Breathing Underwater (12 page)

I hate O’Connor. I hate him. Even when we were supposedly friends, he looked for ways to get to me. Being with Cat now is just one more way. I take out my pen—Caitlin’s pen with the teeth marks. Funny. Just holding it makes me feel better. And the fury inside me lessens as I begin to write.

Football practice after school. It was the kind of day when your face feels like something’s about to explode. Not one cloud in the sky, and the turf reflected heat like asphalt. Saint was our side’s quarterback in the scrimmage. Coach Lowery was prepping him to start next year, and I envied his size and gunlike arm. We came from our huddle, and Saint swaggered into position. Dane Ziegler snapped the ball, and I faded left like I was supposed to. Saint ran down the center. The defense bore down. Saint had to pass. He looked right, then left. His eyes locked onto an open receiver. Me. Tom came at Saint like a freight train, and everyone else was covered. There was no defense in sight. I waited for the ball to come spiraling through the blue. It would be a perfect pass. Now, all I had to do was catch it. I was praying,
Please, please let me catch it this once
. Better yet, don’t pass it to me. I’d rather have had the certainty of not being humiliated than the possibility of greatness. Still, my legs carried me toward the end zone. Across the forty, the thirty-five, the thirty. Saint raised his arm
.

He threw it away
.

Lowery’s whistle shrilled. Intentional grounding! Ten yard penalty, loss of down! His voice boomed over everything, even my heartbeat. “Shoot, O’Connor, why didn’t you pass to your open receiver?” He jutted a thumb at me
.

O’Connor said he hadn’t seen me, and Lowery tore the whistle from his mouth. “Does this look like a pacifier? Was I born yesterday? You was looking right at him, boy!” Lowery’s fists flailed like rudders for his boat-shaped frame. He knew Saint had taken the penalty rather than risk losing possession if I fumbled. My initial relief vanished. I glanced at Tom to see if he was looking. He turned like he hadn’t noticed. God, I’d screwed up without even the chance to screw up. Lowery finished yelling. Practice was over, and I trudged toward the showers
.

Lowery’s voice followed me. “And you, Andreas. Push in that lip! Be a man for once in your pathetic life.”

“Yes, sir.” I grinned and moved forward
.

Saint walked next to me, smiling. As on the field, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Sorry, Nick. Didn’t see you.”

Yeah, right
.

O’Connor asked me if Caitlin and I were going to Zack’s Thanksgiving weekend. I said I was thinking about it, then slowed to a crawl, until finally he passed. When we got to the locker room, I stripped naked and stepped under the stinging shower spray
.

Communal showers are the most bizarre experience in the life of an American male. You’re naked, wet, with twenty other naked guys, any one of whom would take a whiz on your feet soon as look at you. The whole time, you’re trying to stare at anything except the obvious. Impossible, because deep down, you want to look. Just as a frame of reference, you know. I mean, I knew I was one of the smallest guys on the team, but was I also the
smallest?
Did height equal size? In other words, was I a runt in more ways than one? And could you even get a fair idea in the shower with the warm water gone? No answers here. I was too afraid of the word
queer
to look
.

Tom stepped out, wringing his hair with both hands. He said we needed to talk. I nodded and started to rinse off
.

The reason I’d been considering the subject of height equals size was Caitlin. We’d been going further lately, first in the front, then the backseat of the Mustang. I was pushing for the home run, as Tom called it. It would be my first time, and Cat said she was a virgin too. She said she was scared, but I knew I could talk her into it. Zack had invited the group to spend Thanksgiving at his parents’ place in Key West. I’d make my move then. But could I come through when the time came?

I threw a towel around my waist and headed for my locker. Tom waited, naked as Shaquille O’Neal’s head
.

The big guy had no qualms about nudity. He stood, staring at the ab “six-pack” he’d worked so hard for. I looked everywhere but down. “Oh Tommy,” I said breathily. “We have to stop meeting like this. Those lips! Those eyes! You’re feeding my latent homosexual desires.”

“More like your inferiority complex, little man.” Tom flexed, then took his clothes from his locker. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

I said we talked a lot. I saw more of him than his parents did. I winced at his still-naked butt. “Much more.”

“You think you’re funny. Serious, Nick. It’s about Caitlin.”

“You still don’t like her?”

He looked surprised then said, “I like her fine. It’s you, Nick.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re acting weird.”

Suddenly, Tom was all into getting dressed. He pulled on his pants and fished in his locker for shoes. A bunch of other people joined us, and I knew he wouldn’t talk now. “Gotta go,” I said. “I’m meeting Caitlin by the chorus room.”

Tom’s voice stopped me. “Well, that explains that.”

“What explains what?”

“This is the first practice in two weeks she didn’t text you at three-fifteen. It’s like she’s got a curfew and she’s reporting in. Today, she had rehearsal, so you knew where she was.”

“Yeah, Tom. Kmart was fresh out of chastity belts.”

“It’s not funny, Nick, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

I headed for the door. My clothes felt heavy with wet heat. Saint stood talking to Dane. As I passed, I heard Saint whisper, “He always takes everything so damn personal.”

Tom followed me out. “Would you wait? I don’t want to get on your case. God, you’re my best friend, but you’re not acting normal. I mean, that was rotten, throwing her necklace out the window. You call her names too, probably don’t know you’re doing it, but it’s cruel.”

“I’m cruel, now? You think I beat her up or something?”

“I didn’t say…” Tom kicked a stray asphalt pebble. “You don’t, do you?” I glared at him until he added, “Nah, I know you don’t. But you should act nicer to her.”

A crowd headed toward the activities bus. Some were from chorus, but Caitlin wasn’t there. Where was she? And with whom? I’d said I’d pick her up, but she should have come out. I turned to Tom
.

“Guess we should be like you and Liana?” I said. “What a symbiotic relationship that is. When you have to piss, Liana unzips
her
pants.”

Tom shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “I’ll take the bus. You go find your girlfriend.”

He jogged toward the chorus group and, in a second, he was one with the crowd
.

I am not following Caitlin. I’m not bicycling through Coconut Grove, past the trendy shops on Saturday afternoon, searching for yellow hair among the rickshaws, tourists, and Dalmatians. I can’t hear her voice over the birds or the noise spilling from ghetto blasters. And the crowd drinking spiked Slurpees on the balcony at Fat Tuesday doesn’t see me seeing her.

Finally, I lose her. Next turn, I’m staring at the steroid-enhanced arm of the law.

“Need some help, son?” the cop asks. Caitlin and Elsa stand on the corner. Elsa smiles and waves. Then a skater blocks my view.

“No, sir.” I emphasize the
sir
slightly. Way to deal with cops is give them the respect they think they deserve.

“Might I ask what you’re doing here?”

You might. With probable cause. But I shrug. “Waiting for someone.”

“These ladies say you’re bothering them.”

“Don’t believe I spoke to them, sir.”

His cop eyes meet mine. It feels like an hour. Spots of perspiration appear on his uniform, and I see wheels turning. He knows there’s a restraining order, knows I’m on the same planet as Caitlin. He’s trying to put two and two together to make a legal violation so he can haul me off and get out of this heat. It would take a miracle to get me out of this. Then I get one.

Leo steps from behind a line of cars. He holds aviator sunglasses in one hand, fingers in the other, fingers that, incidentally, are attached to this tiny, pretty brunet who’s gazing adoringly at him.

“Nick, what it is!” he says, looking from me to the cop and Caitlin, then back at me. He doesn’t acknowledge Elsa. “Been waiting long?”

“Long enough,” I fake it. “Where were you?”

Mr. Cool smiles and leans against a rack of Spanish newspapers. “Picked Neysa up from a school-related function…” (Smile at the cop) “And all the nuns need something done. Tote that barge. Lift that bale—that kinda stuff.”

“A Christian martyr,” I say. “Don’t let it happen again.”

The cop looks from the pet store on the right (which sells only Akitas) to the tattoo parlor on the left and, possibly, sees his air-conditioned squad car fade to memory. “You were meeting
here
?”

“I always wanted a dog,” Neysa says, straight-faced.

On the corner, Elsa rolls her eyes. Leo must decide the cop needs more convincing. “Hey, you know Ray DeLeon?” he asks, identifying Ray from our family violence class. “He’s with the city police. He’s my cousin, knows Nick too. Ask him.”

The cop considers. “Well, if you’re friends of Ray’s.”

“Don’t forget to say hello to his girlfriend, Diana,” I add. Ray would say anything to change the subject away from how he knows us.

The officer strolls to where they’re standing. “Sorry, ladies. Can’t arrest someone just for being in the Grove.”

“He was following us,” Elsa whines.

“That’s fine.” Caitlin grabs Elsa’s arm. “Let’s go.” Elsa protests, but Caitlin’s feet are in motion. I watch her go. When the cop leaves too, Leo faces me.

“In a spot of trouble, eh?” he says in his best James Bond impression.

“And you, my truant friend?” I say in the same accent. “Missed you in class today, chap. Last week too.”

“Poor, dear Nick.” Leo tut-tuts, still British. “That ugly chapter is behind me, my boy.” He gestures, by way of explanation, to the brunet. “This is Neysa. We’re back together.”

“Nice to meet you.” She holds out the hand not in Leo’s.

I take it. It feels like a warm bird, and I watch Leo’s grip on her other hand tighten until, finally, she releases mine.

“Hot girl,” Leo says, his eyes following Caitlin down Main Highway. “Stick with me, I’ll help you get her back.”

I felt like someone had tightened the lug nuts on my face. Caitlin should have been in the group that came out before. Was she making me wait on purpose? Had she already left? I didn’t need this on top of Tom’s sermon. I stalked the suddenly empty halls, not exactly sure where the chorus room was, but finding it by the sound of Caitlin’s voice
.

“Rejoice! Rejoice!”

Why was she singing while I waited? She’d rather sing than be with me now? I turned the doorknob slowly, soundlessly, and slipped through. I stood frozen, watching
.

Two figures were by the piano. Caitlin and the guy playing. I knew him. Derek Wayne. We’d pretty much quit calling him “Wayne the Brain” last year. She stood so close, their bodies would touch if she inhaled too much air. Her fingertips grazed his shoulder. She leaned to turn the page, her blond hair brushing his pale face. My fists clenched. She shouldn’t touch another guy like that. She continued singing, every high and low note hitting like ice through my eye. Then, in the hardest section, she missed a note. Caitlin collapsed in a fit of giggles onto the piano bench
.

“Oh, God. I’ll never get this.”

Derek stopped playing. “I won’t listen to you put yourself down, Caitlin McCourt. You’re just fishing for compliments.”

“I’m not.”