24 McKenna
McKenna
My strokes have been sloppy all morning. I’m letting my hands enter the water too wide, my knees are bending early, and the
intervals between my breaths are short and uneven. The mistakes are costing me, and I’m losing energy fast. I’m not surprised
when I notice Coach Cat’s red flip-flops in my line of sight.
Reaching the end of the lane, I grab the edge of the pool and look up at him through my goggles.
“Sonny, a word?” he asks.
I’m sure I’m about to hear how he expects better from me. Even though I could feel the errors in the water, I couldn’t manage
to correct them. I pull off my goggles and climb out, ready to take my lumps.
“I know I was a mess today, Coach,” I say, still gulping air.
He doesn’t answer, instead passing me the towel he’s holding and motioning for me to follow him.
If we’re taking this conversation to the bleachers, it’s about something bigger than one bad practice.
The other swimmers are still finishing their laps, some of them watching as Coach and I pass.
Lark is standing at the foot of her lane, and when our eyes meet, she pulls down the corners of her mouth in a “yikes” expression.
I shrug back at her, hoping against hope that this conversation is about something other than Hollyhock.
Coach finally stops walking when we get to the far side of the room.
As we sit, he says, “Paula and I took Vanessa for dinner at the club last night.”
My stomach drops. I already texted him two days ago to let him know I was let go over a disagreement about the special-needs
group. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to reveal more than that.
I bite my lip and wait for whatever’s coming next.
“They’re saying you assaulted a club member. Tell me I misunderstood.” His dark eyes bear down on me.
“It wasn’t like that,” I start, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. “I didn’t mean for her to fall. I was going for her
purse, just trying to make a point about her privilege and her stupid Balenciaga bag. But then she fell.”
He lets out a long sigh, clearly disappointed that I can’t disprove the story he’s heard.
“Sonny, how could you let this happen? That’s the real world out there. It’s not like school, where you’re a hotshot because
you’re on the swim team and can get away with acting however you damn please. Hollyhock is a place of business. With real
people who don’t know shit about you. At the club, you’re not the star. You’re the help. You can’t be putting your hands on
people. Not ever. I assumed you’d know better.”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt her, Coach. Honest. And anyway, that woman is fine.”
“She’s fine.” He throws his hands in the air as if I’ve just made the world’s dumbest statement.
“I went out on a limb for you, Sonny, and you embarrassed me. I just don’t know what you could have been thinking.
The last thing we need is for the NCAA to hear about this.
I really should be reporting this to the scholarship committee. ”
When he mentions the scholarship committee, I realize just how angry I’ve made him.
“I didn’t mean to let you down, Coach, but doesn’t the whole situation at Hollyhock just make you so mad?” If I can get him
to see it from my point of view, maybe he’ll understand. “These women with their fancy clothes and private tennis lessons
who don’t want to share their pool for even just a few hours a week? They don’t want to make a difference for kids who appreciate
the opportunity way more than the club members do.” An image flashes through my mind of Matthew on his back in the water,
his gap-toothed grin so wide when he finally managed to float on his own. When I remember it now, everything inside me hurts.
“No, Sonny,” Coach answers. “It actually does not make me mad. Not at the club members, at least. The people at Hollyhock
pay a lot of money to belong there, and they have the right to decide how they want the facilities to be used. Your job isn’t
to question that. It’s to respect it. Mouthing off to the members about their choices isn’t something you should be proud
of. What you should have done was apologize for the disruptive class, accept the hand you were dealt, maybe thank them for
letting you use the pool as long as they did, and then find another way to get your service hours!”
The hand I was dealt. Maybe I just can’t be a role model at all times, forever trying to live up to this ideal people want from me. My fingers curl into fists as I try to contain my rage. If I can just squeeze hard enough, maybe I can keep it all in check.
“You still have a deadline coming up for those hours. Now what are you going to do?” His face is flushed, and it’s clear I’m
not the only one trying to contain myself.
I’d been thinking about asking Coach to get me an extension, hoping maybe he could speak to the committee on my behalf, but
clearly it’s not the time to request that.
“I’ll figure it out,” I answer, hoping I’m right. We stare at each other a moment—processing the situation, I guess—and something
in his gaze makes me feel as though he’s seeing a new part of me, the shitty side, the angry girl who maybe never deserved
to be here in the first place. I look away, not wanting him to find any other parts of me he might not like. With my eyes
toward the wet floor, the red of my toenails a bright contrast to the gray tiles beneath my feet, I ask, “Do you really have
to report this to the committee?”
He’s silent, and my heart speeds up. He actually may have been serious.
“What if they suspend me from the team?” I ask, suddenly filled with panic. I can’t lose my spot. Swimming is the only thing
people have ever respected me for. Even worse, the thought of being separated from my teammates, being tossed out of the group
like a soldier dishonorably discharged . . . What would that do to the friendships I’ve built? These people are my family.
The only family I really have left. The routine of our practices, the regular forced proximity, is something I simply cannot
lose, especially not when the rest of my life is such a mess.
“That’s not really their call to make,” Coach says, and I can hear the warning he’s giving me. Though the committee makes decisions about money, the grants and conditions, Coach is in charge of who is or isn’t allowed to swim with the team.
“I’ll make it up to the people at the club, Coach,” I plead, feeling frantic. “I’ll do anything you want. It was so stupid
of me, I know. I’ll go there and apologize again.” I try to think of anything else I can do to redeem myself.
“No.” He holds up a hand. “Do not go to Hollyhock. Nobody wants to see you there. I assured Kathleen last night that I’d find
someone else to fill your role and that you’d be staying far, far away.”
“Someone else?” I’m instantly filled with jealousy as I glance back toward the pool. Though practice is over, everyone’s still
in the water, just chatting and horsing around. Which one of them is getting my spot?
A gentleness returns to Coach’s voice. Maybe he’s finally understanding how disappointed I am. “Rajiv Singh is starting tomorrow,”
he explains, naming one of the seniors on the men’s diving team. I don’t know much about Rajiv, except that he supposedly
has a great reverse pike. His impeccable form and chiseled jaw have been the subject of many conversations among my teammates.
“And I’m not going to be able to get you an extension on your community service,” he adds, as if he heard my earlier thoughts.
“So you’d better figure that one out fast.”
I nod, knowing I now won’t be able to earn anything close to the amount of money I’d been hoping for this summer—not when I still have so many hours of service to complete, so many hours of practice each week, and a résumé suited mostly to low-paying jobs.
I just have to hope Glory won’t accrue too many extra expenses before I’ve secured the money to pay for them.
I wonder again if I could move Glory to a less expensive facility, but then I remember the other homes I read about online, with their tiny rooms and neglected patients.
I refuse to send my grandmother to a place like that.
Once the house is sold, we should be fine, but I have no idea how long that’s going to take.
“I’ll talk to the committee myself,” I say. Surely if I explain what’s been going on with my grandmother, that I’m single-handedly
responsible for her care, they might be flexible.
Coach’s eyebrows lower in response. “You have certain obligations, Sonny. Responsibilities. You’re already pushing the limit.”
Yeah, I know I have responsibilities. So fucking many. If there’s one thing I clearly understand here, it’s the nature of
responsibility. I consider telling him about the binder, how Glory has left me with nothing but empty pockets and tidal waves
of anger. But I know better than to show my vulnerabilities. It’s been drilled into me by every coach I’ve ever had.
“It’s part of being a superior student athlete,” he continues. “I always thought you understood that, but now, having watched
you shirk your service requirement last semester and then start this mess at the club, I don’t know.” He studies me for another
moment and then shakes his head in obvious disappointment. “I just don’t get what’s going on with you. All I know for sure
is that you’d better turn this ship around or you’re going to be sorry. Trust me, nobody wants what’s best for you more than
I do, but you keep getting in your own way. I’m not sure what kind of tough love you need to get back on the right path here,
but let’s both hope we don’t have to find out.”
He turns away from me then, leaving me to suffer the hurt of his words alone.
I spend that entire afternoon at the mall, dropping my résumé with every retail store willing to accept it. Once I find a
new job, I’ll figure out how to squeeze in the community service. I’m just walking out of American Eagle when I get a call
from Bobby, the real estate broker.
“McKenna, I’ve got great news,” he says in his gravelly smoker’s rasp.