Untethered (32 page)

“Coward,” I whisper.

I get into the Camaro when a thought hits me. A crazy thought. I get out of the car.

Some guys on the swim team are crossing the lot and I find myself calling after them and walking to the pool building with them.

As we’re opening the door, I hear Sam yell from across the parking lot, “Hey!”

“It’s okay, Sam! ”

“Mom called! She wants me to come to the hospital.” He runs up to me. His face is white. “Sylvie ... she’s worse. Mom and Dad are worried she won’t last the night.”

I feel like I’m sinking, sinking into the ground. Everything around me spins. “God. Now what, Sam?”

“I don’t know!”

I can’t seem to breathe. Can’t seem to focus on anything. Then Tyrone and Ryan smack my shoulders, bringing me back to reality. “Come on, Phillips!”

Do this, Sylvie
.
Do something.

“Okay, okay. I’ve got an idea. To get out,” I say to Sam. I know he’s worried, but I wave him off and follow the guys inside. All’s fine until we get into the building and Ryan pushes open the door marked
Boys Locker Room
. “Whoa!” I say, unsure I can handle a room full of naked guys snapping wet towels at each other.

Maybe I can keep my eyes on their feet.

Ryan says, “What’s your problem, Kev?”

“Nothing.” We walk in, the humid air already causing beads of sweat to form on my brow. My eyes sweep over the dozens of hairy legs, the hairy toes, and scan the lockers.
Oh, no.
I have no idea which one is Kevin’s.

I scan the lockers, looking for one that no one’s using, but there are tons. My heart jumps around in my chest.

“Hey,” I say, looking at the curly hair on Tyrone Dickson’s knees. “I know this sounds completely ridiculous, but I’m drawing a blank. I can’t remember my locker number.”

There’s silence, so I quickly bring my eyes up to his face. He’s looking at me like I just grew two heads. “You
forgot
your locker number?”

Then Bryce gets up from the bench he was sitting on. “I effing knew you banged your head on something, man. Either that or you’ve been smoking too much.”

“Hey, Phillips! How many fingers I got up?” a voice calls out and everybody laughs. But Bryce narrows his eyes at me and says, “Locker seventeen.”

I squeeze past some guys to stand in front of the tan locker. I try the combination I know Kevin uses for his locker in school, but it doesn’t work. I fiddle with the numbers on the dial some more then say, “You don’t happen to know the combination, do you?”

Even though he’d said it before, Bryce sounds surprised. “You really are high!”

I say nothing.

“After the attitude you’ve been giving me lately, why should I help?”

I stay quiet.

He comes over and turns the dial, right, left, right, then yanks open the door with a clang. “Just don’t lose your head out there. Or we’re screwed.”

I nod and undress. When I start to suit up, Bryce says, “It’s not effing pantyhose, dude. What’s
wrong
with you?”

I notice my pointed toe, the way I’m holding one leg in the air as I slip the suit over my knees. The guys around me are all gaping.

Luckily, Coach comes round and starts riling everybody up. He gives some sort of motivational speech, talking some foreign swim language: district preliminaries, medley relays, and things like freestyle and dual meets. I’ve come to see Kevin race tons of times, but all I ever knew was that he got in the water and moved fast. I try to look like I understand what is going on.

“Phillips!” Coach yells. All eyes are on me. I look up and catch Bryce’s gaze. He looks both amused and confused.

“Yeah?”

Coach points to his own chin. “What the hell is living on your face? Go shave it off. Now.”

“I ... uh ... don’t have a razor.”

Coach rolls his eyes. “Hensley, give Phillips a razor.”

And so Bryce and I go over to the sinks together while Coach rambles on about qualifying for regionals.

“I really think you’re losing it, man. For real. Going insane.” Bryce watches me closely in the mirror.

I shrug. “I’d say I’m finally going sane.”

Bryce puts a can of shaving cream and a razor on the edge of the sink. The razor is a cheap disposable one. I use enough shaving cream to make me look like Santa, and then bring the blade up to my right cheek and drag it slowly down. All’s fine until I hit the chin line, nicking the skin. “Ow!”

Bryce just raises his eyebrows.

I keep shaving, and keep grazing the skin. By the time I’m done, there’s a good amount of blood trickling down my neck.

Bryce goes into a toilet stall and comes out with a roll of toilet paper. “Here,” he says.

I know what to do. I’ve seen my dad blot his cuts with toilet paper plenty of times. I end up looking like I’m covered in polka-dots.

“News is you and Cassie broke up. That she spent all afternoon crying.”

Now I study him in the mirror, his cool blue eyes, the cocky set of his mouth. “I told her the truth,” I say. “She didn’t appreciate it.”

Bryce snickers at this. “You can always get a new girlfriend, Phillips.”

“What I need,” I say to his reflection, “are new friends.”

I’m apparently supposed to compete in the 200 yard medley relay, the 400 yard freestyle, the 200 yard individual medley and another relay. Whatever. I walk out into the pool area behind the rest of the team, the humid air even warmer out here. There are dozens of people in the bleachers. I feel odd in a Speedo and swim cap, being stared at by half the school. Mr. Phillips in the first row is watching me like a hawk, and further back is Sam. He looks frantic at the sight of me suited up. He knows I can’t swim.

But I don’t intend to. What I do intend to do is play a game of chicken with Kevin.
Release me or I’ll make a fool of you in front of the whole school. Release me or drown.
But so far he isn’t biting. I look over at Mr. Phillips again, who nods at me and gives a thumbs up.
Come on, Kevin.
You don’t want to disappoint Daddy, do you? Not like this
.

It all starts with the 200 yard relay medley. I’m third in my relay team. After Tyrone and Bryce. I follow them to the platform or block or whatever it’s called. Men in maroon T-shirts with TIMER written in white across the back crowd the empty spaces between lanes.

Then I hear Kevin, his voice weak and scared in my ear. “Hurry ... the truth!”

“I already told her the truth!” I say it out loud. One of the Timers glares. Tyrone and Bryce share a look.

Come on, Kevin. Let me go. You can do it. You can let me go and get into your body on time to save face. On time to save us both. Now!

But a cold breath ruffles my hair and goose bumps pop up all over my body. “Truth.”

And then I realize it. What he’s been trying to tell me all along. Oh my God!
Tell the truth!
He has to tell Cassie, too! Here I’m playing chicken with him and he’s been trying to get me to do the right thing all along!

I whip around and run, my feet slipping on the wet floor. I land on my side with a loud thud, pain like the slash of a whip in my bones.

“Phillips!” It’s the coach.

I get up and shove open the door to the locker room. I’ve got to get to Kevin’s phone. Locker seventeen. Seventeen ... I yank on the padlock, but it’s locked.
Crap!
It was Bryce who opened the damn thing before!
What was the combination?

But then Kevin’s fingers seem to move all on their own. 22-6-98 The lock snaps open.

I whip Kevin’s jeans out, feeling for his iPhone. I go into
Messages
. Then I find the ones that haven’t been sent.

Come on. Come on.

But Bryce and Tyrone are suddenly next to me. “Phillips, you get out there. Now.” Bryce sounds pissed.

Suddenly, I realize how buff they are. How scary. “Just ... one ... minute,” I say as I scroll through the messages, trying to find the right one.

Tyrone reaches for the phone. I pull away before he can grab it. Then both he and Bryce are trying to snatch it from me.

There it is: a message to Cassie, titled
SORRY
. I swipe my thumb across the screen to send it. And that’s when Bryce grabs the phone and throws it across the locker room. It smashes into locker 42. Glass from the screen falls onto the floor.

I feel weak all of a sudden. I almost collapse, but Tyrone and Bryce are holding me in a vice grip.

Please let it have sent. Please let her get it. Let her read it. Now.

I don’t know if we can make it otherwise.

Bryce and Tyrone drag me back out towards the pool. As we enter the area, my eyes flick up to Kevin’s dad. His face is dark and angry. I can tell he’s barely holding it together.

Coach swears at me under his breath and threatens to cut off my balls if I pull anything else.

Nice guy.

Tyrone finally loosens his grip on me so that he can get up on the platform. There’s a splash as he dives in.

Come on, Cassie. Read it. Read the thing.

Come on, Kevin. Come and take your body back.

Bryce narrows his eyes at me then steps onto the platform. I look at the fake blue water, breathe in the scent of chlorine and feel fear tugging at my insides.

A whistle blows and Bryce, sleek as an eel, is in the water. I stand watching for a second until coach yells at me to get onto the platform. I step up, totter, stand still. Bryce is already on his way back.

Come on.

The shiny black surface of Bryce’s swim cap makes its way towards me. My blood stops flowing, I’m sure of it. My whole body’s petrified.

Bryce is right underneath me. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. All around me is a wave of sound. MOVE! GO! COME ON! Furious shouting over splashing. But I stay, staring into the water, at the tiny blue tiles lining the bottom of the pool.

MOVE IT, PHILLIPS! NOW! I imagine the coach turning purple, Kevin’s dad standing up, screaming himself hoarse. My breath is coming quickly now, too quick. I can’t catch it, each inhalation too fast, too shallow.

And then there’s something wet and strong around my ankle, yanking me forward and down. As I catapult towards the water, I see Bryce’s disgusted face. See him release his hand from my leg.

The water is cool, and it startles me. I thrash around. Sink quickly. Panic strangles my brain, takes over my thoughts. I know I can’t take a breath, but I open my mouth and gulp water anyways. It burns going in.

Kevin’s body knows how to swim. Let it. Let it take over.
But the thoughts don’t dampen the terror. And so I can’t let go.
You can’t drown at a swim meet
, I try telling myself, but it doesn’t matter. I’m twelve again and in Lake Michigan. I’m twelve again and drowning. The fear is more than memory. Everything is blurry and I try to find the way out of the water. I see wavy faces staring down at me, hear a dull echo as someone jumps in.

Right then I see Kevin, his face contorted in confusion. I see a silver cord float between us. A black stain in the water.

And I feel a tug.

Forty

Millisecond Memory

In the space of a millisecond, in the time it takes me to feel a tug and a jolt, Kevin and I share a memory.

It’s the memory of a fifth-grade girl who was looking for a hero and found one. It’s also the memory of a fifth-grade David who brought down a hairy Goliath with one good bite and felt like a hero, even sitting in the principal’s office. It’s one positive memory we have together. Only it was a long time ago.

The millisecond is over.

Pool water fills my lungs. I know I am drowning.

But I feel a release. Then a yank.

I see Kevin. A flash of gold.

And the next thing I see is my mother’s face, her eyes ringed with dark circles. I hear her voice, tinny and ragged, as she sobs, “Oh, thank God, Sylvie. You’re awake.”

Forty-One

Where I Belong

The first thing I do is hug my mom. We navigate our arms through all the tubes and wires connected to me, wrap them around each other like we’re afraid to let go, and bawl like babies. Mom’s wearing her turquoise velour sweat suit. In it, her shoulder is soft and welcoming.

I want to tell her I’ve missed her, but a tube is stuck in my throat.

Mom’s whole body heaves as she starts a new set of sobs. “Oh, Sylvie. I love you so much.”

My movement must have set off something at the nurses’ station, because suddenly one is at the door, gasping, her eyes bulging like marbles. Then there are other nurses and a doctor, all shocked but happy and I’m prodded and poked and petted. They take out tubes and stickers and needles, and put others in. “How are you feeling? Do you know where you are? Can you tell me your name? Who’s this woman?” The doctor pelts questions at me as he rotates my head, checks my eyes. “Any nausea? Lightheadedness? What about pain? This is so unusual. No one ever comes out of a coma so alert.”

I cough and cough, my lungs aching, but answer everything he throws at me until he says, “What do you remember?”

I shrink back into my pillow and squeak out of my sore throat, “Actually, I’m pretty wiped. Can we ... can we talk about this some other time?”

My mom shoots up like a firework. “If she’s tired, I’d rather she rest, doctor.” The doctor, flabbergasted that I’m so with it, seems to want to study me, but he agrees not to tire me out. So, finally, the whole medical team leaves with stunned smiles on their faces and I’m alone with Mom again.

“Rest, sweetie.”

But I think of the meet. Of Kevin’s confused face. Of the water rushing into my lungs. Oh, my God. He released me, but did they save him? I sit up straight. “Where’s Kevin?”

“Kevin?” My mom’s face clouds over with anger. “You mean that horrible Phillips boy?”

“He’s not horrible, Mom. That was me. That was me in him.”

Her eyes widen, then she says, “Shush, Sylvie. You’re tired. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”