A Matter of Heart (5 page)

I
'm in a room with yellow walls, white trim, and framed photos of tulips. It's supposed to look like a happy place, not somewhere you come when you're sick or due for a shot. But even the fake painted window with fluffy white curtains can't make up for the smell of antiseptic and the scratchy sheet of paper I'm sitting on.

The nurse is a blonde who doesn't look much older than me. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and it swishes over her shoulder as she straps on the blood pressure cuff.

Mom is sitting in a chair in the corner, watching. She's an ad for Ann Taylor in her work clothes, right down to her navy pumps, one of which is tapping the air.

The cuff tightens around my arm and I sigh, trying to even out my breath. It's pretty even anyway. I haven't felt weird since yesterday's swim class. I didn't tell Mom or Dad, but when I got
home I drank a gallon of water and spent the afternoon on the couch reading
The Martian Chronicles
for English. Just to be extra safe, I didn't tag along when Jen walked her dog, and I texted Connor that I was going to turn off my phone and go to sleep early. Which I did.

I feel great this morning. It's obvious now that I overdid it yesterday. With all the training hours I've been putting in, I let myself get run-down. But this morning I slept in—first weekday in months I wasn't up for a five-thirty swim practice. I'm nearly waterlogged with rest. Now I just need Laney's okay so I can get back in the pool.

The nurse scrawls some numbers on a chart, takes my temperature, and tells me the doctor will be right in.

It's actually eight minutes later, but who's counting, when the door opens. Dr. L walks in, her heels clicking across the tile, and I check out the four-inch beige pumps. She does love her heels.

“Hey, beautiful,” she says to me, smiling wide enough that I see a teeny bit of red lipstick on one tooth.

“Hey, Dr. L.” It's the name I've always called her in the office, but I think of her as Laney. She's close enough to Mom to be like an aunt.

Mom stands. “Thanks for squeezing us in.”

“Anything for my favorite patient.”

They give each other a hug.

“When are we going to have coffee?” Laney asks.

Mom gestures to her tooth. “Lipstick.”

While Laney wipes off the red, Mom says, “Maybe next week. I think I've got a break Wednesday afternoon.”

“Perfect,” Laney says. She heads to the sink and washes her hands. “So, what's the problem?”

“Dizziness,” Mom answers. “David was with her. She might have blacked out for a second or two.”

“I was just dizzy.”

Mom shoots me a look.

“At a swim meet?” Laney asks.

“After my race,” I say. “Which I won.”

“Congrats,” she says as she studies my chart.

“New record for Horizon, and I'm on track to win State and qualify for the Olympic trials.”

“Wow!” She holds out her fist and we pretend to knock knuckles. But she's just washed, so we tap air instead. It's a stupid tradition, but we've been doing it since I was old enough to make a fist.

“Have you been feeling okay?” Laney asks.

I nod and she checks my ears, my eyes, and my throat. “Anything new with the diet? No sudden weight loss or weight gain?” Which is code for
Do you have a secret eating disorder?

“Nope.”

She sticks in the earpieces of her stethoscope and presses the cool metal end against my chest. She listens for a second and I wait. I'm ready for her to be done when she says, “Just breathe normally.”

Ummm, okay? Because I wasn't breathing normally a minute ago?
Now I'm breathing a little faster.

“Is something wrong?” Mom asks, hovering over Laney's shoulder.

Laney doesn't answer. A few seconds later, she pulls out the earpieces and looks at Mom. “I'm hearing a little something.”

“What does that mean?” Mom asks.

I get this weird vision of rock music coming from inside me, like my heart is an iPod. I put a hand to my chest but it feels like a regular heartbeat.

“It could be a murmur,” Laney says. “Any other symptoms, Abby? Erratic heartbeat? Breathlessness?”

“Yeah, breathlessness when I'm swimming,” I say. “But that's kind of the deal.”

She doesn't smile, and my fingers tighten around the edge of the examining table. “Maybe you should listen again—I might have been breathing funny.”

“Your breathing pattern wouldn't affect the murmur.”

“But Abby's never had a murmur,” Mom says. “You've listened to her heart a million times.”

“That's why I want to have her checked out by a cardiologist. A murmur might be caused by a number of things. It could be transitory or hormonal or it could be an indicator of something more serious.”

Mom's eyebrows shoot up, same as mine.

“A heart doctor?” I say.

“Now you're scaring me,” Mom adds.

“I'm just being cautious. An electrocardiogram is a simple test that can be done in the office, and it'll clear up any mysteries.”

“An EKG?” Mom asks.

“Just to be safe.” Laney picks up my chart and turns back to look at me. “Any other incidents of fainting?”

“Dizziness,” I correct her.

Her eyebrows draw together. “Any other dizzy spells?”

My mind flashes back to swim class yesterday, and my throat tightens. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Mom snaps.

“Not like what happened at the pool,” I say quickly. “I stood up too fast at the gym yesterday and got a little wobbly. That's all.”

“It might just be dehydration,” Laney says, “which can lead to low blood pressure, dizziness, and even fainting.” She pulls out her prescription pad and starts writing. “I'm giving you the office number for Jim Danvers. He's a colleague of mine and a great cardiologist. When you call for an appointment, tell his receptionist you're a referral from me and she'll get you in sooner.”

“Is it going to hurt?” I ask. “The EKG?”

“Not at all.” She rubs my shoulder. “They'll attach some electrical leads to you and get a picture of how your heart is beating. That's all it is.”

She hands the script to Mom.

“Should she stay out of the pool?” Mom asks.

Laney starts nodding, but I cut her off before she can say anything. “I can't! Olympic trials are in less than a month.”

It's like neither of them heard me. “I'd keep her out,” Laney says to Mom. “Just until you've had a chance to see Dr. Danvers.”

“No.” I lean forward, tearing the stupid paper underneath me. “I'm not staying out of the pool just because I got a little dizzy.”

“You as good as fainted,” Mom says. “And now I find out you were dizzy yesterday.”

I roll my eyes. “You're making a big deal out of nothing. I'll rest next month.”

Her mouth tightens. “Right now, I don't care about the trials.”

“Dad will.” I can feel my mouth tightening too. Mom may be stubborn, but so am I. And she's not keeping me out of the water.

Mom sighs at Laney. “I've got two of them at home exactly the same way.”

Laney leans her hip against the table and meets my eyes. “How about a compromise—I help your mom score a doctor's appointment within three days, and you promise to stay out of the pool until then.”

“Two days, and I get to swim easy.”

“Two days,” she says, “and you stay out of the pool.”

“I won't swim faster than a warm-up.” I press my hands together. “Please? Just some easy laps to keep my muscles loose.”

“Can I trust her?” Laney asks Mom.

“Not when it comes to swimming.”

Laney's lips purse. “I'm serious, Abby. Do not swim hard enough that you're out of breath. Not until you get an okay from the cardiologist.”

“Come on,” I say. “I get breathless just jogging to class.”

“Then don't jog to class.”

Her tone scares me a little. “Okay, I promise. Just until I get checked out, right?”

“Right.” Laney sighs. “I feel like I'm on
Let's Make a Deal
.” She wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “Let me make a phone call and see what I can do.”

When the door clicks shut behind Laney, I meet Mom's eyes. She's glaring in that exasperated way she has. “You need to take it easy.”

“I just said I would.”

“I'm not convinced.”

“Don't worry,” I say. “I'm not going to do anything stupid. I've got a chance to qualify for the Olympics.”

And nothing is going to jeopardize that.

J
en is waiting for me when I get to school. I'm there before the bell rings, so Mom doesn't have to sign me in. She waves at Jen, but even through the window I can see a worry line like a slash of pain between her eyes. I'm glad to watch her go.

“How was it?” Jen asks. She's wearing skinny jeans, Converse high-tops, and a white T-shirt with a blue shrug sweater. Even when she's in her street clothes, you can tell Jen is an athlete. It's the way she stands, her wide shoulders and her solid build. Her hair, two shades darker than mine, is in a ponytail, her favorite updo. Jen wears funky pony holders, which is about as wild and crazy as she likes to get.

“Okay,” I say as we head across the courtyard to the side doors. “Laney wants me to go see a heart doctor on Wednesday. She wants me to get an EKG.”

“A heart test?” Jen pulls open the door so hard it flies against the outer brick wall.

“Jeez, Jen.” I walk in and Jen follows.

“Just because you got dizzy?”

“You know how my mom is.”

“Yeah,” she says, but her voice is muted. We take the stairs to the sophomore lockers. Jen and I register together every year so we get lockers next to each other. This year, hers is right above mine. She sets down her backpack, opens her lock and then waits while I do mine.

“So is this like…serious?” she finally asks.

“No,” I say. My locker rattles like an old car as it opens. I've got pictures of swimmers taped to the door: Amanda Beard, Amy Van Dyken, Missy Franklin.

“Then why do they want to do an EKG?” She grabs her Spanish book. “I don't even know what that is, except it always sounds serious when they order one on
Grey's Anatomy
.”

I grin. “Maybe I'll get Dr. McDreamy.”

“Don't joke. This is serious.” She cradles the book in her arms. “I mean, is it serious?”

“No.” I look her right in the eye so she believes me. “It's just a test.”

A second later, she sighs and her shoulders relax. “Well, then I get dibs on Dr. McDreamy. You have Connor.”

“I'll let the doctor know you have dibs.”

“Can you swim?”

I turn back to my locker for my math book. “Yeah, I'm just not supposed to go fast.”

“You don't know how to swim slow.”

“I'll watch you for pointers.”

“Ha-ha,” she says, giving me an exaggerated evil eye. “You want me to go with you on Wednesday?”

“No.” I close my locker. “I'm okay, Jen. Really.”

“Fine.” Jen slams hers shut too, and slips the book into her pack. “If we're done discussing your heart test, can we talk about something important?” She flashes a smart-ass grin. “Tanya's Halloween party is only two weeks away.”

“A girl with priorities.”

Jen leans against the lockers, oblivious to the rest of the world trying to move around us. “You still haven't agreed to a costume.”

“That's because your ideas stink. I'm not looking like an idiot this year.”

“We're not going to look like idiots.”

I pull on my backpack. “We will if we dress up as serial killers.”

“It's a cool idea.”

That deserves an eye-roll. “Can we please, just once, not have a costume that involves fake blood?”

“What about the year I let you talk me into dressing up like Tinker Bell?”

“That was in third grade.” I pull my hair free from under my shoulder strap. “I'd kind of like to look good for a change.”

“You always look good.”

“No,” I correct her. “I always have my hair shoved in a swim cap and goggle marks stamped around my eyes from swim practice. This is our party opportunity of the fall when we can actually look like girls. Why can't we be sexy waitresses? Or sexy princesses? Or sexy witches? Or sexy—”

“I'm sensing a theme here,” she interrupts, her voice dry as chalk.

“Well?” I say.

I can see her fighting the idea in her head. Jen doesn't do girly. I think she would if she knew how to pull it off, but it's just not in her. She'll watch sappy romances with me, but she whines that they're too predictable. She'd rather watch spy thrillers or murder mysteries. Usually I give in, but this year I don't want to. We never go out during the season because of early practices and weekend meets. But this year, Halloween falls on a Saturday. Our meet is that morning, so we can stay up, stress-free. I don't want to spend my big night out itching from a wig or peeling fake blood off my cheek. Not when the whole school is going to be there.

Tanya is a sophomore, like us. But her brother, Brandon, is a senior. Which means everyone who knows anyone will be at the party.

“I found Jack the Ripper mustaches for sale on eBay,” Jen says hopefully. She hoists her pack over her shoulder.

I groan and start back toward the hall. “I'm not wearing a mustache, Jen. Connor is going to be there.”

“So?”

“So I have a hotness quotient to live up to. I can't let my boyfriend look better than I do.”

“Mustaches can be very hot. Think Johnny Depp in
Pirates
.”

“You also want to wear beard dreads?” I shake my head. “It's not a good look on girls. What if we compromise and go as sexy serial killers?”

She squares her shoulders stubbornly.

“Come on. I saw this black sleeveless tuxedo shirt in a magazine. It had a whole sexy-killer vibe.”

“What about the mustaches?”

“No!” I say firmly. “But we can carry big plastic guns.”

She thinks for a second, then smiles. “I can work with that.”

The bell rings and we tap knuckles. “Later.”

I'm smiling as I head to class. I decide not to think about Laney and the weird thing she heard in my chest. When the cardiologist does my EKG on Wednesday, all he's going to find is the heart of a sexy serial killer/swimmer.