In Deep (6 page)

“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.

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.

•  •  •

On my way to the locker room with Grier, I see Gavin watching me, even while he's talking to Linus and Troy. Not Grier, but me. He's trying to pretend like he isn't, but he is. I catch him at it just the once. And then I know I don't need to look at him again until later tonight.

IT TAKES THREE INTRODUCTIONS FOR
me to understand that the girl hosting this party's name is Fancy.

Not a nickname. Not a middle name. But her honest-to-god, given-while-the-umbilical-is-being-cut name. It sends snorts of laughter out my nose that I can't stop. Part of the problem is the pre-party party Grier and I had at her house after practice, getting ready. She was wild and psyched about Gavin, saying all this crazy shit about how he's her future: garbage she would've died to hear herself say even six weeks ago. In part to get her to shut up, and in part to keep myself from caring, we did shots of this amazing cinnamon stuff called Fireball that makes your mouth feel like the inside of a dragon's. After a while we danced around her giant bedroom then made each other up. Even in spite of
the Gavin crap, it was fun like we haven't had in maybe months.

Since I won't stop laughing about the Fancy thing, Grier pulls me into the kitchen. It's full of people, and there are sticky pools of soda, liquor, and who knows what on the huge granite island already, though it's not even nine o'clock. The cabinets are big enough to get inside of, and I whisper to Grier that we should play hide-and-seek. She only half-smiles, cool. I realize she's looking for Gavin, and the silliness in me washes away. I predict she'll stick with me until we find him, but that's it.

As the happy feeling dissolves, I straighten my face and move ahead of her to weave through the kitchen. If that's how it is now, fine. We meet some girls. We meet some guys. I try to get into conversations with as many people as I can. Because of this I find out that the little sister of our lovely hostess Fancy is named Nimby, and I nearly spit my drink out. Which is fine, because I know I'm more than a little drunk. For me it doesn't take very much, and it's already been a lot. After a while Grier's arm loosens from mine. Gavin must be here. I'm not going to follow her—I'm not going to care—so I grab some water and go to dance around the sunken living room with a bunch of people I don't know. Five songs? Six? I'm unsure of the time, only that Grier's ditched me, so I have to wait around long enough to make it look like it was my idea.

Finally, after I think I've danced at least a little of the booze off, I head outside for some air. I stumble down a series of stone steps that remind me of a garden in a book, and then I'm standing
on this huge stone patio around a Jacuzzi with an actual waterfall going into it. Grier, Gavin, and that guy Linus and two other girls are there. They look up at me. Especially Gavin—glad but pretending not to be. Grier fake-squeals and asks me where I've been.

“Dancing,” I say, like she cared at all.

I sit down on the cement, a foot or two away from the edge of the Jacuzzi. Everyone seems to have their suits intact, though Linus's clothes are piled behind him. There's a pair of boxer briefs right on top, but he's sitting there as if he's in a living room recliner. I decide I like Linus. Not
like
him, like him, but like him. He's a good guy. He doesn't deserve to be just Gavin's sidekick. Maybe I'll set him up with Siena. Or Kelly.

Then Gavin says, “So you, sport,” to me, like no one else is there. The steam between us makes it seem like he's sitting in a giant bowl of soup. His lips are also very red. “Pretty impressive, eh?”

I sit up straighter, blink a few times. “What's impressive?”

“Your times, man.”

I laugh. “Man.” Is he really going to talk about my times? Here? In front of Grier and everyone else?

“Fly's your thing, right?”

I nod. “Fly's my thing.”

“What's your two hundred?”

I laugh again, low, trying to take in my breath. I did kick ass in practice today. And I know he noticed.

“Right now? Two-eleven-six.”

He whistles. I shrug. It isn't a horrible time. But it is ten seconds behind the world record for long course. Still, I watch Grier see Gavin being impressed with me. I lean back farther on my hands and open my knees a little.

“So, the scouts are on you already, huh?” he asks, eyes glinting like they were the other night when we went to get burritos.

Everybody else is bored though, talking about something else. I'm bored too—that dirty flirt talk game's already been done.

“I've heard not till summer.”

He shakes his head. “This is when they should start looking at you. Olympic trials will be here before you know it.”

“Not for me.” I shake my head, enjoying the floppy feel of it.

“You serious?”

“Sure I'm serious. You're not serious about them, are you?”

He laughs. From what I've been able to tell, Gavin's a decent swimmer. Good enough to get into Auburn and stay there, anyway. But I know he's not serious because of the internship. You don't take summer jobs if you're gunning for the gold. You don't have time to. Sometimes you don't even go to college.

“Well,” he finally says, in that dismissive-dad-sounding way. “I just mean—”

“You ever swim against Kenyon, Wake, or Brown?”

This part I want to know. I want to know how far I could
maybe reach. Those schools are probably still too academic to be of much interest—it's not like I want to study my ass off for a degree that'll get me basically nothing, either—but they're far away, and I'm curious.

Grier's had enough though, apparently. She gets up, reaching for Gavin's wrist.

“There's karaoke in there somewhere,” she says. “This is supposed to be fun.”

Everyone else stands, finds their towels and shirts. Linus shows up beside me all of a sudden, somehow clothed. I hook my arm with his, grabbing one of the girls with my other elbow, making buddy-buddy.

“So who's got a favorite song?” I lilt, trying to make myself sound happy and carefree, instead of—again—as though I'm being poked hard in the ass by the reject stick.

In response Linus quotes some rap I've never heard before, and I laugh loud. Before I turn up the stone steps, I see Grier pouting by the edge of the Jacuzzi. Gavin puts his arms loosely around her waist and murmurs something near her mouth. She swings away from him wildly, but he swoops her down in a stupid dip. He bites his lower lip. She's laughing now and bumps her pelvis against his. They're probably not coming up for karaoke. Which is fine—I will. I'll party. I'll mingle. I'll have a good time. But first I make sure Gavin sees me looking back at him before I disappear with everyone else up the stairs.

ELEVEN O'CLOCK? TWELVE? GAVIN AND
Grier have been gone a long time. I've had some kind of melon stuff, and I'm sure fourteen people have sung Adele at least twice. My butt's numb. I need to pee. And maybe get some water and find somewhere to lie down, since it's obvious we're not heading home anytime soon.

I climb the stairs and head down the hall, sliding my hand along the creamy wallpaper, moving toward what I think is a bathroom. It's late. I need to wash my face, get to sleep. There's practice tomorrow, and I still need to work hard. I'm halfway down the hall when someone comes up behind me and grabs my waist.

“You're so hot.” He breathes in my ear, scratching me with his dark stubble.

Without thinking, I reach up, grab the back of his head, and press my butt against him. When his hand goes up inside my shirt, sliding steadily up over my ribs, I finally realize what I'm doing and turn around.

“You leave my friend passed out by the Jacuzzi?”

His hands move down, hot on my hips, moving in small circles. I'm shocked, but I don't try to pull away.

“She's fine. Talking to some guy about Bali.”

“Yeah, she likes doing that.”

He leans even closer. “She likes talking about you, is what.”

We're both drunk. This is crazy and stupid, and—

“Oh, yeah? And what do you like talking about?”

“I think you have an idea.”

There's a flare of heat in my crotch. “What, yourself? How awesome it is at Auburn?”

His hand presses harder. “Why do you have to be such a bitch to me?”

I smile. I can't help it. It's something I do at an intimidating meet, too.