Punk Like Me (26 page)

“Okay, everyone’s at the pool, Coach is doing the lineup for the heats, and I don’t know what he’s putting me in,” Betta chattered, while taking her gym pants and sneakers off by the locker she had claimed.

In record time, she clanged the locker shut and stood expectantly, ready to hit the water.

• 167 •

“We’ll be out in a few,” Samantha told her. “Go ahead if you want.”

Betta trotted off to the door and grabbed the handle, then stopped.

“You sure? You need help getting to the pool?”

“We’ll get there just Þ ne, I promise.” Samantha smiled. “Go ahead,”

“Um, okay, yeah. Thanks, Blade! See ya in the water!” Betta ß ashed her a sunny smile and was off. The door whooshed shut behind her.

I found an empty locker not far from the mirror and the door and put my coat in it, then took my gym bag over to the “bathroom” area to change in one of the many stalls. No way was I going to change in front of Samantha and have her think I was looking at her the wrong way or something like that. Not that I would have, I never did, it’s just not a me thing to do; but I was once told it’s not enough to be good, you have to look good, too. I Þ gured I might as well put that saying into action.

I pulled my suit, cap, and goggles out of my bag and chucked off my boots, stripping quickly.

“Dude! What are you doing?” Samantha’s voice ß oated over the door from the main room.

“The usual, you know? Taking care of business, talking to the monkeys!” I called back, stepping into my suit. “They all want to come and party after the meet—whattaya say?”

I heard Samantha laugh as I rolled my suit up and pulled the straps over my shoulders. I checked the Þ t around my butt—all the important stuff was covered.

“Tell ’em,” Samantha called back, “tell ’em I said, ‘shit, yeah,’ but they gotta get their own ride!”

“I’ll pass it on,” I called back. I folded my clothes neatly and rolled my socks into my boots, then put it all into my bag. I stepped out of the bathroom, walked back to my locker, and put my stuff away.

Samantha was standing by the mirror, checking her swimsuit out, making sure everything was where it had to be. I stood next to her and did the same, adjusting the shoulders.

“You know,” Samantha spoke quietly, “you and I have a lot more in common than you think.”

I looked at our reß ections and considered. Wearing black and aqua wave-striped racing suits, we had the same swimmer’s shoulders and

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PUNK LIKE ME

tapered hips. Almost the same red-brown hair color, though Samantha’s had more brown than red and was longer than mine. We had the same eye color, but mine looked grayer at the moment. My chin had a little bit of a cleft that Samantha’s didn’t. She was what, three, maybe even Þ ve inches taller than me? That could change any day; then again, maybe it wouldn’t.

Someone entered the locker room from the main side; I could hear their footsteps as they walked through. I checked myself out again, adjusting straps and bands.

“Turn around,” I told Samantha, who was still standing next to me, doing the same thing. Well, might as well be normal about the whole thing, right? I mean, we were teammates.

Samantha presented her back to me, and brushing her hair aside, I checked her shoulder straps, straightening one that had twisted in a place she wouldn’t have been able to reach. This was a little ritual we always went through before stepping out to the pool. Sort of like monkeys grooming.

“Thanks.” Samantha nodded and turned around to me. “Turn.” She twirled her Þ nger, and I did, so she could check my back straps.

She adjusted one and was straightening the other.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” came a sardonic voice, and Samantha let go so quickly, the tight elastic slapped across my back audibly.

“Ow, Blade, why’d you,” I said, and I whirled around, “go and do that for?” My voice trailed off.

In ß ak jacket and army boots, wearing my pants and shirt from the morning, stood Kerry, wearing the most peculiar look—her face a bit red, and her mouth twisted into what I could only describe as a wry smile.

Samantha walked back into the aisle and busied herself at her locker.

I grabbed my cap and goggles off the bench and stepped toward Kerry, smiling, but a little nervous. I wasn’t sure if she should be here, in the locker room, and really, this was extremely unexpected. “Hey, Kerry,” I greeted her anyway, “this is, like, such a total surprise, dude!

What are you doing here? How’d you get here?”

“I came,” and she looked me up and down appreciatively, “to see you, and—” Something hit the ground with a loud crash, and we heard Samantha swear.

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“Since my parents are still away,” she paused, “I borrowed their car.” She grinned at me, “
and
I brought you a surprise.”

“Dude, you didn’t have to do that, it’s just a—”

“Say hello, surprise!” Kerry yelled to the back of the locker room, and I heard the door open.

“Hello, surprise!” yelled back into the room. It was Nicky.

Holy shit! She brought Nicky with her—cool! I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him in days. And besides, nobody ever came to my meets or games. Usually my parents just dropped me off at the school gate, and I’d have to get a ride with either Coach Robbins, a teammate, or Sister Attila, and after, I’d get a ride back to school, then take the bus home. It would be great to Þ nally have someone there. “Hi, Nicky!”

“Hi, Nina. I have to close the door now before people think I’m a pervert! I’m going to the stands, I’ll save you a seat, Kerry!” he yelled back, and I suppose he closed the door, since I heard it creak.

I looked at Kerry and was about to say something, like, how cool it was or something, but then it hit me. Waitaminute, she borrowed her parents’ car and brought Nicky with her? She was a sophomore, she didn’t have a driver’s license, and I was pretty sure she didn’t even have a learners’ permit. Shit. This was not good. This was a problem for her and for Nicky. And me—my parents were going to kill me if they found out, and God forbid if anything happened to either of them.

“Wow, I, uh, can’t believe you did that,” I said, but didn’t get a chance to say anything else though, because with a loud slam, Samantha shut her locker and came stalking out, mouth a set line. She held her cap and goggles in one hand and handed me a ponytail holder with the other. I took it from her and stood between her and Kerry again, like the center point of some crazy triangle.

“Kerry, it was really nice of you to come out,” Samantha said evenly. “You should go to the bleachers now, though. I believe that only students of the school and competitors using the facilities are allowed in the locker room.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, Shark. I’ll keep that in mind.” Kerry grinned at her. “Okay, you guys have a good race, I’ll see you out there, Nina.” She raised her eyebrows at me, then stuck her hands in her pockets and sauntered off.

Samantha and I just stared at each other, me in shock, and she in, well, I don’t know. Her face was still set, and very serious. “You and

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PUNK LIKE ME

I, we should talk later,” Samantha said softly, and she stood still a bit longer, then put a smile on her face. “But for now, we gotta go Slice and Dice!” She clapped me on the shoulder. “You gonna slice, Razor?” I forcibly placed all other thoughts and concerns aside. It was time to focus on the task at hand; it was sink-or-swim, do-or-die, “we-who-are-about-to-die-salute-you” time. Just like that, I was ready.

“You gonna dice ’em, Blade?” I asked in return, and grinning at each other madly, grimly, with the heat of competition pounding in both our heads, we put our hair up and walked out the door, ready to hit the water.

• 171 •

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PUNK LIKE ME

The pool was huge. It was so huge, it had what seemed like twenty lanes, and it was double the usual competition length, which meant that the Þ fty, which is what I usually did, instead of being two laps would be one; a hundred, instead of being four laps, would be two; and so on. This was going to screw up the two hundred relay; we’d have to have each next person ready to go at either end of the lanes. In a word, this sucked.

I stood in a knot of girls in swimsuits and black caps (except for the captains, who had aqua blue ones that matched the wave-stripes on the suit) clustered about Coach Robbins, a nice guy with a mellow voice, slight paunch, and a large but neatly trimmed brown mustache, which was the only hair he had on his head besides his eyebrows. Kitt nodded hello at me, as did other girls on the team. Betta grinned excitedly at me and gave me a thumbs-up. Samantha focused her attention on Coach Robbins.

“Okay,” he said, “here’s the lineup,” and he read out the list of events and what each of us would do.

We were short a couple of girls. I would do the freestyle Þ fty, the freestyle hundred, the backstroke Þ fty, the breaststroke Þ fty, and anchor both the two hundred and four hundred relays, with two medleys thrown in for good measure. Betta was excited and nervous. She would do all the Þ fties for the various strokes, and backstroke the two hundred relay, in my lane.

Oh, and the anchor is the last swimmer on the relay team—the stroke happens to be the freestyle. An anchor can make or break the scoring by salvaging a total loss, losing the lead, or nailing the lead to

• 173 •

the ground. Hey, no pressure, right?

Kitt, master of the butterß y and breaststroke, would do all of the races of those particular strokes and anchor both the two hundred and four hundred, as well as perform in the medleys (these are races where an individual swimmer performed all the strokes in speciÞ c order, in case I didn’t explain that before). Samantha would do the hundred, the two hundred, all the backstrokes and butterß ies. She would also, with me and Kitt, anchor both relays. This was going to be a motherfuckin’

hell bitch of a tough night.

Battle plans laid, Coach Robbins clapped his hands together.

“Okay, warm up!” he told us all, and en masse, we jumped into the water, caps and goggles in hand.

I went in feet Þ rst, all the way down, making sure I was submerged, wanting to get the chill effect over with, and as my head went under, I was surprised—the water was actually warm. That almost never happened. Usually the water was at a temperature that kept you from outright freezing, but would raise your skin with a thousand million little bumps as soon as you stopped moving. This was nice, I thought as I surfaced.

I slung my goggles around my neck and dipped my cap into the water, Þ lling it; then I emptied it again. A wet cap was a heck of a lot easier to put on your head than a dry one. I cast a wary eye over to the other side of the pool as I piled my hair on my head and stretched the cap out over it. The opposing team, in dark green and white suits and white caps, had come into the water. I sighted down the length of the pool. The end looked very far away.

As I focused on getting my hair into my cap, Betta came swimming over. “Help you with that?” She pointed to the cap.

“Yeah, thanks.” I smiled and turned and crouched a bit so she could tuck the errant locks in. That done, I settled my goggles over my eyes to Þ t them, then pushed them back over the crown of my head, where they would rest until I needed them.

SatisÞ ed and set, I offered to do the same for Betta and tucked in a few of the now–dark red strands that had escaped her cap. “Nervous?” I patted everything into place.

“Um, no, not really,” she said, looking down at the water. She made little trails with her Þ ngers. “Well, maybe a little, it’s a really long pool.” She gazed up at me with big eyes, then down the clearly marked length of the lanes.

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PUNK LIKE ME

“It is,” I agreed, sighting down the lanes with her, “but it might make some things easier,” I answered reß ectively as an idea hit me.

“You think, Razor?” She searched my face with anxiety.

“Oh yeah, sure, in fact, I’m positive!” I answered with a grin, then explained further. “You don’t have to do a ß ip turn, so it’s just a straight-on run, don’t have to worry about getting your turn straight.

In fact,” and I pointed, “see where the ß oor dips?” Not quite halfway down the length of the lane was the spot where the ß oor started to angle deeply, until it reached its maximum depth at the end of twenty feet or so, the end we’d be diving into, well, except for the “every other” on the two hundred relay, but that wasn’t the point.

Betta nodded her head.

“That’s where you’ll make sure to start your sprint to the end. Go hard off the start, but because you’re not going to get that kick from your turn or have your usual marker, make sure you go for maximum burn at that point, because you know you’re just about halfway, unless of course,” and I grinned at her, “someone’s in front of you. Then burn, baby, burn, and just do your best.”

Betta looked at me uncertainly.

“It’s okay, Betta, honest. Just do the best you can, that’s all.” She stared worriedly at the demarcation point.

“Hey, Betta? It’s okay to be nervous,” I told her and she stared up at me again, all worry, “really. Just don’t think of it as being nervous.”

“Huh?” she questioned, confused. Good; if she was confused, her brain would be too busy to be worried.

“Yeah, think of it like this. All being nervous really is, is your body and your brain building up all the energy you’ll need to focus.

That’s why you feel shaky, it’s all that energy running through you. So when you feel that kick in your gut and chest, take a breath and think,

‘okay, I’ve got the energy I need to do what I have to do, all I have to do is channel it,’ and then, do just that. Channel, focus.”

“Really?” she asked incredulously, “just channel and focus it?”

“Really.” I smiled at her. “Just channel and focus. You’re not nervous, just building and releasing energy. It sounds a lot harder than it is to do—c’mere a sec, take a look around,” and I clapped a hand to her shoulder and turned her to look at other members of the team.