A Matter of Heart (11 page)

T
oday's meet is at a high school about twenty minutes away. It's a district competition with four schools, but none that we can't easily beat. If I have to sit out, I'm not missing much. At least, that's what I tell myself.

It's a beautiful Saturday morning—the kind that makes Phoenix summers worth suffering through. Halloween is only a week away and I could get a suntan today. The winter grass is in, and there's a nice area set aside for Horizon swimmers to get ready. Technically, I'm not supposed to be in the swimmers' area, but let someone try and move me. I lay out my towel next to Jen, but that's about the only thing I've done this morning that feels normal.

Instead of my suit, I'm wearing my gold Horizon shirt and maroon shorts. My pre-meet breakfast of oatmeal and fruit was replaced with waffles and peanut butter.

And one small white pill.

Swimmers are always getting injured or sick, I remind myself. They take time off, and then come back. No. Big. Deal. In the meantime, there are bonuses to not swimming today. I can eat donuts and not worry about an upset stomach.

And I can sneak out to the parking lot and surprise Connor.

I've always had my own pre-race routine, and that hasn't changed since we've been dating. Before warm-ups, I turn on my iPod and zone out to my music. I like to visualize the whole day—each race I'm competing in, who I'm competing against, how I see it going. Connor sets up his towel in our area, but he hates all the nervous energy before things get started. So he disappears—chills in the locker room, if there is one, or out in his car if Coach isn't watching. Honestly, I don't pay attention because I'm in my own world. But today, instead of being a competitor, I can be his girlfriend.

I duck out of the bleacher area and wander up front toward the parking lot. The Horizon team travels on a school bus, but Connor has permission to drive himself because sometimes his club team is on a different schedule. His car is parked in the far corner under the shade of a tree. Sure enough, as I get closer, I see his feet sticking up in the backseat. Smiling, I tiptoe my way to the back door, then yank it open. “Surprise!”

He jerks back, thumping his head on the window. I get one flash of his face and then he's bent over, coughing and choking. He's got something cupped in one hand, and he's holding a water bottle with the other.

“Sorry!” I squat down as he sits up, his face red under the tan. “You okay?”

He takes a swallow of water. “Damn it, Abby!” His voice is hoarse. He finishes eating whatever is in his hand and takes another long drink.

I'm still squatting there, but now I feel stupid and I'm guessing my cheeks are as red as his. He doesn't look too happy to see me. “Sorry,” I say again.

He sits up straighter and wipes a hand across his mouth. “It's okay. You surprised me. Nearly choked on a shark.”

Now I see the bag of gummy shark power gels on the floor. Connor eats them like Skittles.

“Sorry for the shark attack,” I say, hoping for a smile.

He still looks pissed.

There's a funny heat building behind my eyes.
Tears? Really?
I stand, tilting my head to one side so my hair covers my face. “Anyway. Sorry. I just…thought I'd do the girlfriend thing today since…”

Sudden understanding changes his expression.

“Oh, right.” He gestures me forward. “Come here.”

“No, you gotta get ready.”

“Come. Here.” He grins, and then I do too, because now he's looking at me the way he usually does when we're in the backseat of his car. He slides over to make room. I sit next to him, the seat cracked but soft, the smell of chlorine oozing up from the leather.

He slides an arm around my shoulder. “So what's the girlfriend thing?”

I hear the tease in his voice and blush. “I'm not going to show you now. You need to conserve your energy.”

He laughs. “I got plenty of energy.”

“You'll need it.” I'm thinking of Alec; he's had a great week of practice, but I don't say that to Connor.

His chest muscles puff up behind me. “You don't think I can win?”

“Of course you can win,” I say. “You will win. Your legs good today?”

“Feeling strong.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I'll win some blue for you.”

“I'd rather win it for myself,” I murmur.

“It's one meet, Ab. That's it.” He pauses. “Right?”

His eyes are a light shade of blue—nearly see-through—and it's the perfect color for Connor. No murky depths—just clear and uncomplicated. Like him. I force a smile. “Yeah, it's only one meet.”

He smiles back; those are the words he wants to hear. He starts packing up and I wait while he zips his bag closed and grabs everything he needs. I'm antsy now, anxious in a way that I wasn't, and I have no idea why.

When we get to the main gate leading to the pool area, Alec is there. He's stretching his lats, his dark hair slicked back from his warm-up. He stares as we get closer. His eyes flicker to Connor before giving me a knowing look.
Oh, please
. Does he think I was just helping Connor shoot up some doctored blood?

I glare at Alec with pure disgust. Connor doesn't have to take drugs—he's always been first.

Pneumonia
.

I don't know where it comes from, but the word pops into my head like it's been there all along. Connor's pneumonia in September and the way he recovered so quickly.

Was that when the strange looks from Alec began?

There have been doping scandals in swimming, same as with every other sport. Most people don't think swimmers dope, because it's not a sport where you want grapefruit biceps. But performance drugs aren't just about big muscles—they're about quicker recovery so you can train harder. Some said there were swimmers using during the last Olympics. But do I think Connor is taking something? No. Absolutely not.

But there are pills you could take in your car before a meet. Pills that help you recover quicker when you've been injured
.

Or sick
.

No. I stop myself with a shake of my head. He was eating gummy sharks. Period.

As we pass Alec, I slide my hand into Connor's and squeeze.

Connor looks at me, surprised. I gaze into his blue eyes and give him a hug. And when I'm next to his ear, I whisper, “Kick Mendoza's ass.”

W
hen they call the ladies' 100 free, my best race, I'm sitting with the team in our warm-up area. It's like that expression “it's not over until the fat lady sings.” Well, it's not over until the bored Team Mom Announcer calls your event. My muscles fire awake and my skin stretches and tingles as if I'm ready to burst out of myself. Part of me is still hoping Coach is going to call, “Abby, you're up.”

Of course he doesn't. I head to the fence, slide my fingers around the metal links, and concentrate on holding myself together as the swimmers take their lanes.

Jen is in lane 3—she's swimming the 100 in my place. Bree is in lane 5. I know all the other swimmers even though they're from different schools. We've been at the same swim events since we were young enough to bring coloring books and nail polish
to occupy us between races. Okay, well, we still do the nail polish sometimes.

“Take your mark,” the ref calls.

Jen is on the block. I'm wishing it were me, my feet on the roughened texture, sliding my right foot forward until my toes curl around the edges. The press of my fingers on the block, the slight rock in the balls of my feet…the gathering. It's like that, a gathering of energy and breath and momentum and focus—all in the center of my chest so that when the buzzer goes off…
Bam!

When the buzzer goes off now, I jolt forward, hard enough to make the fence rattle. I look around. No one's noticed. Everyone else is pressing forward to watch. Jen looks good. But Grace Evans is in lane 4 and she looks just a little better.

I'm watching them swim neck and neck through the first two turns. It's going to be close. Coach is checking his stopwatch and pumping a fist while he looks back and forth at Jen and Bree.

Then it's the last lap and it's close, so close, and there's that final push when they all jerk and reach. And it's over. Grace first. Jen second. Bree sixth.
Ouch
.

I look up, searching, without even realizing I'm doing it until my eyes find Coach. After every race in the past two years I've looked for Coach or waited to hear the sound of his voice. And I'm doing it again.

As if he can sense it, his gaze suddenly locks with mine. I want to cry. I thought something had broken between us from what happened at practice on Thursday. But the connection is still there. He knows. He understands. I don't belong here on this side of the fence. This is killing me.

I hope it's killing him, too.

I
'm waiting for Jen when she clears the pool area.

She's dripping wet and swinging her swim cap off the edge of one finger. “Did you freaking see that?” she says.

“You mean the cute timer?”

She smacks my shoulder, leaving a wet print on my shirt.

I laugh. “Of course I saw. You kidding? I had to peel my eyeball off the fence I got so close. You rocked it, Jen.”

She grins. “Nearly a PR.” She looks around. When she's sure no one is behind us, she says, “Grace barely beat me.”

“It was close.”

“It's her arms. She's got freakishly long arms.”

I laugh.

“It's not even my best distance, and I still nearly got her.”

“You were right there. And second, Jen? Seriously!” She knows what I mean. Second is major.

“Yeah, well. If you'd been swimming, though…”

“Shut up.” I won't let her say more. I'm not letting myself think about it, and she can't either. “You nearly set a personal record, and honestly, your dive wasn't great. I'm thinking today might be your day in the two hundred.”

She breaks into a relieved smile. “I like the way you think.” She squeezes her ponytail and beads of water fall like dew on the grass. “Now I have to wait. I hate all the waiting.”

Backstroke races are next. Jen and I head over to the towels. We're still there a half hour later when Connor comes over.

He has to stop and talk to ten different people, nine of them girls, before he settles down next to me, stretching his legs out so his feet hang off the edge of the towel. His swimsuit is still damp from the backstroke, but he'll be dry before it's time to get back into the water for his next race.

“Nice backstroke,” I say.

He kisses me and his lips are cold from whatever he's been drinking. “Third place. Okay.”

“Might help the team,” I say.

“I'll get us the points we need,” he says, and I know he's thinking of the 100 free.

I want to swim so badly I actually hurt in the pit of my stomach.

“J.D. was asking about you,” he adds.

“Yeah?” J.D. is the coach of the Aqua Athletes, Connor's club team. He's from Australia and has this very cool accent. Everything about J.D. is cool, from the hawk tattoo on his ankle to his blond ponytail. I glance over to where he's pacing at the edge of the pool. Today he's wearing an Aqua Athletes T-shirt and board shorts. When he runs practices, all he wears
are the board shorts, but so low that you can see the vee of his hips. Jen and I joke that he must spend hours in front of the mirror getting the waistband just right. It's slightly sleazy, but honestly, so is J.D.

“He wanted to know why you weren't swimming.”

“What'd you tell him?”

“You got dizzy last week and Coach is being an ass.”

I curl into Connor's arm for a hug, a smile working its way through me at his explanation.

“J.D. says you make him dizzy because you swim so fast. He thinks Coach is an idiot.”

“J.D. hates Coach.”

Connor shrugs, crossing his legs at the ankle. Everyone knows there's no love lost between the two. They've got competitive club teams and they fight for the best swimmers. I swam for J.D. before Coach showed up. Most of us did. J.D. ran the best club—the only club—in the area.

“It's more than that,” Connor is saying. “He's a big fan. He wants to see you do well.”

“Yeah, well…” My words drift off. I'm not sure what to say.

“If Coach won't let you swim, J.D. says you can always swim for him. Hell, he'll clear out the top lane for you.”

I laugh. But I glance over at J.D. again. He's all about what makes him look good. Jen and I have said it for years, both of us vowing we'd never swim for him again. Still…it's nice to hear. Better than nice while I'm sitting here frustrated out of my mind.

“She's not swimming for J.D.,” a voice says sharply. I look up and Jen is standing there, a bottle of water in her hand and a scowl on her face. She's pulled her shorts on over her swimsuit
but her wide shoulders are squared and still pumped up from her swim.

“Jen,” I say, a warning note in my voice.

“She's not swimming for anyone right now,” she repeats, ignoring me. “She has a heart condition.” She manages to sit down without taking her eyes off Connor. “It's not just dizziness, if that's what she told you. It's a deadly condition, as in, left untreated it can lead to death.”

Connor shoots me a shocked look.

“She's trying out for the role of Drama Queen of Doom. Don't listen to her.”

“Is that the deal?” he asks. “You can die?”

“It's a mild case,” I say, shooting poison eye darts at Jen. “She should keep her mouth shut.”

“And let my friend die?”

“JEN!” I nearly shout to make her stop. I turn to Connor. “She's exaggerating.”

“Look it up,” Jen says. “HCM. You can Google it in five seconds.”

Connor's smile is long gone. His beautiful shoulders are tight, and the hand that was on my thigh is now on the ground. “Jeez, Abby. You said you were just dizzy.”

“Connor, come on.”

His throat works up and down. It's a sign that Connor is nervous. Of what?
Of me?
I can feel him pulling back even more, though his body doesn't move.

I slide a hand over his arm. “I'm okay. Really.”

He nods, but his Adam's apple is still bobbing as if he's trying not to get sick. “We'll talk later, okay? I got to get back to the pool.”

They're swimming breaststroke, so he really doesn't have to get back to the pool. But I don't say anything. “Tonight?”

He stands and slips his feet into his flip-flops. “I can't. Remember?”

Then I do. His aunt and uncle are in town and he's got a family dinner. He sent me a funny text—how he'd miss me. How the backseat of his car would miss me. Now, thanks to Jen, I'm guessing he's relieved for the excuse.

I scramble to my feet and reach for his hand. “Don't believe her, okay? It's still you and me. Darwin. All that.” I raise my eyebrows—a question. A plea.

“You're still waiting on a second opinion?”

“Yeah.”

He squeezes my fingers and he visibly relaxes, as if he's shaken the idea from his shoulders and his mind. “So we'll wait and see. It's gonna be okay, right?”

“Right,” I say. Then I watch him stride away and the worry settles in my stomach like a rock.
What if it isn't?
I watch him get farther and farther away until he disappears from sight.

I turn to Jen and let my worry morph into anger. “What was that?”

“Yeah, that's what I'm wondering,” she says. “You were talking to Connor about swimming with the Aqua Athletes? Are you serious?”

“It was just talk.”

“It was insanity!”

“Connor brought it up. J.D. still wants me on his team.”

“What about your heart?”

“What about my heart?” I counter. “J.D. doesn't seem to mind.”

“He's a scumbag.”

“And I'm on medicine.”

“So?”

“So, with medicine it's not a deadly condition. Which, by the way,” I add, shaking my finger in her face, “if you ever say that again, I will rip out your tongue and feed it to the garbage disposal.”

“Fine.” Her chin lifts. “As long as you promise not to swim for J.D.”

“I swim for Coach. For Horizon.”

She nods, looks away, then looks back. “Okay. Sorry. Guess I got a little crazy there. But J.D. does that to me.” She shakes her head. “One day those shorts of his are going to slip. Do you really want to be there for that?”

She's joking now, and I smile. Partly because I want her to know we're cool. But also because I'm still thinking about what Connor said.

No, I won't swim for J.D.

But it's kind of nice knowing I could.