In Deep (14 page)

That is, until I say something about pubes in the teeth and Charlie says, “For the record, I'm not interested in that tomorrow night.”

Then the giddiness spirals out and away from my body.

“Tomorrow?”

Charlie twists his mouth. “I just thought, we've all been practicing so hard, and I know heading into the end of the semester is rough, so maybe we'd, you know, go eat a mess of food somewhere. Catch a movie. It can be just you and me, or we could group it. Maria usually has people over Friday night. Chinese food. It's fun.”

Just briefly, a protest rises in me, thinking of the routine, which group hangouts are definitely not a part of. But then my veins turn to lead. My weekends aren't about Grier anymore and the escape of her place. Especially not since, apparently, she and Gavin are back to being whatever they are, either regardless or because of me. The thought of it makes me feel
even more weighed down, more tired. Tired of him. Of it. I am plain, stupid, cold-dead tired.

“Whatever you want to do sounds fun.” Between my ears, my voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. “Maria's, even. If you want.”

There's a bag of sand on my shoulders, a chain connected to the table, pulling my whole body down, down to rest on its greasy surface. I squeeze my abs hard, keep myself up straight, but right now it's hard to see the point. Even with Charlie's big happy smile, beaming back at me.

•  •  •

I absolutely cannot stay awake in Spanish.

It's nearing the end of the day, though, and I've got to be on it for practice, so between there and Enviro I detour around to the cafeteria to buy myself a Dr Pepper. When it clunks out of its slot, I immediately press the cold can against my closed eyes. Then I pop it open and down the whole thing on the walk over to class. It makes me thirty seconds late, since I stop outside the door to make sure I don't have any last burps to let out, but already the rush jetting through my bloodstream feels better. I don't like to rely on uppers like caffeine or those 5-Hour Energy frauds, because they are unhealthy crutches, but this week's been a little weird. Today can be an exception.

It gets me through class, at least. I'll probably need another one on the drive to practice, but this way, I can keep my head up.

“You okay?” Kate wants to know as we walk to the library for Conflicts.

“Just tired. I was up late last night.”

“You've seemed tired a lot lately.”

“No, I haven't.”

She shrugs.

“I was up working on something for you, actually.” Deflecting the subject.

“Oh?”

The frustration of this morning, that fucking printer, washes over me again, though.

“It's funnier if you see it in person. So I'll save it.”

“Well, thanks, I think. Here.”

She shoves a handful of papers at me then, ones she's been clutching since we left Chu's room. My summaries. I'd forgotten them. But taking just one glance, I can see she wrote over a page for each book.

“Um—thanks.” I'm so grateful and relieved, it's hard to look at her. I feel embarrassed she's done this for me.

She doesn't know what to say either, so we go into the library, carrying our silence between us. I know to tuck those summaries away as fast as possible, hide them until they can be copied over in my own words. Kate and I sit together at a table, but she takes out her notes and pretends to read over them. So she doesn't think I'm a total wasteoid, I sit up straight during
the demo from the librarian, take some kind of notes, and try to listen, but even with the extra caffeine, I'm still so heavy. But this time, I'm pretty sure it doesn't have to do with being tired.

•  •  •

As I arrive at practice, the chlorine smell reaches out to snap me from my drag, but it's not working. I pad down the hall in my bare feet past the locker room to the regular women's bathroom, where it's more private. After changing, I splash water on my face, slap my cheeks—hard—three times in a row to bring the blood back. I glare at myself in the mirror, flaring my nostrils. Kate. Gavin. Charlie. School. Whatever. It doesn't matter. This does.

I suck in a hard breath and then clench every muscle in my body as tight as I can. I count slow to sixty. This is ridiculous. This is pathetic. I have a couple of late nights, a couple of weird encounters, and I'm all droopy like a baby. There isn't time for this. More important, there isn't a need for it. It's self-indulgent, and it's weak. Never breaking eye contact with myself in the mirror, I reach my arms over my head and bring my hands together as though preparing for a dive. Breath still held, I watch the hollows between my ribs stretch out, the rock-hard curves of my shoulders and pecs stiff and solid. You could bounce quarters off every inch of me, anywhere on my body. Fifty-nine, sixty. I let out my breath slow, unclench everything. A wave of ahh washes over me. I'm better.

Hell. You could bounce quarters off my fucking heart.

•  •  •

After warm-ups, I make sure to sit next to Grier, on the other side of her from Gavin, but still friendly. Pals. I don't have to. I could just sit wherever and probably neither of them would care. But as I told Kate, there's power in getting through something you hate.

We have only three more hard practices, including today, before our taper week next week and then the big shave meet Saturday and qualifying for State, which, more importantly, means making National Cut. Still, it's a big meet for everyone, so now Van's even more into confidence, self-care, and smart carbs than usual. I feel myself zoning out. Maybe I should've gotten that second Dr Pepper.

At one point Grier elbows me, but I don't know what it's in reference to. I elbow her back anyway, as though I've understood.

When Van's done, he orders us to the nearby weight room so that we can do dry lands. Everyone groans, and there's some under-breath cursing. Of course, this is exactly how I feel too, but again I keep my face still. I will be all about whatever Van needs to throw at me, at us. This tiredness is nothing. Neither is Gavin trying to catch my eye. That dumb-ass thing he said last night about me liking it better when he's with Grier.

We grab our weights and then do lunges all the way around the pool, three times, plus a bunch of rotator cuff stuff. Squats.
Side layouts. Then full-body pushups, ending with two-minute planks. Around me, my teammates are squealing, groaning, or at least breathing hard, but I keep my gaze at a specific spot on the concrete in front of me, letting my own breath out slow and even. It's hard; I won't lie. My arms are shaking, and my eyes feel raw, but I tighten my butt and push my hips forward a few millimeters farther, feeling the tautness along my whole abdomen and enjoying the burn. The hurt. I will hold this. I will hold this. I will hold it until the end.

When Van blows his whistle, I look around, still holding my plank. Almost everyone has collapsed, cheeks against the cold floor. I want to too. I want to so much. But immediately across from me, the only other person still holding his plank is Gavin, smiling at me huge.

•  •  •

One hundred fly, easy.

Four 75s, backstroke, on 1:30.

One hundred fly, on 2:00.

Breaststroke.

Fly again, on 2:00.

Freestyle.

Then pull kicks and buoy, ending with 200 fly.

I take it easy and slow there at the end.

Sometimes forcing yourself to relax is part of it too.

•  •  •

Out of the pool, I towel off and wait for Grier, just to push myself that last bit further. Van's talking to her and a couple of the other sprinters—Siena, Dylan—probably about their suck times, from the look on Van's face. Siena can barely bring her eyes up to meet his, she's so upset with herself, and Dylan keeps jerking his head in these short, sharp little nods. Grier though—Grier could care less, standing there with her hip cocked and her arms crossed, just waiting for Van to be done talking. Her cavalier attitude is even more exaggerated than before she met Gavin. Before she found something else to care about. Other teammates move past them to the locker room then emerge again with clothes-yanked-on speed. Shyrah and Linus offer me high fives. Everybody's gone except Van, the sprinters, and Gavin, who is obviously lurking, talking to ha-ha Megan. I am heavy, so heavy, but I will stand here and I will make myself wait.

“God,” Grier finally huffs, coming over to me. She's yanking a towel over her head. Her buzz cut is starting to grow out actually cute. Without meaning to, I picture Gavin raking his hands through her hair, then mine.

“I can't wait for next weekend when we can all just show Van how much we suck and have it be done with. He knows I'm not going to make State. Jesus. I don't know why he keeps acting like I might.”

The old, encouraging me hauls herself up, automatic:
“You're not a bad swimmer. If you actually worked at it a little—”

“As if.” She glares in the direction of Van's office, to where he's disappeared. “But, hey, it's not like I'm not getting a workout anyway, right?” She smiles up at me.

Uncontrollably, god damn it, I look in Gavin's direction then yank my eyes back. More impish grinning from Grier.

I shake my head and laugh in the back of my throat in a way that I hope sounds dismissive.

“I'm surprised either of you can swim half the distance of the pool then. Since you know Van's going to ream you out, why don't you just skip practice altogether? Sounds like you need your beauty rest. And if you don't really care—”

I make it playful. I make it.

She rolls her eyes, rubbing the towel over the rest of herself. “I probably should quit. It's so tiresome how we can never have any kind of a life. Everybody had a great time Wednesday. And it's idiotic that that has to be abnormal. Linus is having people over tomorrow night, in fact. He doesn't care either. I mean, whatever. This is just basic training for them, right? So why should we push ourselves to death? I think he likes you, by the way.”

It pulls me out of my thoughts about fun. About pushing.

“Linus?”

She touches her big toe to the top of my foot. “We could double-date?”

Now, now's the time Gavin chooses to come over, having apparently dismissed Megan. The way he's walking, those shoulders back, chest out, I can tell it's all on purpose. Such a fucking peacock douche.

But my timing's still nothing to sniff at either.

“Oh, gosh. I mean, it sounds fun, and Linus is nice and everything, but Charlie and I have a date.” I smile up at Gavin on the last word.

“Bring him along,” he says immediately, echoing my fake-happy expression. Something in his eyes, though, makes it seem like he's thinking about me kissing Charlie in all the places he kissed me last night. Good. He should be. I should be too, for that matter.

“Yeah, come on. Charlie never hangs out with us.” Grier snakes her arm around Gavin's waist. I wonder if he's thinking about me holding him that way too.

“That's nice,” I say, “but I think he has special plans.”

“Ooh la la,” Grier says, giggling. “That's interesting.” She widens her eyes in a pointed way, as though we'll need to talk about it later. As though I would tell her anything these days. “Saturday, though? Again? Charlie could come too.”

Yeah, right, Charlie could come.

“Gosh, I don't know how I'm going to keep up with you, Grier,” I tease. Not. Looking. At. Him. Though the exhaustion really is starting to take over now. “I thought your dad was in town anyway.”

She ignores my last comment and raises her hands over her head in victory.

“For once I've beaten her!”

There's no point in even acknowledging this. And I'm not sure I can stand here much longer.

“Come on, little champion.” Gavin puts a hand on Grier's shoulder. “Let's go get some burgers or something. I'm starved.”

She cuddles up against him. He starts to lead her away and then pauses, faking that he just thought of the idea. “You hungry too?”

“No, thanks,” I say, tossing my head just a little. “You two go stuff your faces.”

“Oh, we will.” Gavin winks, obviously getting what I meant and flaunting it.

You do that,
I think as they walk away together.
You stuff yourselves with each other until you pop.

•  •  •

On the ride home, I text Charlie. It isn't the Gavin thing—it's really not—but this time I'm the one not up for hanging out after practice. That makes us skipping out on each other three times this week, which is a little strange, but there are Kate's summaries to translate into my own words, and beyond that, I seriously need some sleep, and it won't take an hour of messing around with anyone to help me get there.

All Charlie texts back, after about a half hour, is
dinner tmrrw @ maria's. shes xcited! ok?
It's the last freaking thing I need today. I didn't really mean it when I said that thing about grouping tomorrow night, but whatever. I text back,
fine
and shut my eyes. Right now I just need some protein. I need my bed.

IT ALWAYS AMAZES ME WHAT
a difference some solid sleep can make in your life. Van talks about it all the time—how important it is for us to eat well and rest—but sometimes I forget. I forget how good I can feel after eight hours of sleep. It only takes one nightmare-free night or a hefty nap over the weekend before I'm back on track. I thought I was going to die of tiredness last night at eight when I crawled into bed and set my alarm for four thirty, but now it goes off and I don't even mind. I pop up right away, do my thing, and then spend the rest of the time until Louis comes down reworking Kate's summaries into pieces that sound slightly like I might've written them. I even have time to change the ink cartridges and print out her collage.