “and I’m on the Yale freshman crew.”
    “You must be strong,” said Kathy hurriedly.
    “I’m very strong.” The corners of Oliver’s mouth turned down like the mask of tragedy. He continued to look unhappy behind his glasses, which, as if they came in sizes like shirts, appeared to be a size too big for him. “It isn’t a question of weight,” he went on. “I could pull a whale out of the pool if I got the right grip on him. It’s all in the grip, or didn’t they teach you that in lifesaving?”
    “I guess you’re right,” Kathy answered. She noticed that Oliver’s black hair danced wildly in the wind. He wore it long over the front and very short at the back like World War Two fighter pilots she’d seen in late movies on TV. His skin was as clear and pink as a baby’s, his chest as hairless as Kathy’s, and although she knew she could have hidden her whole fist in the depression between his ribs, she liked him. “Who’s your girl friend?” Oliver asked huffily.
    “Girl friend? Oh, Julia. The one I was sitting with.”
    “She’s pretty. Very pretty,” said Oliver.
    “I know,” said Kathy, hoping she didn’t betray any jealousy in her voice, and she told herself Julia would never have made a mess out of meeting a boy as she had done.
    “Molina!” said Oliver suddenly and poked Kathy’s foot. “Look sharp!”
    Out of the brilliantly illuminated assortment of drinkers and eaters at the other end of the clubhouse came the Plymouth Bath and Tennis Club manager. Busy as a hornet, he glanced at his clipboard as if he wished he could yell at it. “One of you,” he said to Kathy and Oliver, “is supposed to be in one chair, and the other is supposed to be in the other chair.” He paused for a tiny breath. “And who, may I ask, selected you two to be lifeguards at an adult party? This is not a toddler swim hour.”
    “But, Mr. Molina,” Kathy began, “I got a letter telling me to work tonight and ...
    “And you?” Mr. Molina interrupted.
    “The same thing, sir,” said Oliver.
    “That’s my secretary’s fault, of course,” said Mr. Molina. “She doesn’t know one from another. We have six big boys much better suited. You couldn’t pull a baby out of the shallow end,” he observed to Oliver.
    “But—” Kathy began.
    “It’s not your fault!” Mr. Molina shouted. “Now go pick up that towel over there. Have you checked the chlorine level in the pool?”
    “Yes,” said Kathy.
    “One of you pick up that Coke bottle before someone trips over it and winds up in the hospital. I’m going to keep an eye on both of you. No fraternization. You sit in one chair, and he sits in the other. You have a job to do, and you’re paid twenty dollars each to do it, so do it.” And twittering to himself like a head nurse on duty, Mr. Molina went back to the clubhouse, looking right and then left and walking in the exact center of the indoor-outdoor carpeting.
    In a loud whisper Kathy asked Oliver why he hadn’t said anything about it all being in the grip.
    “Oh, shut up,” said Oliver, also in a loud whisper.
    Nobody fell in the pool. Like two undersized sentries, Kathy and Oliver slouched in their widely separated chairs. The drains gurgled from time to time. Why do they always look at Julia? Kathy asked herself. He’ll probably sit with her all summer, and I’ll be left out like someone’s extra little sister. Why do I have to be flat-chested and have dull hair? Why won’t Dr. Morrissey take my braces off? If I hit with him next week, he’ll want to play a set, and I’ll beat him, and he’ll never speak to me again. Why everything? Kathy did not dare put on the Red Sox game.
    “Are your folks here?” asked Oliver suddenly.
    “No. They’re ... not members,” Kathy answered.
    “How come?”
    Kathy began fabricating her usual reason in her mind, that her mother was allergic to the sun, that her father