Free Pool Boys by Erin Haft

It was Marcus who looked up first, shielding his eyes from the sun and flashing her a grin.
    “Georgia on my mind,” he crooned, his voice singsongy. Instantly, Brooke’s head snapped around, her hazel eyes like ice.
    Georgia felt her throat catch. She wished her cheeks weren’t turning pink quite so rapidly. Last night had been crazy. Soon after Marcus had joined them on the golfcourse, it had been obvious that he was into Valerie—he kept touching her curly hair and teasing her about her ratty hoodie. But after the three of them had chatted for a while—just bullshitting—Georgia grew paranoid, thinking that she heard whispers coming from the shrubbery just beyond where they sat. Valerie announced that she was beat and needed to get back home. She kissed a disappointed looking Marcus on one cheek, asked Georgia to meet her for tennis at ten, and flitted out into the night like some blonde, Juicy-clad pixie.
    Georgia and Marcus remained alone, regarding each other in the bright starlight. Georgia could no longer hear any noises in the shrubbery, or much of anything. Her chest hurt every time she took a breath, and she found herself noticing the sharpness of Marcus’s cheekbones, the way his upper lip curled slightly. She wanted to say something to him about Brooke, something about the fact that her friend said that he was sweet, but then Marcus was taking a step closer to her.
    “I noticed you at the pool this morning,” he murmured. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
    “Really?” Georgia asked, her voice high-pitched. She hadn’t remembered Marcus even glancing her way. But then she wanted to kick herself. Why did she always sound so stupid around boys?
    “There are so many beautiful girls at this club,” Marcus had gone on, his voice still low. “But there’s something…different about you.”
    Georgia had wondered if Marcus would be saying the exact same thing to Valerie had Georgia been the one to flit off into the night.
    “I guess I feel different,” Georgia found herself saying, in the nervous, rambly way she sometimes spoke around boys. “I mean, not like I feel like I don’t fit in, but Brooke and Charlotte—those are my best friends—they’re so a part of things here, and I’m just this sporty girl who…”
    “You’re not just anything,” Marcus protested, his hand now coming to rest on Georgia’s arm. And then, before Georgia could say anything, or stop him, he was inclining his head toward her, and coming in so close, and his lips were almost on hers.
    As she felt his mouth approach, her immediate thought was of Ethan, the last boy she had kissed. Sadness welled up in her, and then she thought of Brooke. Her best friend. Hadn’t she kissed Marcus tonight? Brooke had implied as much at dinner.
    This was all wrong.
    “Marcus,” Georgia gasped, giving his chest a shove and taking a step back. “No—I can’t—we need—we can be friends, but we can’t be anything more…”
    The corners of Marcus’s mouth turned down, and he’d begun to protest, but Georgia, by then full-time freaking out, asked if they could just talk tomorrow at the club. Her head was spinning and she knew she needed to go home and try to sort through everything. To make sense of it all.
    And now here she was, confronting Marcus and Brooke, unsure of how to begin. She tried not to stare atMarcus’s body. His stomach looked as if it had been carved from Sheetrock.
    “What’s up?” Marcus asked, still grinning.
    “N-not much,” Georgia stammered. “I’m going to play tennis with Valerie.” She began to tug on her racket strings. She wished Brooke would stop staring at her with such naked hostility. What did she know?
    “Hey, G, I wanted to ask you something,” Brooke suddenly said, her voice stony.
    “Mmm-hmm?” Georgia could feel her face getting hotter.
    “Do you know if Valerie knows Robby Miller’s family?”
    Georgia glanced up from the strings. That certainly hadn’t been the