9. The News
The News
Maren squints as she walks into the auditorium. Between the overhead lights and the stage lights, it’s like daytime on Mercury. She glances around and finds the swim team sitting in the last two rows, laughing and joking around.
Signing Day is always chaos. All the sports teams crammed into one room to watch their stars sign college promise letters.
A hand shoots into the air from the back row.
“Clarke!” the voice booms across the room.
Maren spots Jules waving at her like she is trying to flag down a rescue helicopter.
“There you are.” Jules pats the empty seat beside her. “I saved you a seat.”
“You mean nobody else wanted to sit next to you,” Maren teases.
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
Jules scoots over anyway, making room. “I even took the aisle seat so you wouldn’t have to climb over people.”
Maren drops into the chair beside her. “You know me so well.”
“Someone has to.”
Maren pulls the hair time from her wrist and twists her damp hair into a bun.
“Hey watch it there,” Jules warns “Some of us didn’t do the extra laps this morning so we could be dry for this.”
“Well, some of us aren’t trying to make our state cuts now, are we?” Maren’s tone is quick and short.
“Ouch, that one hurts a little.”
Maren cracks a quick smile as a small laugh escapes her lips. “You know I am just messing with you.”
“Ah there it is…” Jules says.
“What?”
“Your personality. I thought I was going to have to send a rescue team to find it.” Jules laughs as she gently nudges her shoulder against Maren.
The house lights dim, and the soccer and football players start to cheer. The athletic director and principal walk out on stage, trying to quiet the crowd. Slowly, the room settles. They explain that they will be going alphabetically by sport.
“Great,” Maren whispers. “We will be last again.”
The signing ceremonies always drag. Each college rep gives a little speech about their program before the athlete signs the papers. Then come the photos. The school paper, the local paper, the university, and about forty family shots.
Maren leans back in her seat, picking at her fingernails, counting how many names she doesn’t know.
One after another, students take the stage.
Smiles, applause, flash bulbs. Then, finally, Coach Hensley steps up to the microphone, the blue and white of the swim banner glowing under the stage lights.
“This next one,” Hensley starts, “has been part of our program since she was nine years old. She has led by example, broken more records than I can list, and she is about to make a huge splash at the next level.”
The crowd laughs at the pun. Maren doesn’t.
“Please join me in congratulating Reese Callahan, who will be continuing her driving career at the University of North Carolina.”
The auditorium erupts. The divers jump to their feet first, screaming. Someone standing behind Maren whistles. Reese stands, cheeks pink, tucking her hair behind her ear before heading down the aisle towards the stage.
Maren claps, hands steady, even as her chest tightens.
The applause around her feels like waves crashing, loud, endless, and everywhere.
She forces herself to keep clapping even as the noise presses against her ribs, thick and unrelenting.
Everyone around her is smiling, shouting, celebrating, and she tries to match it.
But her hands ache, her throat feels dry, and all she can think about is how far away the stage looks, even though it is only about 20 steps.
On stage, Reese sits beside the UNC banner, pen in hand. The flash from a camera catches the side of her face, and Maren blinks against it, unsure if it is the light or something else that stings her eyes.
Reese stays on stage for photos, her smile perfect under the lights. Maren watches from her seat until the crowd shifts, and she loses sight of her. The sound dulls, like someone just turned down the radio.
Maren has the urge to get up and leave. She reaches down and grabs her backpack, but a hand catches her elbow before she can stand and disappear into the crowd.
“Whoa there.”
Maren looks over to find Jules staring at her.
“What?”
Jules narrows her eyes. “Nothing.”
“Then stop looking at me like that,” Maren quips.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Jules glances toward the stage where Reese is still trapped in an endless cycle of photos. School paper, local paper, parents, and the UNC rep. Then she looks back at Maren, her body tense and rigid. She is frozen as if she has just seen a ghost.
“You have been weird all morning,” Jules comments
“What? No. I haven’t not.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t think I do.” Maren voice shakes the tiniest amount.
Jules glances toward Reese.
“Oh…”
Maren immediately does not like the tone of that.
“Oh what?”
“Nothing.” Jules’ eyes draw a line back and forth between Maren and Reese.
“Jules,” Maren demands.
“Nope.”
“Jules!” Maren’s voice is more firm now, louder.
“Nope, I’m not saying anything.”
Maren folds her arms across her chest as she stares Jules down.
“Oh my God!” Jules exclaims “You like her.”
“Oh no,” Maren says softly as she sinks into her seat a little further.
“No, seriously. You like her, don’t you? Like you like like her.”
“Stop,” Maren commands
“Maren…”
“I said stop,” Maren repeats “She is my friend, that’s it.”
Jules folds her arms tight over her chest.
“Right. And that’s why you look like somebody just kicked your puppy because she is going away to college.”
Maren looks away quickly, trying to calm her breath and her heartbeat. “People leave for college every year.”
“Yeah.” Jules nods. “And most people don’t stare at them like the world is ending.”
For a moment, they are both silent. Then Jules’ expression softens.
“Oh, Mar.”
“We are not doing this.”
“Okay. Fine. We are absolutely not doing this.” Jules pauses, but adds under her breath, “Right now.”
Jules raises both hands up in surrender as Maren steps into the aisle and heads towards the doors. Behind her, Jules calls out quietly:
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you are nearly as subtle as you think you are.”
Maren keeps walking heading towards the doors.
She knows if she turns around, she might have to answer her friend.
Maren stood too fast, and her legs wobbled.
The room spun again with noise and movement, banners and flashes.
There was a haze of Axe body spray that clung in the air heavy like humidity in August. She followed the athletes out on autopilot, the hallway buzzing with voices and laughter from the other teams.
Maren goes through her day on autopilot.
Being where she needs to be, saying the things she needs to say, but never really being present.
At practice, she slips into the water with the same energy.
Today, it’s just about the yards. She needs the pool to make it all silent again.
Her body moves out of instinct, each stroke mechanical.
The water feels heavier than usual, the lane lines warping in her peripheral vision.
It isn’t the good kind of tiredness that settles in after a long set.
It’s the hollow kind, where effort doesn’t burn away what’s left in her chest. She keeps her eyes on the black line, following it like it might lead her somewhere else.
As she finishes her last set, a loud commotion breaks out on the deck.
Maren pops her head above the water to see her teammate.
A handful of parents and some of the age-group kids all gathered near the diving well.
Someone had even gone and made a “Tar Heels” banner and hung it on the wall.
She pulls off her swim cap and pushes herself out of the pool.
Walking over to the whiteboard, she starts erasing the day’s sets.
Reese walks over, standing next to her. She offers Maren a cupcake. “You should come join us, Mini-Coach. I couldn’t have gotten here without you.”
Maren looks over at the group crowded by the diving boards. Reese’s parents are there, Coach Hensley is giving an interview, and the rest of the team fills the space with laughter. Way too peopley over there, she thinks.
“It’s your day. You don’t need me over there getting in the way,” Maren says, dismissing her.
“Well, if you want to come over, you know where we are.” Reese sighs and sets the cupcake down on a stack of kickboards.
Maren finishes cleaning off the board, gathers her things, and heads toward the locker room. The noise of the party is still bouncing off the tile as she turns the showers on.
The parking lot is nearly empty by the time Maren walks out. The sun has already dropped behind the trees, the air is cooling fast, and the end of the team’s laughter drifts through the open doors. She pulls her hood up, clutching her swim bag and her backpack like they are armor.
She has just opened her car door when Reese jogs out, hair still damp, cupcake frosting smudged on her UNC hoodie sleeve.
“Hey,” Reese says, smiling. “A few of us are grabbing pizza. You should come.”
Maren shakes her head, her hand still on the car door. “You don’t want your old Co-Captain crashing your party.”
“You’re not old,” Reese says, rolling her eyes. “And you’d never crash anything. Come on, it’s just pizza.”
Maren smiles, soft and tired. “You earned this night, Reese. Go and enjoy it.”
Reese hesitates, like she might say more, but only nods. “Okay. You know where we will be if you change your mind. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Maren says, though it comes out sharper than she means it to.
She gets in the car and closes the door, the sound dull against the night air. Reese’s taillights fade down the road, and the lot goes still. Maren doesn’t start the engine. She sits there until the windshield fogs and the clock on the dash blurs.