Chapter 50 Naked Room
Naked Room
Maisie
We’re nearing the end of the semester, and I’m no closer to understanding or liking my chemistry class.
Honestly, biology hasn’t been great either.
I don’t think I’m a big fan of learning about plants or having to look through a microscope for anything.
Especially for long periods of time. First-year seminar has been fine, but it’s meant to be.
It’s a freebie, really. A way to integrate students into college and provide support.
Creative writing has been…fun. Yesterday, we were supposed to pretend we were writing from the perspective of insects that took a trip to the beach.
My praying mantis, Galentina, got a terrible sunburn. Quite the predicament.
I’m currently hunched over in chemistry lab, trying to at least pretend like I know what I’m doing, all the while leaning way too heavily on my lab partner, Bridgette.
Bridgette wants to be a chemical engineer, so this is a breeze for her.
Whereas I’m thinking, for what feels like the hundredth time, What am I doing here?
Sure, chemistry is an occupational therapy school prerequisite, but I can’t even seem to make myself care about becoming an occupational therapist lately, either. Or did I ever really?
Maybe Lauren was onto something. Maybe it’s okay to not know what I want to do.
To think of college as an exploratory time.
To…change my mind. The concept is scary and foreign, and my body initially tenses, rejecting the idea.
That is not what my father taught me, but does that make it true? Maybe, maybe not.
I’m slowly releasing the remaining tension, dropping my shoulders, taking a deep breath, when the professor calls out, “That’s it for today’s session.
I don’t care if you’re finished with the lab or not.
I need to get home to let my dog out. If you still have work in order to write your report, schedule time during my office hours. ”
I guess that means me, unless Bridgette gets real cool with sharing real fast. I peer over at where she is cleaning some beakers in the sink, and she meets my gaze, shaking her head.
I practically flinch. She probably hates having me as a lab partner.
Shame swirls in my chest, and my cheeks flush. I hate letting people down.
I rush out of there as fast as possible and head back to the dorm to grab my gear for practice.
When I enter our room, Angie is battling with a bathing suit halfway up her body. “Shut the door!” she squeaks as she tugs with all her might at the suit.
“What on earth are you doing?” I ask, not sure exactly what I’m witnessing here.
“My parents shipped a box of stuff from my room. I guess they are cleaning it out to make space for their ‘naked room.’” She visibly shudders, and honestly, I try to shake the mental picture too.
“That suit looks like it last fit you when you were eight,” I deadpan.
“I was able to wear it freshman year of high school! I don’t…” she tugs, “know…” I swear I see it ripping at the seams, “—why it won’t fit me.” She huffs. “Now!”
I gently grab her arm to stop her from tugging at the material. It should be awkward since she’s practically naked, but a) we’re roommates, and b) we’re both in water sports, so we are completely unfazed by this fact.
“Ang,” I start gently. “Bodies change. It’s fine that the suit doesn’t fit you anymore. You have lots that do, and you look amazing in them.”
She looses a weathered sigh. “You don’t get it.
I grew up with a coach who was always telling me I could stand to lose a few pounds.
That real swimmers needed to be as slender as possible to glide through the water.
I know that’s bullshit, but it really messed with my head.
And apparently still does sometimes.” She shrugs casually but starts pulling the tiny suit back down her body.
“We can donate it. Some girl, not a woman, will really like that suit. Same as you did when you had a girl’s body.
I know there is a lot of shit out there and people feel entitled to comment on our bodies, but they’re wrong—not you.
Your body is beautiful, and more importantly, it’s strong and it does amazing things for you.
” I squeeze her shoulder. “Say it with me: ‘Thank you body for all that you do.’”
She exposes a quirk of a smile and repeats, “Thank you body for all that you do.”
“Good,” I say. “Now, should we circle back to the naked-room thing?”
“God, please no.” She laughs, and with her cackle, I know my job here is done.
“Wanna grab a snack at the kiosk on the way to practice?” I ask, hopeful.
She smiles. “Yeah, for sure. Gotta fuel up.”
“Hell yeah!” I shout, and we high-five before she finishes changing. Then we scoop up our bags and leave for practice together.
Practice is a bit of a shit show. Dublin and Finn look like they’ve never been synchro partners a day in their lives.
Janique has consistently smacked on every reverse two and a half she’s attempted.
Lola hasn’t ripped a single entry—absolutely out of character for her.
Jamey twisted an ankle and has to sit out.
And I have balked—started a hurdle or back approach and chickened out before actually going for the dive—so many times, Coach Megan told me for every balk from here on out, I’m doing twenty-five sit-ups.
So here I am, on the mat, doing sit-ups.
It’s not going well, so why do I think today is a good day to try the back three and a half on ten-meter?
God only knows. But I do. I’ve been scared since the incident at the first meet, and my dad’s orders afterward didn’t help.
But I’ve been working hard in the gym, and I set this arbitrary date as the day I would try—so, dammit, I’m going to.
I gingerly approach Coach Megan, ignoring the screams coming from my abs. “Coach, I want to try the back three and a half.”
She scoffs, then realizes I’m serious. “Are you crazy, Thatcher?”
“Maybe a little, Coach, but I’ve been putting in the work. I know my body can do it. I just need to get my mind on board.”
She sighs, dropping her clipboard to her side. “Okay, fine. You have my approval. I’ve seen the work you’ve been putting in. But I don’t give a crap that this is a hard dive for you mentally. If you balk, you’re doing sit-ups. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I salute like she’s a drill sergeant instead of my diving coach.
I make my way up the tower, verbally telling myself I’ve got this. I pass Lola on the five-meter, and she nods before taking off backward, long red braid whipping along behind her. She’s the definition of a diver. I don’t think she knows what it’s like for the rest of us.
Finally at the top, I walk out to the edge. I toss my shammy down first, then turn around to take my position.
What was I thinking?! Today is the absolute wrong day to be trying something like this.
My head isn’t on straight. Why did I have to hold myself to this arbitrary date?
I could have picked another one, like a normal person!
But I didn’t want my anxiety to get the best of me. I wanted to prove that I could do this.
I swing my arms once but don’t take off.
Coach Megan’s voice is far away but clear: “That’s twenty-five! You wanna go for fifty? Get down here, Thatcher!”
My abs are going to be beyond sore after today.
Okay, I tell myself. You got this. You got this.
You…got this. That last one wasn’t so convincing, but before I can think any more about it or give Coach an opportunity to dish out more punishment, I’m leaving the platform.
I’d say I’m relying on muscle memory, but I’ve never reached that point with this dive. I think I’m doing okay, when…smack!
The deep bone ache is immediate, but I haven’t lost my breath this time.
My head swirls slightly as I manage to paddle upward.
As I surface and the shame of not being able to make any progress on this dive bubbles inside, I feel the pinch of tears.
I swim to the stairs, and Coach is waiting there, arms crossed.
“I don’t think that one’s for you, kid.” That’s all she says before she walks away.
My head lightens. Not for me. It’s a necessary dive to compete at this level, but it’s not for me. So, does that mean being here, being a part of this team, is not for me?
The tears fall in earnest now, and I rip my shammy from the ground.
I hear Lola calling after me, but I don’t stop until I make it to the locker room.
I fumble to undo the latch on my locker and grab my phone as quickly as possible.
I dial the one person other than Lauren who has ever been able to calm me down on the brink of a panic attack. Connor.