Thirteen
THE DAY OF THE COVE COLLEGE AND HCU MEET starts out the same way every other meet does – likely the same way every meet ever will.
Early start. Stretching. A light workout that does more for my head than my body.
Oatmeal made with soy milk, and a banana and peanut butter, and some of the caramel-flavored protein powder I actually like, the kind that makes me hate all the more the bland shit my dad used to force into my diet.
A teaspoon of salt, a habit that was Dad’s doing too, one I’ve never quite been able to kick. Coconut water for electrolytes.
Green tea for anxiety.
Paolo Nutini blares in my headphones as I leave my apartment earlier than I really need to, the swimsuit I wouldn’t dare to call lucky hidden by a hoodie and sweats, the day’s impending races running through my head, the rosary beads that used to belong to my mother, and now live on my keychain, clutched between my fingers – a soothing comfort more than a religious tool.
It’s as I’m getting into my car that the day starts to differ – when a rough hand slams the driver’s side door shut right as I open it, causing me my very first heart attack.
With a screech I’m not entirely proud of, I whirl around, keys swishing through the air and damn near gouging a chunk out of a very pretty face.
‘Goddamn, honey.’ A lazy hand fends off my attack, a lazier laugh teasing me. ‘It’s just me.’
‘What’re you doing here?’
‘We’re picking you up.’
‘We?’ I ask, approximately a millisecond before getting my answer.
It’s hard not to notice the rustbucket old Volkswagen van that I think used to be some shade of orange, especially when the driver is laying on the horn like it isn’t still the murky hours of right before sunrise, and a redhead hangs out the passenger side window, exuberantly beckoning me over. ‘Let’s go, Phelps.’
‘She’s had three espressos already,’ Heath murmurs in warning, as he prods gently at the small of my back, pushing me toward the van. Louder, he teasingly chides, ‘Inside voice, Matty.’
While she flicks her middle finger at Heath, Matilda is all smiles for me. ‘Didn’t you get my text?’
I didn’t even know she had my number. ‘Sorry. I didn’t check.’
Unbothered, she waves off my apology and jerks her thumb toward the open back door with a cheery command to get in.
I don’t quite wrinkle my nose at the bench seat already occupied by Brendan and Imani, but I must make some kind of a face because a quiet chuckle brushes the curve of my ear.
‘Already tried to get you out of this. Didn’t work. ’
‘We’ll leave you alone,’ Imani calls, as she leans over Brendan to grin at me – a grin that wobbles, ever-so-slightly, when pale fingers sweep her braids over her shoulder, out of her face. ‘We promise.’
Though doubtful, I climb into the van with a sigh.
Surprisingly, as I settle in with my headphones on and my eyes closed, no one so much as attempts to disturb me.
Maybe it has something to do with the wall of redheaded, freckled silence right beside me acting as a sound barrier, but it’s like someone took the mute button to the headphone-penetrating decibels this group usually puts out.
I don’t hear a peep the whole ride, and when a gentle tap to my shoulder coaxes my eyes open, it’s only to confirm that we’ve arrived.
‘Thanks,’ I mumble, as I push my headphones down around my neck, aiming a half-smile at Brendan and trying not to look so surprised when he does more than just return it.
‘I’m the same before games,’ he tells me quietly. ‘Gotta get in the zone, right?’
So caught up trying to mentally confirm if that is actually the first real thing he’s ever said to me – or at least the first full sentence – I miss my chance to ask what he means by games. The van door opens with an ear-splitting screech, and my attention shifts elsewhere.
All week, Heath has been dropping oh-so-subtle hints. Completely off-hand, totally casual suggestions of having a little fun this weekend. Doing some of the travelling I’ve never done. Taking a road-trip up the coast to some surfing spot they all love.
Briefly, as I recognize half a dozen of the faces that looked oh-so-delighted at the news of my suspension, I wish I’d found it in me to screw my team, miss the meet, teach everyone a fucking lesson. See how much they revel in my absence when it leads to them losing.
But I couldn’t. I don’t even know why. The ache in my stomach, rooted deep in my chest, thrumming between my shoulder blades, makes it abundantly clear that I do not want to be here.
Yet here I am. Here, I feel like I have to be.
Here, I stand tall and lift my chin and pray that I look even half as unbothered, as confident as I am so desperately trying to be as I stride toward the meet venue.
Only Heath follows me, the others calling well wishes and encouragements to slaughter the competition in our wake.
As if he senses my stress, he folds his hand around mine.
Squeezes it comfortingly. Lifts it to kiss the curve of my knuckles.
Keeps holding it as we both check in, and practically cuts off my circulation as he marches me to the women’s locker rooms.
When we’re within a foot of the door and he still hasn’t let me go, I snicker quietly. ‘You coming in with me, Mommy?’
‘Don’t tempt me,’ he huffs. ‘You okay?’
‘Uh-huh. Are you okay?’
‘I hate your school.’
‘No.’ I pretend to gasp. ‘What? Since when?’
‘Funny girl.’ Narrowed eyes contradict an upturned mouth and the genuine offer it murmurs. ‘I really will come in there with you.’
‘How about I come to the men’s with you?’
‘Ah, yes. And then I get suspended for mass murder.’
An eye roll makes him grin and sigh, and kiss me so quickly, so fleetingly, that I don’t even register his lips being pressed to mine until they’re gone – until he’s going, backing up with stiff, stilted steps as if he has to force himself away. ‘Get in there before I change my mind.’
Again, I laugh. ‘Go. I’ll be fine.’
He doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me. But he goes, and I breathe deep before forcing myself into the changing room.
I know everyone notices my arrival; I feel a dozen gazes lock on me.
Instantly, the snickers and the whispers and the discomfort starts, but I push it all out of my mind.
I tell myself it’s just part of the routine, filtering out all of the fuckery.
Over and over again, I silently chant three little words – they don’t matter.
It helps. Like a cool wave washing over my temper.
Somehow, I manage to keep my mouth shut and my head down, and the latter only changes when I’m poolside – when my own name catches my attention, hollered from the stands where Imani waves and flashes a thumbs-up.
Beside her, Matilda makes me snicker as she drags a finger across her throat before flipping her own thumb downwards.
Brendan, sandwiched between the girls, tips his chin and mouths what I think is a ‘good luck’.
I’m still smiling when I dive into the water.
I’m smiling when I haul myself out, and it isn’t because I won – I laugh as I glance at the stands and catch sight of a big fucking glittery sign with my name on it.
I stop smiling, rather abruptly, when it strikes me that I can’t remember the last time I finished a race and actually felt good about it.
‘Question,’ Imani muses, a couple of hours later when I finally have enough time to join them in the stands.
A smirk playing across her pretty face, she shifts until she’s practically siting in Brendan’s lap – something neither of them seem all that disturbed by, I can’t help but notice – and pats the empty space made beside her. ‘Is that pool salty?’
Taking a seat on the bench, I go from grimacing as the cold metal seeps through my sweatpants and damp swimsuit to frowning at her question. ‘No?’
‘Really? You don’t taste the tears of your competitors at all?’
Caught off guard by the quip, I snort as I flick my hood up over my head – shielding my wet hair from the cool air as much as hiding my pink cheeks.
‘Seriously,’ Matilda chimes in, leaning forward to peer around her twin. ‘Why do they even try? I would literally disintegrate if I had to compete against you.’
I shift and shrug, unsettled by the praise for some reason.
It’s not like I haven’t heard something similar before – it’s not like I don’t know how good I am.
It just sounds . . . different, coming from the girls.
Better. Not bitter. It makes my stomach feel weird, so I swiftly shift the conversation elsewhere. ‘Heath’s up now, right?’
Both girls confirm what I already know. When I double-checked the schedule this morning, I made a mental note of his too. Because that’s what girlfriends do, right? They watch their boyfriends compete. They want to watch, and I would be lying if I said I don’t, because I like seeing Heath swim.
I like that when I spot him lining up along the pool’s edge, tanned and half-naked and somehow still outrageously attractive even in his swimming cap, with goggles hanging around his neck, he’s already looking at me.
I like that I’m so consumed with returning the wave he offers me, with watching the flex of his biceps as he stretches, with wondering if that cocky smile means he knows exactly what I’m doing, that I don’t even notice Ben stewing down the far end of the line-up.
Not until I hear a snicker beside me, and Imani pokes my thigh.
‘You think the water’s gonna start boiling when he jumps in? ’
As I glance at my ex, I can’t help but smile at the scowl on his stupid, cheating face. ‘I think the salinity of that water might come into question again when he loses.’
‘I feel bad for his girlfriend,’ Matilda murmurs, and I follow her gaze to where Sienna lurks on the sideline, chewing on her thumbnail as she stares at her boyfriend, who is so obviously staring at me. ‘He’s clearly not over you.’
I laugh at that, shaking my head. ‘Oh, trust me, he is. He just doesn’t want me to be over him.’