She’d worn 50 SPF sunblock and hadn’t tanned at all. She thought she could almost see a Magpie-shaped pattern of more vibrant color where her body had blocked the sun. The pizza float was faded from three months of sitting out every day last summer. She found an old tire pump in the garage and took it to the backyard, where she sat cross-legged on the grass. The water was freezing, so now her hand was numb instead of tingling, which she considered a slight improvement. ( will powdered chlorine on skin fucking kill me hopefully the answer, regretfully: no.) She had run her hand under the garden hose for a few minutes. She’d searched the internet on her phone. Magpie’s skin tingled where she’d spilled some of the powdered chlorine on the back of her hand. She pulled back and tried to spit away the taste. When Magpie put her mouth on the pizza float’s nozzle and blew, she tasted chemicals, sunscreen, sweat, regret. The swan was full of razor-blade slashes now, and the pizza was deflated. Last summer her sister had been home, her father had been discreet, her mother had been sober, and Magpie had spent three untouchable months on a pizza pool float in their small aboveground pool while her former best friend, Allison, had floated alongside her on a white swan. The smell of chlorine had always reminded Magpie Lewis of summer, and summer in turn reminded her of a much happier time, a time before her life had gone so completely wrong.
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