The Guy Not Taken [antikvár]

It was a late June afternoon. Jon, Nicole, and I were scattered around the pool in our backyard, watching our mother swim laps. Jon, who was almost fourteen, kicked rhythmically at the foot of his chair with his bright yellow Walkman earphones over his ears. "Cut that out," my sister snapped. She was almost seventeen, and had felt entitled to boss our little brother around since his arrival had displaced her from her crib, even though he was taller than she was and muscular from a spring on the lacrosse team.Jon kicked harder. Nicki leaned forward, brown eyes glaring, skinny shoulders tensed. "Stop it, you guys," I murmured, as our mother touched the edge of the pool at the deep end and began another lap. The flowered skirt of her swimsuit flapped in her wake. Nicki sank back against the slightly mildewed cushion of her chaise lounge, which seemed to sag under the humid, gray sky. Even the leafy trees and lush lawns of our Connecticut suburb looked despondent in the heat. It had been over ninety degrees every day since June, and it hadn't rained once, although there was thunder every night.Mom flipped over again and started another lap, switching from the crawl to the breaststroke, with her sleek head bobbing