As I boarded the bus at three, everyone was talking about the pool party. As usual, Joe had invited every kid in the neighborhood and then some.
"Is your dad gonna be there, Joe?"
"Yep."
"Awesome! He makes the best burgers!"
"Just don't put out the grill with your cannonballs like last time!" cracked Matt, drawing laughs from the entire bus. Even Joe grinned; he was as well-known for his pool-draining dives as for his fast swimming.
"I'm going to try out my new swimsuit," some girl chimed from across the bus.
Matt turned to me. "You really oughta come, Jer," he urged. "If you don't want to go swimming..."
"...just come and hang out," I finished in unison with him. It was an old routine. I shook my head. "Matt, it's not that I don't want to go swimming, I just can't."
He looked at me with one eyebrow raised, and I couldn't help smirking. Matt's got this signature confused look that, when you put it together with his unkempt mouse-brown hair, makes him look like Matthias from the Redwall books. Which is part of the reason I sometimes call him that. He doesn't like being compared to a mouse because he is kind of short, but when you're best friends you can get away with a lot.
"Yeah, but why? You should see Joe's pool, it's awesome! It's gotta be twice the size of your driveway, and the diving board is so high you get a nosebleed just climbing the ladder."
"I know," I replied, doing my best to deliver an indifferent shrug. I'd seen Joe's pool from the treehouse in my backyard. I know it's weird to hang out in a tree fort when you're fourteen, but my family's always had a thing for high places. At least, uh, one side of my family.
Matt could have gone on, but I guess he decided to give up. It would have just followed the usual track: he'd ask me why I couldn't swim, and I'd tell him as close to the truth as I dared.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit jealous of everyone making plans for the party, but I hadn't gone swimming anywhere public in years and I sure as heck wasn't going to start now. All the same, I would have sworn in court that that bus ride was longer than the whole school day put together.

Needless to say, I was not a happy camper as I got off the bus and headed inside. I was even less happy when I bumped into my dad and saw the paintbrush in his hand. "Hey, Jer," he smiled. "Ready to tackle the tool shed?"
Reluctantly, I nodded. "Yeah, just let me get into something I can get dirty."
As I walked past him, I glanced at the backpack he always wears and wondered what it would be like to have a secret like his. I mean sure, people thought he was weird when he never took the thing off - he even had it on in the wedding pictures in the album from before i was born. But at least he worked at home, so he didn't have to go out as often. Didn't have to turn down invitations to pool parties and stuff. Besides, his secret was kind of cool. Mine was just... ugh.
I went up to my room and pulled my shirt off, looking through my closet for the old tattered one I always wear for jobs like painting. But as I did so, I couldn't resist the urge to cast a hateful look at my torso in the mirror.
Now the way I figure it, there are probably other guys who do the kind of stuff I just told you about. Most of them are probably mad about an ugly birthmark or a tattoo they know they shouldn't have gotten. Me, I was glaring at my scales.