race. My visit with Laney. Easy practices. EKG.
I know Mom called him after she dropped me off at school. Dad would have insisted. I figure they fought then, on the phone. Fighting was a given. Mom overreacts and then she accuses Dad of not taking things seriously.
I could feel the tension at dinner. When I reached the kitchen, Mom was bent over a pan of lasagna, working the knife so deep it was like she was trying to kill it, not cut it. Dad was looking out the window, his hand wrapped around his neck like he does when he’s worried. But no one said a word about my visit to Laney, and we ate dinner like everything was okay. At least they were both happy about my interview series with Channel 5.
Now, with Mom in bed and no one listening but the moon, I figure Dad and I can talk it all out. Make sense of it together.
He sits on the edge of my bed and rubs his hands along his thighs, his dark blue sweats the same color as my ceiling. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Really. I’ve felt perfect all day long.”
He nods, and I can see the relief on his face. “So how did Coach take it? You having to go easy for a few days?”
“Okay,” I say. “He didn’t act like it’s any big deal. He sent me to Admin for the interview.”
“Because you’re the star of that team.”
I work my hands around a stretch of the sheet. “I just hate missing a real practice.”
“You’ll be fine. But you do need to be more responsible.” His voice is sharp. “Keep hydrated and take the vitamins your mother buys for you.”
“I will.”
He squeezes my arm. “I’m proud of you, honey. You stay strong and we’ll get through this.”
“Two more days.”
“That’s right,” he agrees. “We’ll see the cardiologist on Wednesday and get you back in the water on Thursday.”
“Are you going to come?”
“You kidding?” he says. “If I send you with your mother, you’ll come home wrapped in gauze.” He smiles to soften his words. “A little extra rest is all you need.”
13
A t 5:30 the next morning it’s dark, and the air is cold enough that I’m wearing my swim parka over my one-piece. I’ve kicked off my flip-flops, and the pool deck feels so cold it burns my bare feet. I like it, though. It wakes me up and gets my muscles firing.
It’s still quiet while everyone shuffles in, most of the team still half asleep. Horizon’s pool is nicer than most of the community pools. The facility was donated by a local family in honor of their grandmother, who competed in the Olympics in the sixties. It’s eight lanes wide, twenty-five yards long, with state-of-the-art mounting blocks. The locker rooms are inside the school gym, but there’s a covered walkway leading to the pool.
Yawning, I stretch out my shoulders. The pool lights are on, so every ripple of water reflects a shade of blue. I drop my bag next to lane 1. Coach clears his throat and I look up. He pointsme to lane 8. Usually I’m in lane 1, group one. We swim three or four to a lane, and the first swimmer in each of the top lanes is the fastest. That means we race against each other, even during practices. Jen is in lane 1 and usually swims behind me in group two. Not today. Plenty of eyes follow me as I grab my stuff and move down the pool. Alec is already churning out laps in lane 2, but most everyone else is wetting goggles and lining up kickboards and hand paddles. Connor is practicing at the community pool with the Aqua Athletes this morning.
“I have to take it easy,” I say as I walk. Bree is listening. Alicia. Tanner and Logan. Jen shoots me a thumbs-up, but the rest of them give me weird looks. It is weird. When have I
ever
taken anything easy?
“We’ve got four thousand yards this morning,” Coach says. “Abby, no more than two.”
I pretend I’m cool with it. But it’s hard to maintain a swagger past seven other lanes. I’m sharing with Hannah and Jessica. They’re both freshmen, and I don’t know much about them other than
I know Mom called him after she dropped me off at school. Dad would have insisted. I figure they fought then, on the phone. Fighting was a given. Mom overreacts and then she accuses Dad of not taking things seriously.
I could feel the tension at dinner. When I reached the kitchen, Mom was bent over a pan of lasagna, working the knife so deep it was like she was trying to kill it, not cut it. Dad was looking out the window, his hand wrapped around his neck like he does when he’s worried. But no one said a word about my visit to Laney, and we ate dinner like everything was okay. At least they were both happy about my interview series with Channel 5.
Now, with Mom in bed and no one listening but the moon, I figure Dad and I can talk it all out. Make sense of it together.
He sits on the edge of my bed and rubs his hands along his thighs, his dark blue sweats the same color as my ceiling. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Really. I’ve felt perfect all day long.”
He nods, and I can see the relief on his face. “So how did Coach take it? You having to go easy for a few days?”
“Okay,” I say. “He didn’t act like it’s any big deal. He sent me to Admin for the interview.”
“Because you’re the star of that team.”
I work my hands around a stretch of the sheet. “I just hate missing a real practice.”
“You’ll be fine. But you do need to be more responsible.” His voice is sharp. “Keep hydrated and take the vitamins your mother buys for you.”
“I will.”
He squeezes my arm. “I’m proud of you, honey. You stay strong and we’ll get through this.”
“Two more days.”
“That’s right,” he agrees. “We’ll see the cardiologist on Wednesday and get you back in the water on Thursday.”
“Are you going to come?”
“You kidding?” he says. “If I send you with your mother, you’ll come home wrapped in gauze.” He smiles to soften his words. “A little extra rest is all you need.”
13
A t 5:30 the next morning it’s dark, and the air is cold enough that I’m wearing my swim parka over my one-piece. I’ve kicked off my flip-flops, and the pool deck feels so cold it burns my bare feet. I like it, though. It wakes me up and gets my muscles firing.
It’s still quiet while everyone shuffles in, most of the team still half asleep. Horizon’s pool is nicer than most of the community pools. The facility was donated by a local family in honor of their grandmother, who competed in the Olympics in the sixties. It’s eight lanes wide, twenty-five yards long, with state-of-the-art mounting blocks. The locker rooms are inside the school gym, but there’s a covered walkway leading to the pool.
Yawning, I stretch out my shoulders. The pool lights are on, so every ripple of water reflects a shade of blue. I drop my bag next to lane 1. Coach clears his throat and I look up. He pointsme to lane 8. Usually I’m in lane 1, group one. We swim three or four to a lane, and the first swimmer in each of the top lanes is the fastest. That means we race against each other, even during practices. Jen is in lane 1 and usually swims behind me in group two. Not today. Plenty of eyes follow me as I grab my stuff and move down the pool. Alec is already churning out laps in lane 2, but most everyone else is wetting goggles and lining up kickboards and hand paddles. Connor is practicing at the community pool with the Aqua Athletes this morning.
“I have to take it easy,” I say as I walk. Bree is listening. Alicia. Tanner and Logan. Jen shoots me a thumbs-up, but the rest of them give me weird looks. It is weird. When have I
ever
taken anything easy?
“We’ve got four thousand yards this morning,” Coach says. “Abby, no more than two.”
I pretend I’m cool with it. But it’s hard to maintain a swagger past seven other lanes. I’m sharing with Hannah and Jessica. They’re both freshmen, and I don’t know much about them other than
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