Chapter Text
Friday night swim practices, Edward Cullen, and homemade tortillas. Simon's not homophobic and neither is Baz. Penny and Agatha just want to watch Downton Abbey. Save gas, save the planet, you know?
chapter one
a stuck-up, pretentious british asshole and a foulmouthed, truck-driving texan
do not an uplifting and supportive swim team make
SIMON
I turn my head a fraction, just enough to take a gulp of air, before my face is back in the water, staring down at the gritty bottom of the pool, cast in an eerie green glow from the pool lights. Every once and awhile I can see one of my hands flash below me, pushing at the water, or catch a glimpse of my coach walking along the side of the pool, deep in conversation on the phone (with her wife, no doubt. Coach Posibelf’s wife has been away on some international work trip for the past week, and has started calling when she wakes up in the mornings, which just happens to be just near the end of the Watford High Swim Team practices).
(But anyway, that’s beside the point.). I’m swimming—swimming fast . And it feels good . Taking another breath, and swallowing some pool water with it by accident (which is gross, if I think too hard about it), I think that maybe swimming is the closest you can get to flying. Really flying, like a bird. Like some kind of bird of the water. A bird of the water is just a penguin, really, I muse, and—there’s a sharp tug on my ankle, and I stop, spluttering as I come up for air.
“What the fuck,” I grumble, chest heaving as I catch my breath. It’s Baz who’s stopped me, the little British shit —
“You’re slowing me down.” Baz drawles, treading water easily like he hasn’t just been swimming for the past hour and a half. His cheeks are just barely flushed, and his gray eyes are cold beneath his clear goggles (Baz almost always wears smokey black goggles, but it’s the weekly Friday night practice and we swim in an outdoor pool, so most people switch to clear at night in order to actually see their surroundings).
“Well then swim around me,” I say, voice hard, then add, “ dick. ” (for good measure).
Baz raises one eyebrow, and his eyes flicker to Coach Posibelf, who is laughing into her phone and paying us no attention. “Wouldn’t want Coach to hear you talk like that, would you? Whatever happened to team spirit and teamwork and—”
“Jesus fuck, Baz, just go.” I swim out of the way a little, just enough for Baz to smirk at me a final time before he starts up again, kicking hard off the bottom of the pool and transitioning smoothly into a graceful freestyle.
I make it to the wall two laps later, breathing heavily and heart thrumming from exertion and leftover anger at Baz (Who, I feel is necessary to point out, looks like he just walked out of some swimming magazine photoshoot. Which is just unfair ).
“No, I love you!” Posibelf practically cooes, her back to the swimmers in the pool. “Call me later, babe, yeah? Okay, okay.” I hear Penny, my best friend, snort from the lane beside me. We share a quick grin as Posibelf continues on, “Okay, love you.”
“ Christ. ” Baz mutters, under his breath.
I turn to glare at him. “Oh, are you some kind of homophobe too? On top of being a stuck-up, pretentious British asshole?”
“Goodness, Snow, I wasn’t aware you had such a vocabulary on you,” Baz quips lightly. He takes a swig from his water bottle ( Pitch Swim Club is written in an arc across the top, with smaller letters underneath stating: Hampshire, England ). “But if you must know, I’m not some kind of homophobe . Though I won’t dispute your other points.”
“Hmph.” I have one hand on the wall, treading water.
“Good to know you’re not a homophobe though, I suppose.” Baz tilts his head a fraction, and I feel my cheeks heat from the surveillance. “Given your other attributes.”
“My other attributes ?”
“Yes…well, you’re a foulmouthed, truck-driving Texan for starters—“
I splutter. “And what’s wrong with—“
“ Boys , please stop fighting.” It was Posibelf, off the phone (finally) and scowling down at us. “We’re trying to create an uplifting and supportive swim team environment.” She pauses, before turning on her heel and begins pacing the four lanes where the team is spread out in groups of two (there are only eight of us—me, Baz, Penny, Agatha, Niall, Dev, Gareth, and Trixie). Posibelf puts her hands on her hips, and begins again. “That being said, I was watching that last 400 Freestyle and could clearly see none of you were trying at all. Just because I’m on the phone doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes . Niall, I’m not sure why you—“
I take a breath and let myself sink underwater, the noises around me turning to bubbles and the night sky above the pool turning into a smeared watercolor painting.
——
posibelf’s posse
Simon (7:40 pm):
An uplifting and supportive swim team environment ???
She like,, practically compared me to a drowning cat right after that.
Simon (7:41 pm):
Do I look like a drowning cat ?
Penny (7:43 pm):
Si, we’re literally in the girls locker room.
One wall away from yours.
Can’t this wait for the car ??
Ags (7:43 pm):
please.
get dressed.
it’s november, i’m freezing. the only thing that got me through the past two hours was going back to your house after practice to watch downton abbey reruns.
Ags (7:44 pm):
i’m begging you, si.
Simon (7:44 pm):
K but do i look lke a drowning cat
Simon (7:44 pm):
** like
Penny (7:44 pm):
No !!!!
Ags (7:45 pm):
(a little ???)
Ags (7:45 pm):
i’m kidding simon
Simon (7:46 pm):
I think we need to change the group name.
Penny (7:46 pm):
not /now/ !!
——
Ags (7:55 pm):
we’re by your car, salisbury. you ready ??
Penny (7:55 pm):
It’s fucking freezing out here.
Ags (7:55 pm):
eloquent.
Simon (7:57 pm):
he’s talking to me fuck fcuk
Penny (7:57 pm):
who?
Simon (7:57 pm):
baz !! obvs
Penny (7:57 pm):
Oh right, ““obvs””
as if there aren’t five other boys on the team besides you
Simon (7:58 pm):
what do i do ?????
Ags (7:58 pm):
talk to him?
Simon (7:59 pm):
fhsjajak
“Who on earth could you be texting with such vigor, Snow?” Baz is leant casually on the iron gate that leads to the pool, blocking my exit. He’s wearing his new Watford Wizards Swim Team sweatshirt, his hair (damp from the shower) has been pulled up into a messy bun, and he has his swim bag and equipment bag slung over his shoulder, making it look effortless (for reference, it isn’t effortless—at least in my opinion). (Also, the sweatshirt is purple—like bright fucking violet—and somehow he’s pulling it off.)
There’s a damp piece of hair that hasn’t made it into his bun, and lays flush to the pale skin of his neck. It’s bothering me for some reason; hasn’t he noticed it’s like that?
“Are you trying to get me alone?” I ask, adjusting my own blue swim bag over my shoulder (Baz’s bag is yellow, a pale sunshine yellow, which doesn’t really seem like Baz at all). Baz raises an eyebrow. “So you can murder me?”
Baz raises the other eyebrow. “Not quite what I thought you were insulating there…” (I’m blushing. Why am I blushing?!), “but no—to murder and anything else. I just wanted to let you know that I was looking at the volunteer sign-up sheet for the little kids swim practice tomorrow and it seems it’s just us. Since we live down the street from each other, I thought I could just pick you up in the morning. Save gas, save the planet, you know?”
“Or I could pick you up,” I say, rather stubbornly.
“I’d rather not ride in that death-trap you call a car, but I appreciate the offer,” Baz replies dryly. “I’ll be at your door at 8:30 am sharp. Mine’s the black volvo.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know which car is yours, Edward Cullen.”
“Edward Cullen?” Baz is smiling, if it can be called smiling. I suppose it’s more of a smirk. Like he thinks I’m an idiot (I feel like an idiot).
“Yeah, you two have the same stupid, shiny car,” I huff, and push my way past him. “Pen and Agatha are waiting for me. See you in the morning?”
“So, you think I’d be a vampire?” Baz asks, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. I say nothing and keep walking, my back to him. “If I’m Edward, then who are you? I reckon you’d be Jacob.”
“Jacob?” I spin around.
He tilts his head. “Yes.”
“Elaborate?”
“No.”
“God, you’re annoying.”
“See you, Snow!”
To no one’s surprise, Agatha ends up crying at the end of the Downton Abbey episode. The credits roll as she sniffles; I roll my eyes.
“It’s alright, Ags.” Penny pats Agatha gently on the knee, before reaching across me to the coffee table and grabbing another quesadilla slice (mum made them for us. She gets these tortillas that are handmade in the grocery store. We’re all obsessed. It’s a post-swim tradition now, really—quesadillas and Downton).
“Agatha, we watch this Christmas episode every year. Also, I feel it necessary to point out that it’s the beginning of November and—”
“Simon, if you say one more word I will hit you,” Agatha hisses. It’s a genuine threat, and I raise my hands in defeat, deciding instead to reach over Penny for the remote.
As the screen flicks to black, I hear Agatha sigh happily from behind me.
“Nothing gives me more serotonin than the Mary and Matthew proposal scene.” She says, resting her head on Penny’s shoulder.
“Understandable.” The voice is coming from behind us, and I turn to see my mom, blonde hair cascading down her old, faded Watford High t-shirt. Lucy Salisbury is probably the only person I know who can wear a thirty-odd year old shirt and still look put together and cool—it’s definitely not a trait she passed along to me.
“Hi, I thought you were going to sleep early,” I say, standing and gathering our plates to take to the kitchen.
“Well, I was , but I got woken by a few screeching teenagers in my living room watching period dramas.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“I mean, it’s better than cocaine, right?” My mom grins, and I hear Penny snort from her spot on the couch.
“Who’s to say we aren’t doing cocaine?” I say lightly, walking back into the living room to perch on the back of the couch.
“We’re not doing cocaine, Ms. Salisbury,” Penny says, rolling her eyes as she stands up.
Mom is still smiling. “Good. Although you two might want to head home now. I know it’s a Friday but it’s getting late and honestly neither of your parents trust me much after the Road Trip Incident.”
Agatha wrinkles her nose as she remembers the events of the year prior. “I’m not sure why . I mean, what’s the harm in a little week-long trip to the coast?”
“I think the harm was that we didn’t tell our parents, Agatha.” Penny says. (I can tell she’s fighting the urge to roll her eyes again. She rolls her eyes more than anyone I know. A true YA sidekick, if you ask me).
“I told mine!” I say, grinning.
Mom and I high five. “What am I here for if it’s not to provide gas money and snacks to help my only son and his friends run away?”
We laugh, and Agatha and Penny start to gather their things. “Well, I’m off to bed. Goodnight girls. Goodnight my darling boy.”
I pretend to gag, but let my mom sweep me up into a hug anyway. She always smells of roses. “Goodnight mom,” I whisper, quiet so only she can hear.
“Night Ms. Salisbury!” Agatha and Penny say.
I disentangle myself from my mom. “I’ll walk you guys out.”
“Such a gentleman,” Agatha says, pretending to swoon.
“Shut up.” I groan.
“We’ve raised him well, haven’t we?” Penny coos, throwing an arm around Agatha’s shoulders.
“Right. Okay. Time to go.” I begin to shepherd them towards the door, ignoring their giggling and ribbing.
Later, once I’ve finally gotten into bed, I open up my phone to unwind.
With my nighttime playlist going (mostly just a lot of Simon & Garfunkel and Hozier), I start scrolling through Instagram and quickly come across a post from Dev. It’s one from after swim today, and shows him (grinning) with his arms thrown around Baz (frowning). The caption reads, “I’m so happy I finally get to see my cousin everyday! (As you can see, he’s very happy too)”. My interest peaks when I see he’s tagged Baz. I’d never even thought to look for his Instagram. He’s always just kinda been this vague annoyance that pops up in my life a few times a week.
I request to follow him (because what kind of enemy would I be if I didn’t stalk his Instagram. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that) and am absently staring at my screen when a text from an unknown number comes through.
Unknown number (10:00 pm):
why don’t you have a profile picture?
Simon (10:00 pm):
Excuse me? Who is this
Unknown number (10:02 pm):
it’s baz. you don’t have my number saved?
we’re literally in the swim groupchat together.
Simon (10:04 pm):
Oh you.
Yeah, I don’t really have anyone’s
number saved on there.
baz from swim (10:04 pm):
“oh you”
always so kind.
also, that doesn’t bother you?
Simon (10:05 pm):
No ?
baz from swim (10:06 pm):
right. well.
doesn’t answer my initial question—
why don’t you have a profile picture?
Simon (10:07 pm):
idk. Just don’t have lots of
good pics of me ig
baz from swim (10:09 pm):
i find that hard to believe.
Simon (10:10 pm):
What
baz from swim (10:12 pm):
i just
figured you’d be the selfie type
Simon (10:12 pm):
The selfie type???
baz from swim (10:13 pm):
yes?
Simon (10:13 pm):
Hmph.
baz from swim (10:13 pm):
i’ve never seen someone hmph over text
Simon (10:15 pm):
Really? You seem like the hmph-ing over text type.
baz from swim (10:16 pm):
oh very funny
baz from swim (10:17 pm):
by the way i’ll be at your house
in my stupid, shiny car at 8.
eat breakfast before.
if you eat in my car I won’t hesitate to suck your blood.
Simon (10:20 pm):
kinky.
baz from swim (10:22 pm):
that was a vampire joke, you little shit.
baz from swim (10:22 pm):
i hate you.
Simon (10:22 pm):
i know it was a joke.
(also, the feeling is mutual.)
Simon (10:23):
so. why’d you move to texas from england.
or ~hampshire~, wherever the fuck that is.
baz from swim (10:24 pm):
hampshire is in England??
ever take a geography class??
Simon (10:25 pm):
no.
ever gonna answer my question??
baz from swim (10:26 pm):
no.
baz from swim (10:26 pm):
why were you born in Texas ???
Simon (10:27 pm):
dunno. ask my mom.
baz from swim (10:27 pm):
great. I will.
when I show up at your house tomorrow.
bright and early.
Simon (10:27 pm):
oh my god don’t actually ask my mom
Simon (10:30 pm):
baz
Simon (10:33 pm):
baz???
BAZ
I think flustering Snow might be my new favorite thing. That’s not weird, is it?