My First Love (14 page)

Rick and Blythe and I left a little while after that. I couldn’t stand the idea of staying. The two of them dropped me off at home. To be honest, it was a little depressing. In addition to missing Chris, my threesome was now a twosome and a onesome. Maybe I had done
too
good a job as matchmaker, I thought. I wanted Rick and Blythe to be together, but I felt a little left out.

“Talk to you,” Blythe called, waving cheerfully, as the two of them drove away.

I was happy for her, but I missed the way we usually talked afterward, going over every detail of any party or dance.

I let myself into the quiet apartment, where Mom had already gone to bed. She’d left a note on my dresser. “Sweetie, I hope you had a great time.” The note lay on top of the key Chris had given me, and for some reason, the sight made me feel so lonely I started to cry. I opened a drawer, threw the key inside, and slammed the drawer shut as hard as I could.

There’s a tradition in Phoenix: every other year or so we get what the weather forecasters call the “Five-Hundred-Year Flood.” It starts with a rain shower that lingers for a few days, then it turns into a torrent when the days string together into weeks. Since the desert’s too hard and dry to make use of this big gulp of water, whatever falls from the sky rushes ankle-deep through the valley, stalling cars and ebbing like a muddy ocean onto people’s front lawns.

Usually, the rain doesn’t arrive until late in December,
but that year it got a running start. For days before regionals it poured relentlessly.

When the Dolphins set out on Saturday for the two-hour trek to Tucson, huge rainwater lakes covered the desert, looking as unbelievable as a mirage.

“This must be what it looks like on the moon,” I said to Cheryl Wagner, a senior who was sitting next to me on the bus.

Chris, seated a row ahead, turned around and smiled at me appreciatively. “I don’t know why we have to drive all the way to Tucson,” he joked. “We could just park at one of these pools and hold the meet right here.”

My heart started thumping. It was one of those almostmoments, where one of us could have apologized. But after an awkward, tension-filled silence, we both turned back to our windows, and we didn’t speak again until after the meet.

Regionals were like a Who’s Who of worthy opponents: names I recognized from the roster as state record holders and faces I’d seen many times before at the starting block. Looking around at the teams represented, I tried to think of the regionals as just another practice meet. All that talent and pressure could be pretty intimidating. If you weren’t careful, it could really psych you out. Especially considering there were coaches from at least a dozen colleges scouting there. Especially considering my mom had taken an afternoon off from the bank to watch me swim.

I wasn’t surprised to find Jill in the locker room a half hour before meet time, her eyes red-rimmed from holding back tears. At first, I just talked to some of my other teammates and pretended not to notice, figuring she was just burned because Coach August had noticed my improved flip turn and steadily improving times, and had chosen me for the 100-free. But finally, I had to say something. The most important meet of the season was just about to start, and she didn’t even have her suit on.

I sat down next to her on the bench and bent down to untie my shoes. “Something wrong?” I said casually, and Jill burst out crying.

“I can’t get into the pool,” she said.

“Sure you can,” I told her. “Every team is allowed a fifteen-minute warm-up.”

“You don’t get it,” she said. “I can’t get into the pool.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I think about swimming, I feel like I’m going to choke,” she said, holding her throat. “My parents are out there, and they expect me to win.”

At first, I thought Jill was just being dramatic, maybe as a sneaky way of psyching me out. But the scared look on her face told me she was serious. There was no time for speculation, or for old rivalries. “Close your eyes,” I told her, and amazingly, she did. “Breathe deeply. Now, picture yourself swimming, and say ‘STOP!’ out loud if you see yourself starting to choke.”

I got her to change into her suit, and then I sat there with her again, coaching, until a few minutes before the meet. “You can do it, Renfrew,” I said as she took her place, tensed her leg muscles, straightened her shoulders, and summoned her courage to swim. Jill smiled weakly in my direction, but Shannon, who was standing nearby, looked at me like I was nuts.

“Since when are you two friends?” she asked, disbelieving.

I turned and saw Jill’s parents in the bleachers, and I felt as though I finally understood where she was coming from. The two sat stiffly together, frowning intensely, as though their will alone could make their daughter win.

I quickly scanned the crowded bleachers for my mom, my own source of pressure and expectation. When she saw me look up, she waved and smiled. I waved and smiled back.

“Jill needed help,” I said to Shannon. “After this meet, who knows? We may never be friends again.”

When Jill hit the water humming with speed, I couldn’t have been prouder if she were my own prodigy. “Good going,” Coach August whispered to me as Jill turned on her last lap, and I smiled. Not only had I maybe made a friend that day, but I’d discovered a new kind of visualization. I’d been so wrapped up in Jill’s performance that I’d forgotton to be nervous about my opponents, the hope of a swimming scholarship, and my own mom’s presence.

As it turned out, the freestyle I swam that day at regionals was my personal best. I made three near-perfect flip turns and beat my previous best by more than three seconds. Not only that, I won the race.

Practically every muscle in my body was trembling with exhaustion and excitement as I hoisted myself out of the water. “I felt like I was flying,” I told my mom when she rushed down to hug me afterward.

“You were wonderful, Amy! I’m so proud of you,” she exclaimed. Then a momentary look of uncertainty passed over her face. “Not that I wouldn’t have been just as happy with a second-place finish.”

I laughed and hugged her again before she went back to the bleachers to retrieve her stuff. At least she was trying.

Rick came up to me next. He was there to interview the team for the
Thunder
. “The longer I swam, the more energy I had,” I told him. “It was almost as if time were moving backward, the way it would in a black hole.”

“If that were literally true,” Rick couldn’t resist adding, scribbling down the quote, “then right about now, you’d be ready to explode.”

“Lucky for Amy,” said Blythe, hurrying over to us with her camera, “she’s not as literal-minded as you are, Finnegan.”

“Someone’s got to hold this paper to its standards,” Rick said with a laugh, and the two rolled their eyes in unison.

I grabbed the camera from Blythe’s hands and took a picture of them. I couldn’t resist.

“Caption: Record-breaking Swimmer Photographs Lowly Reporters,” Blythe said.

Framing Blythe and Rick in the camera’s viewfinder, I could see what a perfect couple they made—both blond, both good-looking, and both holding notepads and pens.

“What’s this?” Chris asked, wandering over and tossing down his gym bag. “Now you’re moonlighting as the
Thunder
’s photographer?”

My heart leapt. “I thought the reporters might give me the scoop on how you did,” I told him shyly.

When Chris swam his events, I’d been busy coaching Jill through her panic attack, so Rick’s dramatic description for the
Thunder
would have to suffice. “Shepherd swam with new determination,” Rick read from his notepad, “charting his best-ever time in the breaststroke, inspired by a mysterious source.”

“It’s not so mysterious,” Chris corrected him. “I’ve always been a fast swimmer, but Amy helped me to see that I really wanted to win.”

I looked up at him and gave him a huge smile.

“Oooh, great photo,” Blythe cried out, rushing to take our picture.

“Finnegan, your face is mighty pretty, but we don’t want it in this shot,” she said. “Lean back toward me so I can get
these photos taken and send these poor, tired Dolphins home.”

“One more question,” Rick requested as Chris and I began to walk away. “Now that you’ve done so well at regionals, what’s ahead for both of you?”

Chris turned to me then, his eyes apologetic but full of pride too. “From now on,” he said, “I’m going to work on setting some new goals—and not just in the pool.”

Rick stopped writing for a moment. “Isn’t it a bit late in the season for ‘setting new goals’?” he asked.

“It’s never too late if you’re passionate enough,” Chris answered without missing a beat.

“What about you, Amy?” Blythe broke in. I was so busy absorbing Chris’s words, I hardly heard her.

I swallowed hard. “I’m hoping to be offered a swimming scholarship at A.S.U.,” I said, not wanting to mention my hopes of getting into a smaller, more prestigious university. “I’ve still got next year to reach that goal. And in the meantime, I’m going to figure out a way to accomplish my goals and have a life too.” I looked at Chris and our eyes locked. “I think I’ve got enough passion for both,” I said.

My mom was standing by the door to the locker room as Chris and I approached. I suddenly felt nervous. Would she acknowledge him? Would she say anything? There were a few awkward moments of silence before my mom reached out and shook his hand.

“Congratulations, Chris,” she said warmly. “You’re a really impressive swimmer.”

Chris looked surprised and pleased. “Thank you, Ms. Turner.”

She gave him a smile before she turned away.

I felt a flood of relief. My mom really was trying.

That night, Mom threw me a surprise party in honor of my victory at regionals. She’d invited Blythe and Rick and served every food I’d loved since childhood: mashed potatoes, pizza, cornbread, chimichangas, macaroni and cheese, and pecan pie.

“What? No vegetables?” I laughed when I saw the weird spread.

“Don’t mashed potatoes count?” Blythe asked.

Mom had also strung a banner reading “Congratulations!”
across the dining area. The glittering foil letters connected like a row of paper dolls.

I loved being a guest in my own house, and I’m sure I ate twice as much as everyone else. It was fun listening to Blythe and Rick talk excitedly about the
Thunder
, especially since I felt responsible for bringing them together. But seeing them as a couple reminded me of Chris, and I missed him.

Even though I was sure I missed him, I wasn’t sure I wanted us to get back together. I couldn’t let myself get so wrapped up in him that I’d forget everything else that was important to me. I didn’t want to lose myself again.

“I propose a toast to Amy,” Mom said, bringing me back to reality. She carried the pecan pie to the table. We all raised our ginger ale glasses.

“To her success, her happiness …” Mom’s voice wobbled a little with emotion. “And her growing up.”

I smiled at her as we clinked glasses.

“And may she swim the fins off everybody at the state competition,” Mom couldn’t resist adding.

Two days later at school, I got some really good news. I learned that I’d done much better than I thought I would on the PSATs. In fact, I’d made the semifinalists for the National Merit Scholarships. At lunchtime, I called my mom at work, and she was as happy as I was. Rick and Blythe also did well, so we shared a group hug and a burrito grande at lunchtime.

But the person I really wanted to share my happiness with wasn’t there. Chris had missed school for the past two days.

I couldn’t help wondering where he was, hoping he wasn’t sick, and wishing I could see him.

That night after my mom had gone to bed, I pulled the ladder from the oleanders and leaned it against the wall of the apartment building as Chris and I had done together on so many nights. I slowly climbed up to the roof, thinking about the times he would grab my feet, pretend to shake the ladder, put his hands on my waist, kiss my neck.

When I got up there I lay back on the tiles and gazed up at the night sky. It was a perfect night for stargazing. But I could only think of Chris’s face and all the kisses we had shared. As proud as I was of my accomplishments in the last few weeks, I wanted so badly to share my happiness with him.

At first I heard a rustling in the hedges. Then a creaking noise. My heart was pounding when I saw a shadowy form appear on the roof. Whether it was pounding out of fear or hope, I’m not sure.

I felt an incredible rush of joy as Chris’s face came into view. I held out my arms to him, and he pulled me against his chest in a breathtaking, knee-weakening hug.

“Congratulations!” he said as he held me. “I just heard your good news.”

I drew apart from him. “How did you know?”

“How could I not know,” Chris laughed, “with the test-score network circulating the news?”

“Come on, Chris,” I said doubtfully. “You don’t care about those things anyway.”

He looked at me for a long time before he answered. “I do care about them if they make you happy,” he said.