In Deep (10 page)

“That's okay. This way he can miss you, wonder what you're doing.”

“Oh yeah, because going to a PETA meeting is so mysterious.”

“He doesn't know it isn't!” My voice is so squeaky, Chu glances up from her desk. I lean in closer, my hand on Kate's arm. “He wants to see you, that's for sure. And I'm assuming you like him, right? Golf shirts and all?”

“Oh, I almost cracked up when I walked into the coffeehouse. Because he really had on one of those plaid cowboy shirts. I am not kidding.”

“So he didn't pick you up?”

She shakes her head. “My parents insisted Mom drop me off. But he did get to bring me home.”

Which means maybe they kissed, but I can't ask because the bell rings and Chu moves over to the board. After class, as we move down the hall though, I grill her about the entire date, and how they left it.

“The thing is, I don't know when we're going out again, or if,” she says as we take our seats in Conflicts. “He didn't say anything that meant this weekend for sure, but since I already said yes I'd like to go sometime, does that mean he assumes I'm saying yes to this weekend? I know you'd tell me not to ask him, but in class today I was so distracted, not being able to figure it out.”

“You have to wait.”

“I know, but what if he was just being nice and he didn't mean it, and here I am waiting and waiting. . . .”

“So you don't wait.”

She doesn't buy it. “Right, I don't wait. I already checked my phone at lunch, which I never do, in case he'd somehow texted me.”

I think of Gavin's slew of texts over the weekend. How I wanted to sneak in the bathroom and turn on my phone after lunch today too, but Charlie's friends had thrown me off, so I had to run to my locker between fourth and fifth instead. Plus, it would've been stupid.

I shake my head, resolute for us both. “He talked to you in class. That's enough. He needed to see how you'd react today, whether you were still interested. Believe me, he'll text you. I bet as soon as school is out.”

“But what if he doesn't?”

“There could be a couple of reasons. You don't have any way of knowing what they are. The key is, you cannot initiate anything. This is like a game of Chicken or a staring contest. You cannot be the one who flinches, because then you'll both know you broke first.”

“If I really had a good time, though, and truly want to go hear some music with him again, can't I—”

Woodham stands up. Time for class. I shake my head firmly at Kate before she turns around to pay attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special announcement for you all today.” He leans over his rickety wooden podium,
looking over his trendy glasses at all of us. “After seventeen years of teaching, I've decided to try something a little different. Though grading your essay exams is truly the light of my life, it's become plain to me, after reading your last papers, that there is more work to do before I send you off to your more advanced classes next year, not to mention college.”

My shoulders sink. Paper. That was one of my Ds. With lots and lots of
X
s from Woodham's green pen.

“So in lieu of an essay exam, this year your entire exam grade will be determined by your final research paper, which will be our primary focus—save this last section on the Arab Spring and current events that are the result of it—for the remainder of our time together. Now—”

He goes to the Smart Board and projects a list of paper requirements. Everyone takes out their notes, including me. Fuck fuck fuck paper fuck. I cannot do this. He knows I cannot do this. Not just because I don't have time, but also because I really can't. I can talk a good game, but writing isn't one of my strengths. Five nondigital sources. Correct works cited. Critical analysis. Compelling conclusion. I take a deep breath and try to slow my heart, but even I know the breathing doesn't always work when you are officially freaking out.

•  •  •

Class is a blur. I write down what Woodham's saying, his advice about research and how we'll be spending time in the library,
but my ears are full of white noise.
Paper paper paper!
screams behind my eyes, even with them pressed closed. I try to visualize the pool, slow down my breathing, but the water just becomes a sea of books with me trapped underneath them.

After class I leap out of my desk. I need to be swimming. Swimming I can actually control. But first Kate grabs the back of my hoodie.

“Hey, are you all right?”

I keep moving out into the hall.

“Crazy, right? Woodham changing things up like that at the end? Those flash cards I've been working on all semester aren't going to be very helpful now.”

She's trying to read my face, figure out what's up with me, and be friendly and funny at the same time.

“I'm sure you'll be fine.”

“What do you think about a topic?”

“I don't know. And listen, I've got to get to practice.”

I walk faster.

“Hey, I know why you're freaked out,” she calls behind me.

I spin around. “Oh, yeah?”

She closes the distance between us before she talks again. “Look. It's not like I haven't seen your tests. It isn't like you study. We all have to pass this paper to pass the class. I owe you for helping me out with Connor, so if you need some coaching for this, I'm—”

“I don't think even you can help me.”

Her hand flits in the air, brushing off what I just said.

“You'd be amazed how easily a paper writes itself once you have good source material. Really. We can brainstorm a topic tomorrow in the library. I already have an idea of what I want to write about, so I can do a little research on my own ahead of time tonight. Really. It'll be fun.”

My panic won't subside. “I'm telling you, Kate, I have no idea what to write about. As you pointed out, it's not like I've really absorbed much of that class.”

“You know more than you think, right? You helped me see that, so I'm going to help you. No arguments. Now, get to practice. Think about anything we've covered this semester. Just let the stuff float around in your mind like historical soup for right now.”

“You're nuts.”

She makes a goofy face. “So are you, so there.”

I watch as she turns back down the hall, toward the bus pickup.

“Thanks, I guess,” I finally say.

She raises a single hand. Like it's nothing. So I start walking to the front of the school, to Louis, and to the pool where maybe I'll feel like it's nothing too.

•  •  •

One, two steps into the glow and gleam of the pool, then a deep inhale of chlorine, and at first my head does clear. My shoulders
straighten out and my abs tighten, which makes my spine elongate—all my muscles lining themselves up for the next two hours, excited like horses before the Derby. That's until I see Gavin talking with Shyrah and Andy on the bleachers. He's leaning back on his elbows, broad chest in plain view. When Shyrah looks up and waves, Gavin sees me too and straightens up. A secret smile crosses his face. Grier is nowhere. But she's usually late. Thing is, I wasn't anticipating seeing him without her around too. I'm not ready for this yet.

Andy lifts a hand in greeting. “Hey, Brynn.”

“ 'Sup.”

I turn away from them to stick my hand in the pool, pull up a palmful of water to smooth over my hair before I pull on my cap. My legs and pits are itching—hair growing back between shave meets—but I force myself not to scratch. I work my cap down over my head instead, smoothing out air bubbles that aren't there, blocking out thoughts of Saturday that shouldn't be there either. I swing my arms around in their sockets, rotate my elbows. Anything to not sit down. The texts were one thing—those I could just ignore. Him, here, looking at me like that at the pool? I didn't prepare myself for the next move, and I'm too shaken up from Woodham's class to think about it now.

Fortunately, Grier rushes out of the locker room, and for a second her giant sparkling smile washes me in relief. Grier will
be funny in practice today. Grier will make me laugh during the logic puzzle and make faces at me across the lanes when she's burnt out—Grier will help punctuate the drills with silliness, and by the time practice is over, I'll be wiped of everything else, charged and ready to go see Charlie, lie down with him and forget the rest of everything until tomorrow.

Except, of course not. It isn't like that anymore. I remember as soon as she wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a grateful hug.

“Oh my god, this weekend. I'm so mortified about what happened. Like, on a gigantic level. I'm so sorry I did that to you. I feel like a punk.”

“I told you, you suck at that game.”

She's still holding on to me. “I know. And then I was barfing and passing out. Gavin said you both had to carry me to the car. I don't really remember. I'm sorry about all of it. I promise, next party, I will not bail on you again like that. Next time we'll have fun, right? You are really, truly the best.”

My face is calm, stone. I make myself hug her in return.

“I think Gavin's mad at me about it, actually,” she goes on, lowering her voice. “I wanted him to stay Sunday afternoon and watch a movie with me, but he said he had to go and get some stuff done. I thought he might come back over later, but he said he was tired.” She bites the edge of her lip. “Do you think I should go over and apologize again? He hardly texted me at all
yesterday. I didn't bug you about it because I know you had to go to—you know.”

I ignore her lame excuse of my being at the cemetery as a reason for not texting me. Pretending to think, I look over at Gavin for the first time since I came in. He's watching us. Smiles again at me. I squash the warm swirls that sweep under my ribs.

“Well, you two have been at it pretty hot and heavy lately. Maybe a little space isn't terrible. At least for one practice.”

“But what if he thinks I'm a total ass now and never wants to see me again? I mean, this guy, he's amazing.”

I put my hand on her shoulder and level my gaze at her. This is real and true advice: “Don't prove him right by being an ass right now.”

•  •  •

And, at least during practice, she doesn't for the most part, though I don't really pay very much attention to either of them.

Instead it's four 50s, free, building speed each time.

Kick for two hundred.

Pull two hundred more.

That's the warm-up. Then pep talk, logic.

Back in the pool—two 50s, fast.

One easy.

Three 50s fast this time. Faster than the others. More.

One easy. Blank now. Breathing.

Four 50s, fast as fast as fast.

Three hundred free, easy, to cool down a little.

I don't stop during any of it. Van tells me the next drill, and I don't look to either side. I hardly notice Megan in the same lane as me or whether I've lapped her. I am push and cut and tight and breathe and push, and then I'm draped over the lane divider, breathing more. Van squats down, palms my skull in his hand. We are both pleased, for the same reasons, and also different.

AFTER PRACTICE I WANT TO
eat three hamburgers and slide into bed for the rest of the night because I'm still a little burned from the weekend. But as yesterday's awkward time with Charlie proved, even after an hour of rolling around with him, I sleep like a baby. Plus, since some of the kids from school swim team will go to State, and Charlie hopes to be one, his practices have intensified too, which means I can crash with someone who understands how tired I am and why. When I get to his place, we barely even talk. He heats up two heaping bowls of leftover pad Thai, and we flop on his giant leather couch. His sisters, Chloe and Cinnamon, are splayed on the floor, eating Fudgsicles and watching some cartoon with talking fruit in it. I don't know if it's because it's truly funny or we're just so tired, but Charlie and I can't stop giggling. My feet, where they're
entwined around his calves, glow warm. For a minute I think I could stay here forever.

After two episodes though, we hear Charlie's mom's car in the driveway. His mom with her cheery questions. Probably she'll invite me to stay for dinner.

I put my empty bowl down on the floor. “I've got to go.”

Charlie's surprised.

“I know,” I say, seeing his face, “but we've got a paper for Conflicts, so—”

His brow furrows. “Not the exam?”

I shake my head. “He changed it this year.”

He gets serious. “What's your topic? Why didn't you say? I can—”

His mom comes through the door. “Well, hi there, Brynn! What a pleasure.”

There's a tug in my heart.

“Hi, Ms. Berger. I was just telling Charlie I'm afraid I have to run. Big paper for my history class.”

She looks at me, eyes scrunching a little. “Dr. Woodham's class? Why, I'm sure Charlie can help with that. You loved him, didn't you, Charlie?”

This is getting worse by the minute. I can avoid my own mom by escaping to my room, but Charlie's—not so much. And I'm just not into the family thing.

“Thanks, but my friend Kate's going to help me out,” I
explain to them both, rushing. “I just remembered, I need to look at my notes. See if I get any ideas.”

“Topic wise, keep in mind that Israel–Palestine will get you more points with him,” Charlie says, though he also looks confused about my leaving. It's annoying and overwhelming. I so cannot write this paper. I don't need him reminding me or making me feel bad about it.

“Let me look things over, and then maybe tomorrow we can talk about it,” I murmur as his mom moves past us to say hello to the girls. “I mean, I appreciate it, but—” I'm off the couch, going for my shoes.