A Matter of Heart (6 page)

I
'm sitting in world history writing notes about the Nile River in Egypt, wondering if anyone has swum the Nile. That's about 4,132 miles. I doodle a wave and decide I could do it. If I had a weekend. I'm smiling at my own joke when Mr. Ruelas clears his throat. He's standing at the edge of my desk.

“Miss Lipman? Something funny?”

I straighten up. “Uh, smiling because I love the class?”

The other kids groan. Mr. Ruelas holds out a note. It's a pass for me to go to Coach's office.

“Now?”

“Apparently,” Ruelas says dryly. He's five foot six—my height—and in perfect shape to sit on the couch and watch TV. He's not an athlete. Worse, he runs the debate team, and it's no secret he resents the extra attention and money that goes to sports. So
when Coach sends a note, he's not too thrilled. Especially when he's got a quiz planned in ten minutes.

“I'd like you back for the quiz.”

“I'll try,” I say. “Sorry.” But I'm not really. If I miss the quiz, I can make it up later. I reach for my backpack. History is okay, but right now all I want to focus on is the history I'm going to make in the pool.

Coach Rick is in his office. It's a small room tucked back in a corner of the gym. The place could double as a trophy shop—one wall is lined with glass cases, and every shelf is filled with medals and trophies. Some are from Coach's swimming days, when he topped out at fourth in the nation in the 200-yard backstroke. But after five years at Horizon, most of the shelves are filled with medals the students have earned, a few of them compliments of me.

Before Coach Rick, Horizon's swim program was an embarrassment. I think that's why he came here. He didn't want to run a program. He wanted to create one. A nationally known program with nationally known swimmers—the future stars of America.

I'm going to be his first star. He actually said that to my dad. It was during a summer meet when I was in sixth grade. He told Dad I had the talent to make ripples with my swimming, and if I joined his club team and swam at Horizon in high school, I could make waves.

With that kind of belief in me, I couldn't help wanting to prove him right. And I wasn't the only one. Coach has a way of motivating all of us. We want to earn the high five that means we've pleased him. Even more, we want to surprise him. That's the ultimate. To be better than he knew we could be.

In five years, he's turned Horizon into the national success he envisioned. And I'm just beginning to make waves. As a freshman, I finished third in State. But this year I could win State
and
qualify for the Olympic trials. I still remember when Coach called the house last summer to tell us they were changing the high school state championship to a long-course format. Instead of swimming in a 25-yard pool, we'd swim in a 50-meter pool. That way, our meet would also act as a qualifier for the Olympic trials. It felt like it happened that way on purpose.
For
a purpose. Just the thought gives me a huge adrenaline surge.

As I reach Coach's office, I see that the door is open. He's sitting at his desk and motions me in before I can knock.

“Hey, Ab. Come on in.”

I drop my pack and sit on one of the green padded chairs that face his desk. “I'm supposed to get back. We have a quiz today.”

“You'll have to make it up. You're not going back.”

I straighten, surprised. “I'm not?”

“I've got an interview for you.”

Surprise shifts into excitement. “With who?”

“Local TV. Channel Five. Crew is setting up right now in the vice principal's office. They want to follow a few swimmers during the lead-up to State. You're going to be one of them. It's all cleared with your parents, and I'll explain to Mr. Ruelas. You'll meet for fifteen minutes every Monday for the next three weeks.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, glad I took the time to straighten it this morning. “Thanks!”

“Don't thank me,” he says gruffly. “Success makes a good story.”

Coach would be the expert on that. He knows how to play the
media. More attention on the swimmers brings more attention to the program. And to him. Which is okay by me.
We're all here trying to get somewhere else
. That's a Coach saying.

“What do I talk about?”

“The usual. You prepared hard, swam hard, and you're just proud to bring this record to Horizon. You plan to add to it.”

“Olympics, you mean?”

“Yeah, but don't say that. Let the reporter ask you.”

I nod and let out a breath. “Okay.”

“Your mom called,” he says abruptly. “She left a message that the doctor wants another test. In the meantime, you're supposed to take it easy?”

It's a statement, but it sounds like a question. I watch his eyes, trying to get a read on his reaction. “It's just so the doctor can cover her butt. You know doctors. She even said it was probably nothing.”

“It better be.” His voice is stern, but there's a smile in the wrinkled corners of his blue eyes. He doesn't look too worried, which is good. “What's the test?”

“I'm not sure,” I lie. I can't say “EKG” in front of Coach. “EKG” sounds serious, which this isn't. “I'll be at practice, but I've got to keep my heart rate down for a day or two.”

“A day or two?”

“Two,” I admit. “My appointment is Wednesday after school. But,” I add quickly, “I'll still be ready for the meet this weekend.”

“Your health comes first,” he says. But his eyes are intent. “You're about to make things happen, Abby. Big things. I need you at one hundred percent.”

It's not much of a pep talk, but a rush of desire pumps through my veins. I want to live up to the belief in his eyes. I want to make everything happen, and more. “I know, Coach.”

He gives me a slight nod. “Now get out of here. You've got an interview to do.”

T
he walk to Admin is kind of nice without all sixteen hundred kids pushing and shoving their way through the halls. I think of Jen. She'll be jealous that I got out of class, but she'd hate to miss a quiz. Unlike me, Jen is always prepared. She worries over every grade if it's not an A. I don't need to be in the top ten percent. I just have to keep a B average—my scholarship money will come from what I do in the pool, not in the classroom.

A locker slams shut behind me, and I can tell from the direction that it's from the senior lockers. Connor, maybe? Along with the 100, his relay team took first in the 4 × 100. Who else would the TV station pick? We can get interviewed together.

I skip down the stairs while I smooth on more lip gloss. The carpet muffles my footsteps as I pass Guidance and head into the Admin office. I can see a man setting up a tripod in the doorway of the VP's office. And slouched against the wall…

Alec?

His shoulders stiffen when he sees me.

What is he doing here? It should be Connor, not Alec. Or is he here for something else? Maybe he got busted. Cell phone violation or cursing in class? It can't be his clothes. Alec doesn't wear the droopy jeans and muscle tanks the guys get in trouble for. He doesn't seem to own anything but basic T-shirts and faded Levi's.

I look away, my excitement fizzing out like Pop Rocks. Alec practically accused me of doing steroids. He's been nothing but a jerk to my boyfriend. So why do I let him get to me? I breathe in slowly to a count of five—a warm-up exercise I do before meets to keep calm.

“Abby Lipman?” a voice asks.

“That's me,” I say as I turn to face a woman with lacquered blond hair and at least seventeen layers of perfectly applied makeup.

“I'm Maryann Engels with Channel Five. Your coach probably mentioned that we're planning a series. Abby, with you we'll focus on your quest to win State as a sophomore and qualify for the Olympic trials.”

“Great,” I say.

She turns to Alec. “We'd like to chronicle your journey to State as well, along with your quest for a college scholarship. It's a popular topic for the typical athlete.”

Typical athlete
. It's a slam, even though Maryann Engels doesn't know it.
Typical
meaning “average.”

Alec nods, but his jaw tightens. I can see that he's heard the underlying message. If his eyes are flashing fire, I wouldn't know. Neither would Maryann Engels. He's got his head down.
Give
him credit
, I think.
He's smart enough not to screw up his chance for some publicity
.

So Alec is after a scholarship? Not surprising, I guess. Most kids will take what they can get…which usually isn't much. Scholarships are scarce for swimmers. Most university money goes to football and basketball. It's not an issue for Connor. He doesn't want to go any farther than Arizona State University, which is only a few miles away. ASU is laid-back, like him, but it still has a Division 1 swim program. Plus, it's in-state tuition and his parents are loaded.

“We'll be ready in just a few minutes,” Maryann said. “If you'll both just wait here.”

I smile, but really I'm thinking,
Great
. I'm stuck standing next to Alec. We don't say a word to each other. Which is fine by me. I absorb the office sounds of phones ringing, printers humming, and muffled conversations from the offices down the hall. But I'm still aware of Alec standing a foot away.

I glance over at him, and he's watching me. Black hair falls over his eyes, but it doesn't stop the heat of his gaze. I reach up to pull back my own hair and stop myself. That's a nervous habit, and I will not be nervous around Alec Mendoza.

Why can't I ignore him?
My skin prickles. I can
sense
him watching me. What's he thinking about? My dizzy spell? The way we fought? That second when we stood so close I could feel—

“You missed practice today.”

His voice startles me. It's low and a little scratchy. I swallow and raise my chin. “So?”

“So you never miss practice.”

What can I say? He's right. The reason Alec would know this is because he never misses practice, either. In fact, he's usually the first one in the pool. “Keeping track of me?”

“Just wondering if it has anything to do with yesterday.”

I flash him an angry look. “It's none of your business.” My morning at the doctor floods back, along with the worry I've been pretending I don't feel. “What are you doing here, anyway? You didn't even win yesterday. Connor did.”

The words are out before I can stop them.
Well, it's true, isn't it?

His words are soft, but I hear an undercurrent like an electric surge. “They handed me a blue ribbon for relay, but maybe you think Connor swims all four of the legs?”

I blush. Connor swims anchor, but Alec leads off.

“I forgot,” I say. And then, because I'm embarrassed and pissed off, I add, “Not bad for a
typical
athlete.”

We're glaring at each other when Maryann Engels calls us.

“Ready,” she says, gesturing to the setup. “If I can have you two next to each other in these chairs, please.”

A minute later, I'm sitting next to Alec in one of the VP's padded armchairs. One light is positioned on either side, so it feels like I'm in a tanning bed. The camera is in front of us, but we're not supposed to look at it.

“This is a conversation between the three of us,” Maryann Engels coaches. “Do your best to forget the camera is even here.”

Can I also forget that Alec is here? I'm practicing my calm breathing again. It's either that or give in to the urge to kick him.

Maryann gives her intro. Then she's congratulating me on the meet this weekend. “A new school record. That's impressive for a sophomore.”

“I'm lucky to swim for a great coach and a great program,” I say.

“With State in just three weeks, there's talk you have a chance to win the hundred free.”

“That's what I'm training for.”

“But that's not all. Where do the Olympics fit in, Abby?”

“The Olympics have been a dream of mine since I first discovered that Amanda Beard won gold as a fourteen-year-old.” That sounds pretty good, I think.

“And this year,” she continues, “USA Swimming has ruled that the high school state championships will be a qualifying event for the Olympic trials. Is that right?”

“Right,” I say. “It's pretty major because usually school events don't count. But we'll be swimming long course in order to make it a qualifier.”

“Which creates an opportunity for you?”

“Exactly.” I can't help but smile.

“You sound committed.”

“I have to be. It's a tough sport, and the competition is incredible.”

“Alec,” Maryann says, swiveling to face him. “You must be proud of your teammate.”

“Absolutely,” he says with a straight face.

Liar
.

Maryann smiles at him. Her cheeks are pink. I guess even older ladies can be fooled by his good looks.

His eyes flash to me, and I see a flicker of humor. “We're supportive of each other.”

Maryann sucks down his bullshit like a smoothie. “So tell us
what we can expect from you, Alec. You won blue in your relay this weekend. You're posting great times for the hundred free. Goals for State?”

“First place would work. But it's really about posting the right time.”

She smiles, charmed. “Since you're a senior, I'm guessing more is at stake than a medal. Especially for you.”

Then she shifts toward the camera in a move that's overly dramatic. “Alec's story is amazing, and illustrates the risks and challenges of an athlete hoping for a college scholarship.”

I sit a little straighter. What is she talking about?

“Alec's family moved here, drawn by Coach Rick Lazare and his track record of garnering a high percentage of scholarships for his swimmers.”

So that explains the transfer to a new high school his senior year
.

“You're from Tucson, right?” she says to Alec.

“A small town south of there. It was a good high school, but not a top division.”

“And there's quite a carrot dangling out there for you, as I understand. Tell us about Stanford.”

Stanford?

He shrugs as if Maryann hasn't just mentioned one of the top schools in the country
and
one of the most elite swim programs. You don't get into Stanford unless you're the real deal.

“The coach contacted me last summer, after my junior year. We've got what you call a verbal agreement, but it's understood that I need to push harder and make some things happen as a senior.”

“And so your family relocated for your swimming?”

“It made sense for other reasons too.”

“Still. That must add a lot of pressure.”

I'm watching Alec like I've never seen him before. Maybe I haven't. Alec is new, and we don't have any classes together. I just assumed he'd be an average student, but average wouldn't cut it at Stanford. I also see his swimming in a new light. No wonder he works so hard. He's going to need incredible times to get accepted, much less get a scholarship. So much for being a
typical
athlete.

Coach must have told Maryann these things, but I wonder why he never mentioned it to the rest of us. Stanford would be a talking point for any coach. So maybe it isn't certain? Maybe Coach isn't convinced Alec can get there?

“Sure,” Alec is saying. “It's pressure, but it makes me work harder.”

Maryann nods encouragingly. “I can see the determination in your eyes, Alec. Tell me, is that a key to your success?”

“It's part of it, I guess.”

“Abby,” she says. “You tell us. It takes so much to win. Technique. Strategy. Training. Fitness. Determination. What do you think is Alec's greatest strength?”

I nearly choke on a mouth of air. “Uh.” I blink. He's watching me and suddenly all I can think of is how he called me a cheat. Called Connor a cheat. “He'll do whatever it takes to win.”

“Wonderful.” Maryann bobs her head up and down. “Now, Alec, it's your turn. What do you think is Abby's greatest strength as a swimmer?”

I stiffen.
Perfect—payback time
. I curl my hands over the chair, waiting for the blow to land.

A second passes. A pause. Then I hear him say, “Heart.”

I'm ready for anything, but not this. It's just a bunch of crap, but my breath freezes in my throat. It didn't sound like crap. It sounded like he meant it.

I meet his eyes as a flood of confusion fills me. He's summed me up in one word. As if he understands me. It suddenly hits me that this is the way Alec swims as well.

With heart.

“Well, what a wonderful last word to end with,” Maryann Engels says. “Don't you agree?”

A minute later, it's over. I shake Maryann's hand and stand up. When I turn to face Alec, he's already gone.