In Deep Page 4

  “She is such a bitch,” Megan mutters.

  I make my voice light, like I couldn’t care less. “Nah, just bored. Besides, you know how Grier is with guys.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Megan huffs. “And it’s getting pretty boring.”

  “Well, you probably won’t have to suffer long.”

  “Sure. It’s not like we have another whole year with her or anything.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, narrowing my gaze. “Something might make her burn out long before that.”

  • • •

  Swim.

  Push.

  Breathe.

  Swim.

  Swim and swim, and that is all.

  At one point during practice, while we’re at the end of our lanes waiting for the next set of instructions from Van, Gavin looks across the ropes and waves at me. I give him a tight, dismissive smile. I don’t know what to think about him, or her, so I duck my head under the water and push off, so I won’t have to.

  10

  “SO, I GUESS I OWE you one,” Kate says to me the next day in Enviro. She has this serious, almost morbid look on her face, and I can tell she’s being sarcastic. I haven’t been in much of a good mood myself today—Charlie wanted to be all grab-handy and gooey-gooey at lunch, which I guess is my fault because of Monday afternoon, plus another help-me-forget-about-Grier session yesterday after we both finished practice. I feel bad, a little, for being so crabby. I don’t know.

  But then I realize Kate’s smiling.

  It makes me smile too. “You didn’t!”

  She nods. “Yesterday. Your pep talk. I thought about it, and I realized you were right. So just a minute ago in Stats I went over to him before class and I said, ‘If you’re still up for something Friday, turns out I’m free.’ ”

  “ ‘Turns out you’re free’? So formal of you.”

  “I don’t know what we’re doing or how I even really feel about it, but it’s better not to think too much, right?” She looks so pretty. Confident. “So I owe you one.”

  “Unless of course he’s a suck kisser.”

  She turns scarlet. “Well—”

  “Good for you, Kate.” And I mean it.

  “I guess you just give good advice is all.”

  She smiles again and then turns around to get out her homework for today, leaving me to think about that. I do give good advice. Because I know what I’m talking about. So maybe it’s time for me to follow some of it myself instead of doing all this sulking.

  • • •

  At the beginning of practice, before Grier can show me another effed-up photo, I suggest we all go out for burritos after. Grier can play whatever whorish games with Gavin she wants. I’m just not going to let her make me look like a loser while she does.

  As soon as I tell her my idea, her eyes go over to Louis, hunched on the bleachers, waiting. “What about—?”

  I shrug. “Forget him. I’ll just tell him we have girl stuff. At this point he’d probably come watch practice even if I wasn’t on the team anymore.”

  She laughs, but I can see she still wants Gavin to herself.

  “C’mon,” I say, nudging her. “We’ll ask the other guys too if you want. I need to get to know your new boyfriend a little anyway, right?”

  Her face lights up. “Oh man, you wouldn’t believe—”

  But I don’t want to hear it. I stop her by moving over to Gavin, who’s been lingering around, watching us both.

  “Some workout, right?” I say brightly. “I thought we could all go for some burritos or something after practice. I’m starved. And I want to hear more about Auburn.”

  I drape my arm around Grier’s neck, showing him how buddy-buddy we are.

  “Sound’s cool,” he says, leering at Grier.

  Grier tries to match my chipperness, now that Gavin’s into it. “Sure!”

  “Cool then.” Behind Grier’s back I twirl my fingers at Gavin.

  When practice is over, Louis offers to drive us, but I tell him Grier can just give me a lift home, even though our house is about the most opposite direction from hers. After he’s gone, I explain to her that he’s got some work he had to bring home and can’t wait around for me or give me a ride. The expression of annoyance on her face makes me feel a small stab of rage toward her for obviously wanting to ditch me so fucking quickly, but I take a deep breath and blow it out slow.

  As soon as we’ve slid into the booth—Gavin and Grier on one side, me across from them—I say to Gavin right off: “So, is it hard?”

  Grier briefly glares at me. Gavin looks surprised.

  I keep my face innocent. “At Auburn, I mean.”

  The corners of his mouth lift. “Sure, it’s, um, hard.” There’s a crinkling around his eyes. “Probably not anything you can’t handle though.”

  I level my eyes at him, breathe through my nose.

  “What about long? I mean, in a really exhausting kind of way? The kind where you just feel like you can’t walk or do anything afterward? Or instead do they, you know, go easy on you sometimes? Take things slower?”

  He swallows before he answers, but his eyes are sparking. “I guess it’s just like your own experiences. Drive really hard then pull back, rest a bit. So that you’re ready for the final push.”

  Grier’s looking back and forth at us, not sure whether we’re joking or not.

  “And what about tryouts?” I go on. “Was it hard to, you know, get in?”

  This time he smiles full on. Cocky, no-of-course-it’s-not-hard-to-get-in smile.

  “For some, yeah. I think I had the scouts impressed pretty quick though.”

  “Good times, then?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your times.” Like I’m talking to a deaf grandpa. “Are they any good?”

  His eyebrow arches. “Probably not as good as yours.”

  From under the table, I feel his foot very purposefully connect with mine.

  “Brynn is the fastest fly in the whole state,” Grier chimes in then, like I’m her kid. Or more now like suddenly I’m valuable to her again, since Gavin’s clearly enjoying this. “She’s the fastest Van’s had in his club for years. She could go Olympic.”

  “That has yet to be determined,” I grumble.

  “Pretty much from the meets, though,” she says.

  “And at State you go for National time too, right?” Gavin says.

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  The energy around the whole table has shifted. I don’t like trying to have normal talk with this guy.

  “That’ll score you some,” he says, grinning, like he’s read my mind.

  I grin back, feeling crazy and powerful. “Yeah, I’d like to be able to see myself looking at five, maybe six at once.”

  This time his eyebrows frown down together.

  “Um, I don’t think you want that many scouts on you, really. One, maybe two solid interests will be able to give you what you want.” His voice has slowed down, changed pitch. He doesn’t want to play anymore, which I guess is fine, since our food arrives and I’m dying to eat. We all know who just won that round, anyway.

  • • •

  g thks ur cool Grier texts me later, after she’s dropped me off.

  thx

  he wts us 2 go 2 sm party this wknd

  I wait. Us could mean just her and him, after all. She could just be rubbing this in my face.

  r u dng anythg? comes in a minute later.

  I smile.

  going 2 a party i guess.

  11

  FRIDAY MORNING, ALONG WITH REGULAR swim stuff, I pack party clothes and an extra suit in my gear bag. Gavin didn’t say where exactly this party was—some friend of a friend of his—but he did emphasize that it would likely be wild. So I made sure to seem intrigued, plus bring a little insurance so I don’t miss practice in the morning.

  At lunch, when Charlie asks about my plans, I shrug and say the same thing I usually do: “Grier’s, practice, homework, cemetery.” This tim
e it’s harder to sound like I’m not lying, though. We tried to do a couple of date-ish things when we got back from the UGA meet and wanted to keep hanging out, but both times I got this impatient, itchy feeling that I couldn’t shake. Charlie being a swimmer too means I don’t have to explain my life to him, except when he wants to know about my non-swimming life. I like it better when I’m at his place and can just get up and go after we make out, instead of having to sit there with all his get-to-know-each-other questions. Not that it isn’t nice that he wants to. I don’t know. We should try again, I guess. We will. But tonight I have other plans that definitely can’t involve him.

  “What about you?” I ask, trying to sound apologetic and encouraging.

  “Eh. Guys getting together at Ethan’s, I think. I might go for a while.”

  I nod. Like most of us, Charlie’s not up much for the late-night social crowd either. Plus, he actually works at his grades.

  “But maybe we can study Sunday?” he asks, grinning.

  I smile back. “Oh, I think we could probably work some of that in.”

  • • •

  It’s Kate I really want to talk to about the weekend. Connor’s taking her to some coffeehouse with live music for their date tonight. She told me all about it yesterday. I think it sounds kind of lame, but he’s obviously making an effort, so points to him in the long run. And Kate was almost giggly cute about it. The transformation from Monday was remarkable.

  Today, though, she’s a wreck.

  “Get your fingers out of your mouth.” I pull her spittle-slick thumb down to the desk. “You can’t be doing that all night with him.”

  “I can’t help it. I don’t even know I do it.”

  “You can help it, and you do know. Look, whenever you find your teeth crunching down on fingernail—hell, when you find your hand going up to your mouth—just recognize it and force yourself to do something else. Like, jam it down between your thighs maybe—”

  She grimaces.

  “Okay, or just lightly scratch the inside of your other arm. Not enough to make marks—just a tickle.”

  “You’re serious.”

  I almost grab her. “You can make yourself do anything if you put your mind to it. All that shit they say is really true. The trick, though, is really putting your mind to it.”

  “So, what can I put my mind to so I can keep my stomach from being full of rocks, then? Or to keep my parents from asking embarrassing questions? I really think I should cancel. I don’t think I feel well. Maybe it was my lunch—”

  Her hand starts going back up to her mouth. I clear my throat pointedly, and she drops it back down, giving her other arm a halfhearted tickle. That jacked-up feeling I had getting her to say yes to this date comes over me again.

  “You’re just nervous. It’s okay. Nervousness is mostly your body’s way of getting ready for something new. It’s not a bad thing. But you don’t have to be ruled by it.”

  I have to stop because the bell’s rung, and Chu’s picking up the questions on last night’s reading. I give her what I managed to conquer (three out of five isn’t bad), and take out another piece of paper.

  You just have to recognize what’s going on and decide to be the master, I write to Kate. You’re more than just your feelings. You can recognize what’s going on and change your own reaction to them. You can even change the reactions of other people. It’s completely empowering.

  I believe this—I know this—so firmly, it’s like I’m carving the words into the paper. I pass the note over to her. It takes her a minute to respond.

  Yeah, but when the horses are nervous about something, they’re usually right, she responds.

  I snort. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she’d say something like that. I write back.

  Horses are different. Are you a horse? No, you are not. Neither are you a pig, donkey, sheep, dog, kitten, or goldfish. Horses get nervous because they don’t understand that if they focus, they can actually kick the shit out of any person or coyote or whatever is coming around. They don’t remember how fast they are, how high they can jump. Dogs forget that they can pretty much kill anything they want to, even their own masters. Sheep—well, there’s no argument there. Sheep are fucking stupid. But you’re not a sheep. You’re not trapped, and you’re not a follower. You’re doing this because you want to, because it’s different and exciting. If it sucks, you don’t have to do it again. That’s the thing. Unlike sheep, you can actually learn from your experiences. But you’re not going to if you don’t have some of them.

  She doesn’t write me back for the rest of class, which is irritating, but also it means she knows I’m right. I’m so pleased, I even register most of the lecture and raise my hand when Chu asks for questions.

  On the way to last period though, Kate’s on me right away.

  “Okay, I’m not going to get into a debate with you on the differences between humans and animals, because you’re just—” She holds a flat palm out and makes a crazy circle. “Okay?”

  “Um. Okay.”

  She takes a deep breath. “It’s not the same for you, and you don’t understand. You can’t manipulate people like that. Or emotions. But you do have a point about experiences, and that’s why I’m even halfway listening to you. I thought in class about how the only way to train an animal to do new things is to repeat behavior over and over with them, and so that is the only reason I’m not canceling on Connor right now. Because the way to learn new things is to go through the motions of them. So, I’ll try it. But don’t go thinking you’re so smart. Because there are similarities, and there are reasons why animal instinct can be superior sometimes. Still, I’m going. I said I’m going, and I’m going.”

  She’s so intense, it’s hard not to laugh at her. But I don’t, because she’s still doing this even though she’s scared, and I’m proud. I’d almost hug her if we were good enough friends to do that.

  “I’m glad you came to that conclusion,” I say instead. “Glad that I could help.”

  “You’re not a help. You just conveniently reminded me of something I already knew.” She jerks open the door to Woodham’s class and holds it for me. “If you want to help me, you’ll tell me what you think I should wear.”

  I don’t know much about Kate’s wardrobe, so most of my suggestions are dumb ones like “Pocahontas costume” or “A dress made of tires,” but it’s fun coming up with ways to make her laugh, and in some ways it reminds me of my middle-school pals. At the bottom of my note—which I hand her at the end of class—I remind her that the guy asked her out with her looking the way she does at school. So there’s no way she can lose.

  12

  AS SOON AS I CROSS into the nearly palpable wall of chlorine that surrounds the pool, it surprises me that the day was so good, I wasn’t already dying to get here. At the same time, I can also feel my body sharpen up, focusing. Good meet or not last weekend, there are still two hundredths to shave off my time before State. I waggle my neck back and forth, bounce up and down on my toes twenty times, and then twist my trunk until I’m almost dizzy. It clears my head of Kate. Of my teammates wandering in and saying hey. Of Gavin, waving a hello at me but keeping his distance. Even of Grier, who pads across the water-slick floor, smiling, obviously ready to show me something else sick on her phone. I wave at them both but keep working the rubber of my swim cap down around the back of my head and pressing my goggles to my face. Breathe. This is what you’re here for. Just this and nothing else.

  This is how it goes: 200 free. Warming up. Then four 200s on skips: freestyle, kickboard, pull buoy, then free. Out for pep talk and logic problems. Then we split up into sprinters and long-distance swimmers. Today it’s four 500 IMs for us in long distance: 125 fly, 125 backstroke, 125 breast, 125 free, all within a certain time. I barely see my teammates at this point in practice, just the water and my hands and the blank space that is me, breathing and moving and pushing forward. We catch our breaths at the end of the pool for a moment while Van directs
the college guys. I hear Siena and Sam talk about their weekends—mostly studying by the sounds of it—some science project—and then it’s under the water again for more.

  An hour after being back in the water, we’re at the peak of practice, which is when you can begin to tire out, especially since you know that whatever comes after this set is just going to be worse. This is when you can begin to think that Van just sits in his cushy office all morning dreaming up the most complicated ways in which he can torture you, break you down, and drive you to tears. It’s when you can start thinking about all the other kids in your grade, lying around in front of video games or strolling together at Atlantic Station, maybe skateboarding a bit or, at worst, chasing after a soccer or football. It’s when you can begin to wonder what the hell you’re doing, driving your body like this in a pursuit that will not crown you Most Popular or even Most Athletic, because all anyone cares about is soccer, football, and cheerleading. It’s the part of the day where your chest is starting to heave and you’ve stopped feeling the difference between water and air, because you’re not in the air long enough to remember how it feels before you’re back in the water again.

  But it’s also the best part. Because if you can blank your mind and zone past the groaning of everyone else—the beating of your own heart, and the amused smile on Van’s face—your body can push you to a place your mind was too stupid and too lazy to believe in. You just have to do it and swim. You have to know you can and then leave the rest at the edge of the pool.

  Last set is for time. When I get out, Van shows me: 1:05, 1:04, 1:05, and then 1:02. He rubs the top of my cap. “Exceptional,” he says. “Keep this up, and there are no worries about State.”

  “Thanks, Van.” My voice is breathy. My whole self is breathy. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. It won’t stop coming, but I know it’s okay because it’s just what my lungs have to do to fuel the muscles. I shake my shoulders, wrists, ankles. It’s something to do while everyone else clambers out, looks at their own times, has a word or so with Van, and begins to get their things. In. Out. In. Out. Starting to slow a little bit as I picture a roller coaster coming to a stop. Because it is just like that: You were in, it was crazy, and now it’s over. You’re not even sure you can remember what happened. You’re not sure you care.