Swim Coach: A Greenbridge Academy Romance

by Knox, Abby

  He laughs. “Oh, I knew you were there.”

  It’s the first time I think I’ve ever heard him laugh. It’s glorious. “You did?”

  “Yeah. You’ve grown up a lot since then.”

  I blush, and I’m thankful it’s dark. I look up at his face. He’s sitting forward, his elbows on his knees, looking back at me. Even in the dark, his stoic face has me mesmerized.

  He sits back so he’s even with me, his eyes still on me. He blinks. I pivot my shoulders toward him. The night breeze gives me a chill.

  Coach Ford removes his coat and puts it around me. When his fingers graze my shoulders, my whole body shivers. He pauses, his hands still holding the jacket sleeves. Am I mistaken or did he lean into me about an inch or so?

  My stomach does a somersault. Is this happening?

  The next second, the back door opens and Roland stumbles out, goes over to the bushes, and pukes.

  The coach stands up.

  “Go get the other girls, we are leaving.”

  I pop inside and tell Ridley, Hadley and Daphne a total lie that the cops are coming and that our coach is here to drive us home before they arrive.

  When we start to pile into the truck, Roland hops in the back.

  “This ride is full, son,” Coach Ford growls.

  Roland leers over at me from the truck bed, smiles, and pats his lap. “Got room right here!”

  All of a sudden, Coach Ford hops out, comes around and grabs Roland, pulling him out of the truck bed.

  “Take my advice. Stay here and sleep it off. Or, get in and I dump your drunk ass off on your parents’ doorstep right before I text the AD that you’ve violated school rules about athletes and underage drinking. Your choice.” Roland chooses to stay, thank god.

  23

  Addie

  The team comes back stronger than ever after the holiday break.

  The Hornets remain undefeated in the relay events for the rest of the season. I finish first in the breaststroke, Hunter medals in the butterfly, and Ridley snags first place in the conference in the 50 freestyle.

  We are headed to state by the time February rolls around.

  Neither Roland nor Coach Ford have been on my mind in what feels like ages, other than in the context of competition.

  Yep. I’ve bottled up my feelings with a stopper made of dynamite and put it on the back of a shelf made of matchsticks on a hot day. But still, they’re bottled up for now.

  And then, the coach has us lined up for the morning’s pep talk outside the activity bus, and my silly fantasies start to creep up.

  “Ladies, visualize this as just another swim meet. But here’s the thing…”

  Here’s the thing, Coach Ford, are you ever going to smile? I wonder if you’d smile when I step into your shower with you? I wonder what you’d like? Would you want me to go down on you first? Would you be patient with me, or bark instructions and pull my hair? Would you set the rhythm, force me to open up and let you go as deep as you want? Yeah, I’ve been watching sex videos so I know exactly what to do. I don’t care if you never smile for me. But goddamn, I’m gonna make you moan.

  I lock on to that feeling for the day’s heats. And I crush them. I snap up medals in the breaststroke and butterfly. We place first in relays. Several of the girls medal and the Hornets win first place overall.

  We are going back home state champions—a first for the school in over four years, and the first for the women’s team ever. Hunter hugs me and she and I stand there on the pool deck and bawl our eyes out. This is it. This is what we’ve been working toward our whole lives since we learned to swim together at the city pool at five years old.

  My best friend and I just won state.

  I can hardly believe it.

  On the way home on the bus, Coach Ford finally cracks a smile. He’s sitting alone, looking at his phone.

  I watch him, and I can’t help but wonder who is putting that smile on his face.

  If not the team, then who?

  Something comes over me and I decide I no longer care about propriety. I slide into the seat next to him and hold out my hand.

  He looks up, his smile fading. He looks…scared.

  “What can I help you with, Shermer?”

  Give me your phone.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Give it.”

  His brow furrows together but he actually hands it over.

  His eyes are on me while I tap on his Notes app and write something only for him to see.

  I’ve been on the pill for months now. And I’m a virgin. Whenever you’re ready. You have until prom night, but that’s your last chance.

  I hand it back to him. He looks down and reads what I typed.

  His lips part. His breath speeds the rise and fall in his beefy chest. “Shermer.”

  “What.”

  He glances around. “You can’t talk to me like this.”

  I use my ace in the hole. “It’s fine. I’m sure Roland is going to ask me anyway to make Ridley jealous. I guess I can go with him.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  The man has zero opinions about anything other than my swimming and my academics, denies me at every turn, but as soon as Roland’s name comes up, he has opinions.

  “How about a nice quiet kid from the Latin Club?”

  I bat my lashes at him. “What’s the problem with Roland? He’s my age and we’re friends now.”

  “You don’t want to go with him.”

  “You can have an opinion about it when you decide to admit how you feel.”

  He goes back to looking at his phone idly, essentially telling me we’re done here.

  I go back to my seat to huddle with Hunter.

  “What was that all about?” she asks.

  “Nothing. It was nothing. Business as usual,” I sigh.

  24

  Weston

  I’m so damn proud of her. I knew she would bring home the title for us. Judging by her behavior on the bus ride home, she’s finally seeing the same amazing, fierce, brave woman I see.

  25

  Addie

  Although a part of me would love nothing more than to drag out my independent study project until the end of the year as a convenient excuse to continue meeting with Coach Ford, I just don’t have it in me. I’ve exhausted myself waiting around for him.

  My heart still longs for him. My soul pines for him, and my skin yearns for his touch.

  I still inadvertently moisten my lips whenever he strolls by in the halls, subbing for one class or another. My panties get wet when he’s near and I smell his scent.

  I still daydream, I still fantasize. But I’ve resigned myself to knowing that’s all there is, and that’s all there will ever be. If he wanted me, he would have allowed me to touch him. To get close to him. To open up to him.

  All I’ve ever wanted was for him to see me, and now that I’m not swimming for him, he seems even less interested, if that were possible.

  Until signing day.

  “Honey, are you OK?”

  Mom and I have ditched school this morning to shop for a dress for the signing ceremony. I’ve been offered an athletic scholarship to the nearby state university, and I’ve decided to take it. I could have accepted offers from more prestigious schools on both coasts, but I’m just not feeling as excited as I once was about going far away.

  I give her my best smile. “I’m good. Just already feeling nostalgic for high school, I guess.”

  She looks at me like I’ve just suggested walking a tightrope across Niagara Falls.

  “You? Feeling nostalgic about high school?”

  I shrug and hold up a purple dress.

  “It’s a lot more…flouncy and flirty than what you usually wear, but I like it,” she says.

  I chuckle and toss the dress over my forearm so I can keep rummaging through the racks. “Are you saying I’m not feminine?”

  “That’s not even close to what I said. I like the dress. Would yo
u like to try it on?”

  I examine it again, then look back at the racks and racks of dresses, and decide I don’t have the energy. I get so overwhelmed shopping for myself, I don’t know how I am going to handle planning my own wedding someday. Maybe Hunter and my mom can do it. Honestly, I don’t care a thing about dresses or makeup or flowers or what the cake looks like as long as there’s a ton of good food—preferably hot dogs and burgers and lots of cheese. And carrot cake.

  “This dress will work fine. If anything, it will be too big.”

  “That’s the most sense you’ve made all morning. Come on, let’s pay for the dress and then get some lunch.”

  “OK, but maybe just a salad. I’m not hungry.”

  Mom shoots me a look. “I’ve barely seen you eat since swim season ended. We’re getting you a bucket of fried chicken.”

  We pay for the dress and examine the food court for the highest calorie food we can find and finally settle on noodle bowls followed by ice cream.

  “You’ve been distant ever since you went on the pill and I feel responsible. Did I do the right thing?” Mom asks, half way through her bowl of mint chip.

  I shrug. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, nothing is ever going to happen but it’s probably a good idea nonetheless. But that’s not why I’ve been distant.”

  “Are you having second thoughts about signing with state? Would you rather do it privately instead of having to sit next to Coach Ford? It’s pretty stupid they have to film it for the news. I can call the whole thing off.”

  “I’m still interested in going to state. It’s just that…do you think the TV camera will pick up on the feelings of a high school girl who is desperately in love with her swim coach and cannot do a thing about it?”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Mom sighs.

  “Are you going to tell me to get over it? Because I’m afraid it’s hopeless.”

  Mom reaches over the table and grabs my hand. “Honey, I’m not going to tell you to get over it. I am going to tell you to do what you need to do to get through it. It sucks. It hurts. But if it’s meant to be, you’ll have your moment. I can’t say when, and I can’t say I endorse this, but if he feels the same way? Well, you’re eighteen, you’re about to graduate, and there’s nothing I can say about it. But be prepared for disappointment. He’s not going to want to lose his job over this, not after coaching a winning team.”

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  “I love you, honey.”

  “I love you too.”

  * * *

  The signing ceremony takes place in front of four local reporters: one from the TV news, two from area newspapers and one from a local sports magazine. Our town is not a big city, but it’s not small by any stretch.

  Coach Ford and I are seated at a folding table that’s been decorated with the school colors. Also there in attendance: a college recruiter, the state college swim coach, and a representative of the NCAA.

  While the NCAA person is talking, I mutter to Coach Ford, “Slow news day, I guess.”

  I expect him to chuckle good-naturedly in response but instead I feel the heat of his gaze on me. I glance over and there’s the signature look he gives me when I’m being self-deprecating. “Shermer, look out there,” he says, gesturing to the crowd. “Do you realize you’re the only scholar athlete in Greenbridge who’s going to be on TV tonight? Memorize this moment.”

  Was that a wink? A smile? More like a grimace. I decide it’s something close to a smile.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  He dares to let his eyes travel downward. Just barely, but I notice it. His eyes land on my ruffled neckline. He sees me catch him staring, and he doesn’t look away.

  And then we are swept up in the signing ceremony and the moment is gone. My cheeks heat as I go through the motions, but all I can think is one thing: He likes my dress.

  26

  Weston

  Purple. My new favorite color.

  I wonder what she’ll be wearing to prom.

  I can’t imagine anything topping the outfit she wore today.

  But my girl does the impossible day after day.

  27

  Addie

  My final meeting with Ms. Frazier and Coach Ford is in early April.

  “I see you have your presentation in order for next week. Everything looks good. Coach Ford says you’ve not only been giving him monthly reports but also weekly, which is very good. I’ve looked everything over and I commend you, dear. It’s great work.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ms. Frazier continues, “On top of that, miss state champion swimmer and scholar athlete extraordinaire, I have more news that probably won’t come as a shock. You’ll be graduating top of your class. I hope you’ve been thinking about what you would like to say in your valedictorian speech.”

  I blush and glance over at Coach Ford. His eyes flash and he appears to be biting the inside of his lip.

  “Actually, no. I’m too sad to even think about all of this coming to an end,” I say.

  “That’s quite sentimental of you,” she remarks.

  Ms. Frazier’s secretary pokes his head in and gives her some kind of signal. For what, I don’t know. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. Could you hold on for a moment?”

  I nod my head.

  While she pops into her office, Coach Ford and I are alone for an awkward moment.

  “Shermer. Shermer, look at me.”

  I do, but hesitantly.

  “I see what’s going on in your head. You’re embarrassed by all the praise. You’ve earned this. Enjoy it.”

  I look away. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it hurts. Everything hurts. I bared my soul to you and it hurts my heart to look at you.”

  He shakes his head, and I think he’s going to deny me one more time. “Shermer, it was an honor to coach you, and I’m so fucking proud to know you.”

  My eyes tear up. “Oh god. What are you doing to me? I…” Just then my phone dings. I check it, and it’s a text from Roland. Sup?

  I consider putting my phone away and answering him later but I would actually rather stop looking at Coach Ford.

  I am grateful for the distraction.

  I’m in Frazier’s office.

  Congrats, nerdictorian.

  Idiot. How did you know?

  Girl, ur the golden child, I keep telling u.

  I’m overwhelmed.

  As humble as u r beautiful.

  Any girl in this school would feel honored, giddy to receive such a text from Roland. For me? Nothing.

  I ain’t buying what you’re selling, Roland.

  Ikr. Just putting my bid in for prom. As a group. Hunter should come with us. It’s gonna be lit. No pressure.

  “Prom.” I say out loud.

  “Prom?” Coach Ford repeats. “Who. Who is it? Fucking Roland?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You’re not going with Roland.”

  I can’t believe we’re even discussing this in the guidance office, of all places.

  “If you don’t want me, then I’m going to go with my friends. A bunch of the swimmers are going as a group. Surely you can’t object to that.”

  He shakes his head and I think I hear his knuckles crack. “Someone needs to keep an eye on that kid.”

  “You lost your chance when you rejected me,” I remind him.

  When Ms. Frazier returns, Coach Ford makes a hasty exit, and that’s the last thing he says to me for the rest of the school year.

  Until prom night.

  28

  Weston

  To: The Office of the Headmistress

  Subject: Prom

  From: WestonFord@greenbridgeacademy.edu

  Message:

  Ms. Moody,

  I volunteer as prom chaperone, no extra activity pay necessary.

  29

  Our senior prom is at the opulent Ridley Hotel downtown.

  Yeah, Mr. Rushmore named his
flagship boutique hotel in his hometown after his semi-insufferable, spoiled rotten daughter.

  But I gotta admit, even Ridley is being pleasant tonight, enjoying all the attention and real-time social media comments on her phone such as, “That place is almost as beautiful as you are!”

  It’s oddly freeing, spending prom night with my best friend. It’s fun being dressed up, my hair, nails and makeup done, dancing, laughing.

  Roland is here somewhere. He bought me a corsage that doesn’t exactly match my dress or my personal style, but then again, he’s left me alone to sneak off to the men’s room with his bros to do god-knows what.

  The Ridley Hotel is a massive, castle-like structure that looks old world on the outside but ultra-modern and chic on the inside, with outdoor Grecian-style gardens, pools, gazebos, a labyrinth, a koi pond, fountains, grape arbors, and many nooks and crannies for semi-private conversation.

  It is all breathtaking, and I would expect nothing less with the name Rushmore attached to it.

  But none of it compares to seeing Weston Ford in a tailored suit and tie. He’s not my coach anymore, looking like that.

  When he spots me from across the ballroom, his powerful legs eat up the distance between us. He stops short of touching me. We’re maybe close enough for a handshake.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I thought you were leaving to train for the world championships this summer?”

  “The AD was supposed to chaperone, but he had an out-of-town emergency and asked me to fill in.”

  I study his face. He looks slightly more drawn than normal. Like he hasn’t been sleeping well. This care-worn face does nothing to diminish my feelings.

  He’s wearing a tailored medium gray suit with the hint of a pinstripe, a periwinkle pocket square and matching necktie.