Three Wishes (19 page)

Mentally satisfied, if not physically, I need to get myself in the zone for my event, and let Leia give me my usual pep talk. We go off into a corner, and I cover my head with a towel while she whispers in my ear, talking me through the event from start to finish, telling me how strong I am, how consistent, and how I'm going to bring it home for the team, for my grandparents, and for myself. She's been doing this for me for years before the backstroke, my top event. I'm seeded sixth in the state and would love to finish higher for my final race ever. I'm feeling focused and approach the block calm and energized.

As we jump in the water to get ready for the backstroke, the clerk makes his usual call for quiet for the start. “Take your marks,” the starter warns, and we tense for the sound of the beep.

Then, “Go, Genie!” echoes throughout the building, and I find myself springing from the block in the split second I realize that sound was not the starter, but Pete. The whistle blows multiple times, and we all return to the blocks to go again. We're only allowed the one false start, with a disqualification if there are any more. The crowd is reminded to stay quiet. I hope Pete is listening this time.

However, I'm totally thrown off, and I try to get my head back into the race as I ready for the beep again, but my start is crummy, and it only gets worse from there. Something's wrong; I feel weak and clumsy, where in my Individual Medley I felt strong and victorious. I can see the rest of the field is blowing past me, and I struggle to get my arms going on my usual pace.
Focus, focus,
I chant to myself, trying to keep my breathing even and not waste energy panicking.

But it's no use. Even with a brief surge at the end, I've come in with a time slower than my best, and squeak in with a seventh-place finish. I can barely crawl out of the pool, I feel so tired and so down, but Leia meets me when I get out and gives me a comforting hug. She seems to have forgiven me for the Joel hug.

“Hold it together,” she coaches. “You're okay. Let's go in the locker room.”

I follow her, avoiding Joel's and Ryan's sympathetic gazes and Coach Terri's gentle “Good finish, Genie,” not looking at the bleachers where my friends and family are seated, until we find a private spot tucked behind a block of bright red lockers in the changing area. I take a seat and the tears start rolling down my cheeks.

“I screwed up, Leia. That was awful.” I draw my knees to my chest, balancing on the hard wooden bench as I tuck my head down. Everything — the kiss with Joel, and now the hug, plus my crappy performance in the pool — is all crashing down on me. I have betrayed my boyfriend, my best friend, and even my own ambitions. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

“I know you're upset, and I would be too,” she says, settling next to me and rubbing my back. “That false start would have thrown anybody off.”

“I'm not even thinking about the false start,” I mumble, my chin now resting on my knees. “I had zero energy. My head wasn't in it, and I can't believe in my final event I would have sucked so badly.” A clanging locker in another area of the room draws my attention for a moment.

Until Leia adds, “Well, Pete didn't help any by shouting right before the starting gun.”

I grit my teeth. “It's not his fault, it's mine. I can't blame anyone but myself.”

“Come on. I know you think the sun rises and sets on your boyfriend, but can't you admit what he did messed you up?”

She doesn't understand none of this is his fault. He's the hot, popular guy who I cheated on. And I'm just a pair of boobs away from going back to being the loser I was a few months ago before he noticed me.

“Leia,
Pete
wasn't the one in the pool.
He
wasn't the one who had a terrible start and slow turns with horrible stroke turnover.”

Trembling, I put my head back between my knees. I'm feeling sick, as well as tired of dealing with this. A little light-headed, I try taking deep, calming breaths, but it doesn't seem to be helping.

“Are you okay?” Leia asks, concerned.

“No. I guess I need a rest. And I'm hungry.”

“Hungry? Haven't you been carbo-loading like Coach always insists?”

“Well, I had some protein this morning, but all I had last night was a salad. I think I needed more than that.”

“No kidding — what were you thinking? I know Coach's love of carbs is totally nineteen-nineties, but at least you know you need to get a good amount of food before a meet. That's ridiculous. No wonder you were slow.”

Suddenly, my frustration with myself boils over. “Leave me alone, okay? I'm tired of you lecturing to me. It's not like I don't have extra flab to burn, anyway. Besides, I'm a big girl and I can decide what to eat.”

“What? Are you — do you really — what are you — oh, fine,” she responds, rising to her feet and shaking a finger at me. “You never want to talk about anything anymore. All right, I'll be quiet, and I'll leave you alone.” She glances behind her. “But I think you'll feel even worse if you miss seeing Ryan's event. I heard them call for those swimmers to be on deck. You are the captain, you know. Maybe you should show some leadership.” She stalks out, slamming a locker as she goes.

“
Co
-captain,” I call after her and sigh. Now I feel terrible for snapping at my best friend, who was trying to be nice, but I shake it off and focus on my duty to Ryan. Maybe I could wish to do the whole event over. But as I have the idea, I reject it straightaway. Regardless of what I can wish, I would want to swim, and succeed, for my own strength. It wouldn't feel right any other way.

Dragging myself off the bench, I scrounge in the bag in my locker for something — anything — to eat, and discover a rather crumpled granola bar in the bottom. That'll do until the meet is over. At least it'll put some calories in my body. I scarf it down, splash my face and gulp down some water at the sink, and make it out to the pool just in time for Ryan's start in the 100-meter Breaststroke. If Joel notices my reddened eyes, he makes no mention of it, and instead we chant in time with Ryan's strokes, hoping he can hear us as his head breaks through the water. Leia, on Joel's other side, won't look at me, but she starts jumping in excitement as she sees Ryan gaining on the top swimmer at the center of the pool.

“I'll miss the three of you when you graduate,” shouts Coach Terri over our shoulders. “But wow, he's good, huh?”

We all nod, smiling, breaking into cheers when Ryan dominates his heat and finishes two spots ahead of his eighth-place seed. He's flushed with excitement when he gets out of the pool, and we all give him big hugs and congratulations.

Although we're now done with our events, we wait through the freestyle relays and cheer at the end for all of the winners. Overall, it's been a great meet for our team, as Coach Terri points out. “I hope it's not the low points that get you down—” she avoids glancing my way, though we all know what she's talking about, “—but the high points that you remember as you three graduate and move on.” We each give her a hug and thank her for four great seasons. She knows none of us plan on swimming in college, so it's a bittersweet ending.

We're all wearing bright smiles. Mine, at least, is fake, but I'm not going to ruin the day even more by letting on how I'm feeling. We agree to go out to eat after we get dressed, then we each seek out our loved ones in the crowd. Leia joins Luke and her parents while I find Pete and then my grandparents. Dr. Morocco seems to have disappeared.

Pete's mostly quiet while I chatter with Papa and Mamère about the event, trying not to dwell on my disastrous backstroke. “Shame about the false start, huh, Genie?” my grandfather says, with a sidelong glance at Pete, who misses the reference.

“Oh, Patrick, leave it alone,” my grandmother says in a low voice. Louder, she says, “So, I guess you kids will be going out for an end-of-season celebration now? Genie, what time do you think you'll be home?”

It's already four o'clock, so I give her a 9:00 p.m. ETA and take Pete's hand to lead him back down to where the other kids are gathering. As we walk down the steps, he says, “So, my cheering threw you off, huh? So sorry.”

I'm taken by his indifferent tone and stop walking to stare at him. “Um, yeah. I nearly got disqualified because of it. But I ran out of steam. It wasn't your fault, so don't worry. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it. I'm going to think about my Individual Medley time, instead.”

“Oh, I'm not worried,” he says in that same tone.

“Are you saying you did it on purpose, trying to mess me up?” I start getting angry.

“No, no. I
am
sorry, babe. It's too bad you couldn't have done better.” He gives me a placating kiss and begins rubbing my shoulders. He glances behind him and maneuvers me into a quiet corner. His hands make their way down my back, and he cups me closer to him. “I'll try to distract you from swimming — later, when we're alone,” he whispers, voice husky. “Now I don't have to share you with sports anymore, for the rest of the year.”

I sigh, willing to be soothed, and almost forget I'm still in my wet bathing suit, though he doesn't seem to mind. I start to shiver, though, and peel away, gesturing down at myself. “I've gotta go change,” I tell him. He slaps me on the rear as I walk away. I look over my shoulder at him, eyebrow raised, and he's wearing a wicked grin. I guess he's teasing me, forgiving me for my earlier infraction, so I'm calling us now even.

We swimmers shower and change from our swim togs, and we all pile into cars outside. Of course, I go with Pete, and Ryan and his sister, Sarah, climb into Pete's back seat. For most of the trip, Ryan and I decompress from the season, trading stories about our swims, steering clear of discussing my awful backstroke. Sarah is also a talented athlete, but her sport is rowing; I'm interested in trying it in college, so we have plenty to talk about, too.

They ask Pete and me about our college plans.

“Still waiting to hear,” Pete says.

“Have you applied to the same schools?” Sarah asks.

“Well, no, Pete's applied to UMass, UConn, and UNH,” I respond.

“And Genie's got her heart set on — what are they called? The sister schools?”

Right. I've only told him, like, fifty times.

I twist around in the seat to explain further. “The Seven Sisters. You know, like Wellesley, Smith, Mount Holyoke,” I explain. “All-women's colleges. But my first choice is Wellesley. Close enough to home, and close enough to Boston, but, you know, far enough from St. P's to avoid too-frequent grandparental visits.”

Pete reaches over and grabs my hand like a vise while I'm telling Sarah and Ryan about Wellesley. Surprised, I stop talking. “I'm going to miss you,” he says in a low voice, but I'm sure they can still hear.

I squeeze his hand back. “We can still visit. We're not going to be more than a couple of hours apart, no matter which schools we choose.”

“It won't be the same, though.” He sighs, not taking his eyes off the road as he kisses the backs of my fingers, still entwined with his.

“You guys would make the perfect prom king and queen,” Sarah interjects.

It's so shallow, but it does give me a little thrill to think about being prom queen, and I smile at her over my shoulder in thanks. The Genie of six months ago would never have dreamed of such a thing. I put my head on Pete's shoulder for a moment, and then turn back to Sarah and Ryan.

“See, this is the tough part of going away to school. It's so exciting, but then you think about what changes you have to deal with… Anyway, let's get our minds off it. What music are you guys into?”

We spend the last twenty minutes of the drive discussing musical tastes and razzing each other about some of our more interesting choices.

Ryan bursts out with laughter when I describe our date at the dinner theater the night before, but Pete good-naturedly tells him, “Don't knock it ‘til you've tried it, kid,” while Sarah voices her shared affection for show tunes.

On arrival at Grillin' Joe's, we all take over one large section of the restaurant, and I see other kids who weren't at the meet have also joined the group. There are about twenty of us crowded into four booths, and the noise level is at maximum decibels. Sarah and Ryan go sit with some of their underclassmen friends, while Pete and I squeeze in with Luke, Leia, and Joel. Leia still looks ticked off at me from our earlier disagreement, and I position myself so I'm not seated next to her.

We all peruse the menus. While thinking about what to eat, my stomach growls so loudly I wonder if everyone can hear it. I guess they can. It doesn't take long before Leia starts telling the others about how I hadn't eaten enough, explaining that was why my time suffered in the backstroke.

“Leia. Stop it,” I mutter, peeking at the guys to gauge their reaction.

“Hey, you know what? It's Genie's business if she wants to be
healthy
and look
good
,” Pete tells her. “Leave her alone, already.”

“Is that what this is about? Looking good? Because, seriously, she looks amazing. Always has, always will. Remember beauty comes from the
inside
, Pete? Have you been telling her not to eat, or what?” Leia catches the glance I throw in Pete's direction. “What the –” she squeals. “You
have
been telling her that? I knew there was something ridiculous going on. What is the matter with you, Pete? Why would you ever say anything like that?”

“You need to let Genie make her own decisions, Leia,” Pete warns.

“I—
I
have to let her make her own decisions? Are you kidding me? Hello, pot calling the kettle black. You have some nerve—”

“Enough!” I yell at them both, gathering my coat. “Pete, let's go. I've lost my appetite.” The tension between Leia and me has been growing for so long, and it seems to have reached the boiling point. At the moment, it doesn't matter to me if I did hook up with her crush — I can't keep dealing with her drama.