A Cold and Quiet Place

by Alison DeLuca

  Ugh. No time to think about it. Lily turns off the shower and emerges into the steamy locker-room.

  “Someone’s got an admirer,” a sly voice says in her ear. Staci stands next to her by the mirror, taming her chestnut curls with a wide-toothed comb. “You should see the way he looks at you.”

  “Tyler?” Too late Lily realizes she’s given herself away. “I mean, we’re just grabbing breakfast.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Staci nudges her with one elbow. “Be careful, though. I mean, not to be a bitch, but he just seems a little shady. And maybe I’ve heard a few things.”

  Yeah, like he’s hot as hell and the best swimmer in the school? Lily wants to say. And he seems to want to hang out with me, not you? For a minute she’s pissed at Staci, as though the girl might try to interfere with – whatever this is with Tyler.

  Her locker is at the end of the row, near the single full-length mirror. When another athlete yells from the showers to ask for conditioner, Staci shouts there’s an extra bottle on the windowsill. Then silence descends on the locker-room. It’s far too early for jokes and team solidarity.

  There’s no time to blow out Lily’s long wavy hair, and after double practices all week it’s pretty fried anyway. Lily puts on clean sweats before she follows Haddigan out of the humid locker room into the cool dark of a Massachusetts morning.

  Prescot is huge, a far-flung campus curling like a possessive lover around the shores of Stoddard Lake. Although spring has started in Lily’s hometown, snow still clumps along the sanded track. Lily digs her hands into the pockets of her hoodie to reach for elusive warmth.

  Instead she finds her phone, feels it vibrate with an incoming text. The screen lights up at her touch and reveals four sentences:

  You’re such a bitch. I can’t believe how mean you are and what you did. Don’t call me anymore.

  We’re done.

  2

  Lily sucks in her breath as she reads. The text comes from Erica, her best friend since elementary school. She thought things were better than ever between them after their last conversation over the weekend - when Erica complained she had no friends left in New Jersey, and Lily called to invite her to Prescot. “Please, girl,” she begged. “I miss you. Just find some time and drive up here for the weekend.”

  Why is Erica so mad? The two of them had a blazing fight back in August before Lily left for Prescot, but they made up again by Christmas – or at least Lily thought they had.

  “What’s up?” Tyler appears on the sidewalk right behind her, where Lily still stares at her phone. Erica’s words, she realizes, hurt worse than the earlier bout of stomach cramp.

  “Oh, nothing. Just a weird text.” Together they cross Keene Road, dotted with Range Rovers and smart cars. Lily’s hands shake as she examines the phone, waiting to see some sort of explanation.

  There’s nothing, just the four sentences blinking like little grenades on the screen.

  “My friends were jealous too when I got my scholarship,” Tyler says softly. “You have to let it go or you’ll drive yourself nuts worrying about other people’s feelings.”

  Her thumb hovers over the X to delete Erica’s text. Maybe if she erases the evidence, it won’t be real. “It’s nothing.”

  “No?” His palm ghosts over her waist. He’s not actually touching her, but Lily can sense his fingertips near her skin. “Damn, I’m starving.”

  The text’s sting fades from the warmth in his broad hands. “Me too,” she admits. Her stomachache is now completely gone, banished by hunger.

  “Yeah. I’m always starving. Hope they have hash browns. Even Prescott can’t fuck up a hash brown. And I could kill about three of those cheese and bacon sandwiches. And didn’t someone mention cronuts?”

  “Ugh.” She remembers she’s about to taper and can’t pig out as much as usual. For a swimmer, tapering is an essential part of competition. A few days before her big meet, Lily will reduce her practice to reduce stress on her body. Since the 1960s, the Taper is one of the most important parts of swim training. It means more energy, but it also means she won’t be able to eat as much as she usually does.

  “Ugh what? Don’t even tell me you don’t like bacon.”

  “Of course I love bacon. I’m about to taper, though.”

  “Riiiight.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “Don’t even. Like you didn’t just burn a ton of calories just from dry land, never mind all those laps in the pool.”

  They reach the light and noise of the dining hall and walk inside together. Even at this early hour there’s nowhere to sit, but Lily’s used to Prescot’s cramped quarters. The students talk, text, and eat at the same time, palms cupped over the glowing rectangles of their phones. Some of them are soccer stars, others concentrate on track. It’s like living in a foreign country where all the citizens are beautiful and athletic.

  Lily gets a tray and follows Tyler to the line. He grabs two plates loads them with double scoops of eggs, potatoes, sausage, a few rolls. As she helps herself to eggs and fruit, Lily sees her reflection on the sneeze guard: flat face and slanted blue eyes framed with streaky blonde hair. She’s not stunning like Haddigan, with those long auburn braids, or Staci, with her perfect complexion, but guys seem interested enough.

  Tyler selects a few final pastries and jerks his head for her to follow him. When he’s not smiling, his face is dark and intense. Like Lily, he doesn’t fit into Prescot’s ‘old money’ atmosphere.

  He leads them to a windowsill at the back of the food hall. His tall body swims through the crowd as easily as he cuts through the water, and he never turns to see if she’s behind him.

  James calls out her name as they walk past his table, but Lily pretends not to hear. She’ll talk to him later.

  Tyler pats the wide windowsill where he’s planted himself and his huge tray of food. His legs take up half the seat, forcing Lily to squish herself into the corner.

  Like Tyler, she doesn’t bother with conversation before she starts wolfing down her eggs. Their bodies are starved for protein. Lily can’t remember the last time she wasn’t desperately hungry. “It’s the swimmer’s family curse,” her mother says. “Everyone wants a meal, then a snack, then another meal. And then dessert.”

  When her plate is empty, Lily eyes the extra rolls on his tray. “Uh, you mind?” she asks.

  “Here.” He shoves the bread over just as her phone beeps. Tyler raises one eyebrow but doesn’t ask.

  You can’t even talk to me now, bitch?

  Lily bends closer to the screen as though she could reach through the glass and touch Erica’s face. What the hell has happened to her friend to cause such acidic bitterness?

  Quickly she types in a response:

  Erica, what’s wrong? What happened? Did Courtney tell lies about me? Something I said or did? I’ll call you when we can talk. Whatever you heard, it’s not true.

  Determined not to let the text ruin her day or get into her head before Nationals, Lily shoves the phone in the back pocket of her jeans and takes another bite of Tyler’s roll.

  “What was that all about?” Tyler raises one eyebrow and bites into a croissant.

  “Friend from home.”

  “Didn’t look too friendly. Same one who sent the bitchy comment before?”

  Lily raises her head. “Did you read my texts?”

  He drops his fork and raises both hands. “Sorry,” she adds. “I don’t know what her problem is. Trying not to let it get to me, you know?”

  It’s just her luck. Erica has lost her mind, and of course it’s happening at the exact moment when Lily finally gets to hang out with the guy she’s been crushing on all year.

  Tyler puts down his Danish. With careful, deliberate motions he picks up their plates and stacks them on one side so he can move closer to her on the wide windowsill. “People get jealous, right? They have no idea what we go through every day, how hard it is just to get out of bed when it’s still dark outside.”

  He’s wrong. Erica doe
s get it since she’s just one step below the national level. “She swims in the gold group,” Lily explains, but he’s too intent on his own thoughts.

  “And it’s not like we head off to a glorious, heated gym to sweat our butts off. No, we jump into a freezing pool and swim back and forth for hours.”

  His thigh is close to her shin. Lily has to admit his lean, muscled body is the sexiest thing she’s ever seen.

  Tyler leans back against the window, head tilted back in his arrogant way. Is it arrogance? Maybe it’s just his own brand of confidence, the way he knows his body and what he can make those long limbs do.

  His eyes are painted with shadow so she can’t see where he’s looking. Conversely, that angle means her face is in the light and he can see every movement in her face, can watch her look at his broad chest and thick neck.

  Around them the bright crowd chatters over breakfast and phone screens. Lily knows the students’ lives aren’t all perfect. Dave, at the next table, lives in two time zones, lobbed back and forth like a tennis ball between divorced parents. Annika, the redhead who listens and nods as Dave talks, has been raised by three nannies.

  “You know you’re not like them.” Tyler leans forward so she can see his eyes, intent on her. “We’re different, you and me.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” she begins.

  “Lily?” James arrives at an exquisitely timed wrong moment. “I just finished breakfast.” He glances at Tyler. “Hey. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

  Tyler doesn’t respond, just gets up, lifts the trays with athletic ease, and heads towards the carousel for dirty dishes. As he passes, his shoulder brushes James’s arm. “What’s with him?” James asks. Such a display of marked territory is unusual at Prescot.

  “Who knows? Anyway, sorry.” She’ll have to hang out with James after all. Lily picks up her swim bag, makes sure her phone is still on her back pocket. “Probably he’s trying to get into race-mode. Nationals are around the corner, like I told you already.” She stops and forces a wide smile. “Meet you at the library later, around 8?”

  James grins. The dirty blonde curls on the side of his undercut bounce as he falls into step beside her. “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll bring our group notes plus a series of slides Will and I worked on earlier.”

  This is good, Lily tells herself. A study date is much better than some random hook-up with a guy she just talked to for the first time, no matter how deep that instant connection was. Going to the library with James is way better than anything stupid she’d end up doing later with Tyler.

  ◆◆◆

  Physics is taught, like all classes at Prescot, through whole group discovery. They’re given a problem and have to develop the equations behind it without books or lectures. After the usual argument over the best seats, Lily and the other students get down to work on a puzzle about shopping carts and a 19° slope. The students discuss different solutions and the ‘squeaky wheel’ concept Phan put forward with a few days earlier as Dr. Rhys-Jones, the teacher, heads to her desk. “Get right to work,” she directs. “Joachim, you’re in charge. Laptop charger #2 is on the fritz, so take turns at the other stations.”

  Lily tries to follow the discussion as her classmates produce earnest theories, but she longs for a simple lesson with notes, worksheets, and pop quizzes. How many times at her middle school in New Jersey did she complain about homework and exams? After all the seminar and group learning at Prescot, Lily would love to be faced with a simple pop quiz.

  Sunlight streams in through lead-paned windows over the orange-gold of wood floors and shades the muscles under Joachim’s shirt as he writes the newest theory at the board and touches the calm faces of Lily’s friends. There’s a breakthrough in the problem when Phan produces a scribbled diagram. The squeaky wheel problem is solved, thanks to a chart of stickiness / slowed speed ratios Joachim has designed.

  When she has a break, Lily checks her phone. However, the screen is still blank. Erica, if she has received Lily’s message, hasn’t responded.

  In Lit, the group discusses the stories of Katherine Mansfield. Lily gets paired with two guys to research Mansfield’s relationships with women and the impact on her writing. Other micro-groups search for other clues and quotes to support their theses. By the end of class they have a cohesive outline for a research paper, one each student will need to write by next Monday.

  Lily stifles her dismay, since literature isn’t her strong point. Like her mom, she’s more of a math and science person.

  By lunchtime, she’s got the shakes from hunger. Lily grabs her stuff, yells to her study group she’ll text them later, and dashes down to the dining hall. Already the tables have filled up, so she grabs the same seat she shared with Tyler the night before. The bread of her sandwich is dry and the lettuce limp, but she chows her meal in huge bites, complete with chips and Orangina.

  Erica’s text, when it arrives, falls like a dead bird onto her lap. Do NOT text me anymore, bitch. I already told you we’re done.

  Lily puts down the crust of her sandwich. The mellow lines of the large room blur, and she wipes her eyes with the back of her wrist. Breath rattles in her throat as she rereads the words on the screen.

  She can’t just sit there and do nothing. Lily wipes her fingers on a napkin and types, willing Erica to read it and understand how much this silent series of accusations hurt.

  Erica, I have no idea what I did to make you write to me like this. Just tell me so we can talk about it. Maybe someone out there is spreading rumors. It’s the only thing I can think of. But if I hurt you, just explain what happened so we can figure it out and I can apologize.

  Please.

  Lily considers what she written, words ripped straight from her heart. With a shuddering sigh she hits send. The pingback is instantaneous. Lily’s phone number has been blocked on the other end.

  Her balled-up napkin goes back on the tray, cup on the side. Lily climbs out of the window seat, heads to the drop-off, and delivers her dirty dishes to the staff. She passes Staci, who waves for Lily to join them.

  She forces herself to smile, shakes her head, and mouths “Later.”

  Outside the campus basks under the weak sunshine of April in Massachusetts. Lily finds an empty patch of grass, sits on the ground, and takes out her phone to punch in a contact.

  There are two rings before the voice answers. “Lily?”

  “Hey, mom,” Lily says. “Can you talk?”

  “Not really.” It’s office hours in New Jersey at the clinic where her mom works. “What’s up?”

  The words explode out of her. “Mom, Erica keeps sending me all these hate texts. She’s called me a bitch at least three times. She says I’m a slut and says I know what I did. But I have no clue!”

  “What?” Mom echoes Lily’s confusion. “Impossible. You’ve been best friends for years. What happened?”

  “I have no idea.” Lily hears the stress in her mom’s voice but plunges ahead. “And she blocked my number so I can’t even call her. Can you believe that? Can you call her mom? Please? It’s – the whole thing is so weird.”

  “Lily, I don’t know. I don’t want to involve the Winslow family in your little argument…”

  “It’s not my argument!” Lily huffs. “I have no clue why she sent all those nasty messages. They’re so mean. Could you just call her mom and kind of feel her out?”

  “Okay, of course I will. Calm down.” Mom’s support is colored, as usual, by the spiky, exasperated love between mother and daughter. “How are you otherwise? Want me to come up this weekend? We could go shopping, or out to dinner…”

  Lily’s about to say yes when she remembers Tyler. Would her mother approve if she met him? He’s older, and already he’s giving off a bit of an attitude. It’s scary and edgy and pretty damn sexy, but her mom would probably warn Lily against dating a senior.

  “No, I’m fine. Maybe in a couple of weeks.”

  They say good-bye, and Lily hangs
up. At least she’s made a move and gotten in touch, a first step. Maybe her mom can find out if Erica’s phone has been stolen or, if not, what Erica thinks Lily’s done.

  Although the wind is a sharp blade on her neck, the sun feels good. Lily tips her head back, closes her eyes, and watches the red of her inner eyelids.

  A soft thump next to her wakes her up. Although she expects Tyler, James is the one who’s arrived. He lies on the ground next to her with one corner of his mouth pulled up. “Didn’t want to wake you.” Lily has to admit he’s a good-looking kid, golden hair tousled over one eyebrow. His sport is lacrosse, but he’s always threatened to switch to ice hockey.

  “Wasn’t asleep.” Lily forces her thoughts away from Erica. “What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to tell you the history test wasn’t too terrible. The notes I went over last night helped. Plus, I found more research this morning.” James hands over a stapled sheaf of papers.

  Lily takes the papers and tells him thanks. He’s a great guy, even if he looks like a magazine ad for shirts: clean-cut but slightly edgy. However, conversation with James feels like trudging through a swamp, all slow and careful, and she has to search for a new topic. “How did practice go?”

  “It’s this afternoon.”

  So they can’t even talk about sports. “Uh, thanks again for this.” Lily rolls up the papers and puts them in her backpack. “Seriously, you went above and beyond. I owe you a coffee.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes sparkle. “Meet up later?”

  “Oh.” Lily can’t bear the thought of more questions and answers over coffee with this guy – plus there’s the half-promise she gave Tyler to go into town before afternoon practice. “Sorry, I have double practice today.” She rolls her eyes, tips her head back and forth. “Gets a little crazy before Nationals, you know?”