In Deep (7 page)

“You're going to have to do more than maul me in the hallway at some party while I'm on the way to take a piss if you want me to be nicer. Maybe also stop flirting with me while you're screwing my friend. And oohing and aahing over my times, too. Like nobody else ever does that.”

“Oh, I'll ooh and ah,” he growls, guiding me against the
wall and lowering his mouth toward mine, completely ignoring my comment about Grier or the idea of Grier altogether. All I see is the redness of his lips again. The glinting ivory of his teeth. All I feel is the racing of my heart. I both want him to kiss me and don't.

There's a noise on the stairs. “Whoa, dude, sorry.”

A guy in a hoodie with the sleeves cut off stumbles toward us. “This the bathroom?” He points, boozy, down the hall.

The warmth of embarrassment, and maybe relief, rushes over me. I wiggle away from Gavin.

“Do you mind if I use it first?”

Without waiting for an answer, I hurry down the hall and yank open the door at the end, which is, fortunately, a cavernous bathroom. Full of orchids. I lock the door behind me without looking back and turn on the water, hard. I lean over the sink, arms locked and straight to keep them from shaking. I take in deep breaths—one . . . two . . . three . . . four—blowing them out equally slow. Finally I pull my head up straight to look in the mirror. My eyes are bleary, and my face is flushed.

But after a few seconds of blinking back fear, my mouth starts to twist, and soon I'm grinning.

MORNING.

Early—maybe six o'clock by the light coming through the window?

I'm curled in a fetal position in the middle of a bathtub that might be as big as my bed. I'm not sure how I ended up here—though I do remember a vague need to get to the bathroom. I climb out, head raging. But my body knows what to do: pee first. I prop myself up with my forearms on my knees, head hanging down. It is so heavy. Fireball, I guess, and then that green melon shit and then I don't even know what. I don't remember details, though I do remember screaming “Me and Bobby McGee” into the karaoke mic. Did I get up there and do a duet with someone? Ugh. I think I did. And then there was Gavin in the hall.

A clock on the elaborate sink across from me says 6:18. I pat myself on the shoulder. Even hung over I know when to wake myself up. On Saturdays practice isn't until eight, so I could conceivably find an actual bed or couch and get a little more sleep right now. But I don't know exactly what or who I'd stumble on if I did that, and it's better to stay upright and keep moving.

Mainly I need aspirin. And some water. I've also got to get out of here. I peel myself up off the john and lean into the mirror over the sink. My eyes are bloodshot with puffy little bags underneath them. I pull down the lower lids with my fingertips and then give myself a couple of wake-up pats on both cheeks. I look like ass. I feel like ass. Van is totally going to know that I was partying. He'll give me some kind of annoying talk. Whatever. I'll still do fine. And if not, I'll make the team all feel a little better about themselves, not douching them for once. Either way, I win.

I straighten up, pull my shoulders back, and take a deep breath. Hold it. Hold it some more. My lung capacity is twice as much as most people's. I could hold my breath for twenty minutes if my stupid brain didn't need the oxygen. If there weren't the whole involuntary passing-out element, I could probably hold my breath my whole life.

I let the breath out. Wash my face with the expensive exfoliating wonder cream I find in the shower. I press my face into
the deep plush towel and leave a ghost impression in it. I consider getting into that Jacuzzi outside, but I know I'm also probably dehydrated, and the heat might not be such a good thing. I bounce up and down on my toes, pat my cheeks again, this time a little harder. I open the medicine cabinet, but there's nothing in there besides a snap-on head for a Sonicare and two tampons in their pearly pink paper. I take one more look at myself in the mirror, at all those freckles, those tired eyes.

“You will master this,” I say to the girl in the mirror.

•  •  •

Downstairs in the sticky, muddy kitchen, I gulp down so much water, my stomach hurts until I make myself burp. I find some aspirin and take three of them just to be sure. My head's still heavy, but moving around feels better. I twirl my arms in their sockets—one, two, one, two—and shrug a few times, loosening. I fight the desire to lie back down. It would be better to get to the pool early, swim out part of this hangover. Though I should try to find something to eat.

I end up leaving Grier a note in her purse—conveniently piled in the first bedroom downstairs with some jackets and one discarded umbrella—and take her keys. It occurs to me that she had no intention of going to practice this morning, which pisses me off. Sure, we've goofed around before, stayed up late, and even partied, but we always knew there was practice. Even if we stayed up all night, she'd be there with me at
the pool the next morning. It's part of why we made such a good pair.

In her car I punch in the address of the pool and let Grier's GPS take me there. At least I intuited enough to toss my gear bag in the back before we left her house. I'll stop and get some grapefruit juice and an egg sandwich on the way, maybe even shower in the locker room. By the time everyone arrives, Van will never know. I'll show them both.

•  •  •

As soon as he comes in, Van stands at the edge of the pool and just watches me in the water. I'm sluggish and unimpressive, but at least I'm swimming. He doesn't say anything, even when practice starts.

Dolphin for fifty, then backstroke for fifty, and then dolphin for fifty again.

Breathing patterns.

Out for talk and logic. Today I don't try to get the problem right, even though one of those king-size PayDays would be pretty freaking good right now. Van doesn't ask me where Grier is, but Megan does, making it clear she has a pretty solid idea where, since Gavin isn't here either. Fucking stupid—both of them skipping practice on the same day. Why don't you take out an advertisement, guys? Even Linus made it—he gave me a sympathetic little smile when he came in.

At one point Van gives me a look. I feel myself wanting to
pull my eyes away from him, but I don't. I stick it out, hold his gaze. He's the one who looks away.

Three 500s, kickboard, speeding up each time.

Four 100 IMs, descending time.

Two 150s, each on 3:20. Then two more, each on 2:15. Fifty after that, easy.

Two hundred fly, fast as I can go, which, unfortunately, isn't that fast once I look at the clock. It's not like I'm thinking—I'm not thinking—but I'm more aware of the water this morning. It keeps splashing up at me, getting in my face. I'm trying to scoop it up with my arms, but today it's so heavy.

WHEN I GET BACK TO
my bag and my phone, Grier's texted me about twenty times, first wondering where I am and then getting mad and then finding my note and figuring it out and saying to come back and pick her up after practice because Gavin's got something to do. I want to type back about how convenient it is, her worrying about me once she needs me, but whatever. This way we'll go back to her place and eat something. I can hear what happened with them after the whole Hallway Hey There. If Gavin said anything about me.

“What happened to you?” Grier wants to know when she gets in the car. There are mascara smears around her eyes. If she had any hair, it'd be sticking up on end.

“Um, practice?”

“No, I mean last night.”

“I went and did karaoke like we said. A few people were actually good. This one dude did a dead-on Usher.” I'm making this up. Or I might kind of remember. I don't know. I press my head against the headrest on the seat. Suddenly my arms feel like they might sink into the leather.

“Oh. Gavin said he saw you and you weren't feeling that great. I didn't know where you went.”

Well, that's at least interesting.

“I was okay. I was singing. What about you? I thought you were coming up.”

“Oh, we hung out.”

More of that stupid glimmer in her eyes.

“Well, I hope you had fun.”

“Good God. His mouth is so—”

I don't want to hear it. “I had fun too.”

And it's enough to stop her. At least get her to change direction. “I'm so glad. Because he wants us to go out again tonight.”

I consider that. “I don't know. I'm pretty tired.”

Until this week, that'd be enough to let her know that what I really want is just a standard sleepover at her place: her and me and some videos, maybe a crazy stunt, a decadent pig-out. It'd be enough to tell her that I hate people, and I've had enough of them for now, including Gavin.

Instead, out of the corners of my eyes, I see her clutch the steering wheel harder.

“Why don't you just come out and say you don't like him?”

Even though I'm expecting some kind of response, this one's a surprise.

“What?”

“You think I can't tell by that mocking look you get on your face whenever he's around, the way you're always making fun of him, pretending you think he's cool?”

She's definitely been preparing this speech.

“I don't even know him. You don't either, for that matter.”

“He thinks you're awesome, you know,” she says. “He thinks you could really be something, even if he barely knows you.”

Ha. That's funny. I close my eyes.

“Seems like he's a game-player is all,” I finally say.

“So?”

It takes all my strength not to tell her she'll lose if she plays this way.

“If that's what you're into, fine,” I say instead. “Used to be you were the player though.”

She pauses, stunned. I am a little too.

“How do you know I'm still not?”

My eyes stay closed, so I can't see her, but I can tell from her voice that she's got that prissy look on her face again.

“That stuff you said about him being the future last night, for one thing. But it's more than that. The way you are around the pool. Showing off.”

“We do not show off.”

I finally look at her. “Maybe you're not. But the whole team knows what you're doing.” I picture Megan's jealous face.

She doesn't have a response. She knows the scope of what I mean, but all she can say is, “Well.”

I don't sigh out loud, but my whole body feels it. “Whatever.” I toss my head. “It only makes practice worse for you, because Van's obviously pissed about it. But maybe that's part of your game. Just don't—”

It registers to me that we're almost back at my house.

“Wait. We're not hanging at your place?”

Guilt seizes her face. “Later Gavin and I are—”

I don't give her the satisfaction of finishing that sentence.

“Fine.”

“But I'll pick you up later, and we'll go to that party, right? It should be way more chill. Not so many sorority girls. It's at some lake. Really, it'll be cool.”

“Whatever. I just need to sleep, anyway.”

“Brynn, it's not like that. I'm not going to be one of those girls, I swear. We're still hanging out tonight. You're coming, right? I think Gavin really wants you to.”

Ha.

“Whatever,” I concede. I'm tired. I need to get out of this car. “Text me later about it, I guess.”

As I climb out and grab my gear, it crosses my mind that not sleeping in a bathtub and not getting up at six a.m. for a two-and-a-half-hour practice must mean you're fresh and ready for an afternoon fuckfest. I suppose our usual tradition of going to lunch (thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins's infinite credit limit) and then crashing awhile before hanging out again isn't enough of a happening for her anymore. I guess Gavin's wang is all the dare she needs to swallow to make her feel fulfilled. So, fine. I'll go back home and crawl into my own bed.

Later tonight I'll be the one who's refreshed.

MOM AND LOUIS ARE BOTH
surprised when Grier pulls into the driveway. They're outside doing yard work, both of them in work gloves, baggy T-shirts, and shorts—clothing neither of them really should be wearing anywhere, but especially not outside where anyone can see them. I jump out and Grier waves, pulling back out before they make it over to her car.

“Everything okay?” Mom wants to know.

“How was practice?” Louis asks.

I can tell they're pretending to be cheerful about my unexpected presence on their little Saturday together. Avoiding this time with them is a large part of my usual weekend stay-overs at Grier's. I'm not interested in perusing junky flea markets or apple-picking or even going to see a movie with them more times than necessary.

“Grier's mom's in town but just for the weekend,” I lie. “They had to do some stuff.”

“Oh. Well, are you hungry?” Louis asks. “And if you're up for bagging some of these leaves, we would certainly welcome the help.” The giant magnolia in our backyard is the bane of Louis's existence. It's beautiful, but it sheds huge waxy leaves and these grenade-like pods all over the place twice a year.

“I'm bushed, actually. We were up late. I think I'll eat and take a nap.”

“There's some leftover takeout we got last night if you want,” Mom says, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. I can't tell if she's doing it to get a better look at me, or what exactly she'll see if she does.

“Thanks. I'll be fine.” I start to head to the house. I need my bed so bad.

“Well, Mercy and Dan are coming over later tonight to do some grilling and take us on a spin in their new electric car. We'd certainly love it if you—”

I lift my hand and keep moving, because there's no way I'm hanging out with Louis's geeky friends, even if I didn't have another party tonight.