“I’m exhausted.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “That’s a lot of work.”
“Ha! Believe me, I know.”
“Can I ask you something without you thinking I’m just using you because you’re a crazy good swimmer?”
I snorted. “I guess.”
“Can I see you swim?”
His words made everything inside me dim a little, like I was no longer in on some big joke. The water started to feel like a nightmare again, pushing in on all sides. I took a deep breath. “Why?”
Across the pool, the little girl splashed loudly and screamed joyously at her mother.
“I want to see what it’s supposed to look like. I want to see the way you move.” He held my gaze, and just like that, the power had shifted from me back to him. When he looked at me like that, I felt like I’d do anything to keep his attention.
“Okay.”
He drifted over to the other side of the pool slowly, standing by the girl, who was now watching with interest as I positioned myself opposite them in the shallow end. I stood with my back against the side, looking out at the straight line of water in front of me, unobstructed by anything. Michael, the girl, and her mother all watched me closely.
I thought about that last practice with my father, about floating at the side of the pool as that door flew open. Just the day before, we’d been practicing at the house, and my father had run me so hard, I’d climbed out of the pool and vomited on the concrete at his feet.
What the hell are you waiting for? Get your ass in the pool already.
I closed my eyes for a second. My father wasn’t here. I wasn’t racing a clock, I wasn’t racing another person. I was doing this for Michael, Michael who’d, in the last hour, pulled his arms so tight against his head to please me that he couldn’t hear any of the instructions I was giving him. Michael, who had slowly sunk to the bottom of the pool like a sack of potatoes while trying to get into position.
I pushed off the wall, going under the surface as I pulled my body into a long, tight streamline. I started in butterfly, the hardest stroke and probably my weakest. I never swam the fly, and it wasn’t as effortless and fluid as it might have been for someone else. I didn’t have goggles, so I was swimming blind, counting on my years of practice to tell me when the end of the pool was approaching. I counted the strokes in my head, letting my fingertips graze the wall before executing an open turn and heading back toward the start, this time getting into position for a backstroke.
Even though I wasn’t a backstroke swimmer, I’d always loved it. I loved watching the ceiling roll by as I swam, instead of staring down at the bottom of the pool or looking to the sides to see the other swimmers. The backstroke was almost relaxing. I pulled it slow, giving myself time to look up at the sky. I could see the building beside us, could almost count the windows.
I touched the wall, pushed through a flip turn, and came up into breaststroke. I pulled myself in tight, pulling my body under me in the modified streamline and staying under as long as I could before pushing my arms out and breaking the surface. Open turn and then finally, finally up into freestyle.
Freestyle was my stroke. I loved the feel of propelling myself forward, attempting as little drag and splash as possible. I loved seeing how long I could stay under before having to finally come up for air. I loved plunging my arms down below me and being able to feel how much water there was in the depths. It felt like the entire weight of an ocean under me as I plunged my arm down and then speared it forward.
I hit the wall and came up with an uncharacteristic gasp. Swimming was such a high, that feeling of being powerful and fast and strong. For just a second, I pressed my forehead to the side of the pool and breathed it in. This was what I loved, the feeling of being able to do anything in the water, the sheen of it on my skin.
But my father was still in the back of my head, waiting to resurface. Push harder, push harder, push harder.
I heard clapping, and I turned to see the girl and her mother standing at the edge of the pool, smiling in my direction. The little girl was clapping so enthusiastically, water was splashing off her hands.
“Again! Again!” she screamed, and her mother leaned down to whisper something in her ear.
Michael had a strange look on his face when I swam over to him. “So, am I going to be able to do all that?”
I laughed. “Let’s just start with keeping you afloat, okay?”
We toweled off, and then I leaned over the side of the pool. I took out my ponytail and rinsed my hair with the bottle of water I brought with me.
“What are you doing?” Michael asked from behind me.
By now, the woman and her daughter had left, and we were alone by the pool. “The chlorine breaks my hair down,” I explained to him, scrubbing my hair lightly. “This’ll keep it from getting brittle.”
I set the bottle at my feet and wrung my hair out. I glanced over my shoulder as I did it and caught Michael running his fingers through his own messy, wet hair. He brought his fingers away and inspected them, like that one hour in the pool would send him into early balding.
I straightened and tried to flatten my wet hair. After a moment of finger combing, I realized he was watching me. I let my arms fall to my sides. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
His mouth was a strange shape, somewhere between a smile and not, unsure. “You’re amazing,” he said, and my own sense of feeling light and carefree fell to the ground with a splat.
“What?” I sputtered.
Michael shook his head, and this time, the shape of his mouth was a complete smile. “Your mom told me you were amazing, but I didn’t think it was going to be anything like that. You are completely and totally incredible.”
I crossed my arms. I felt exposed somehow, with my towel wrapped around me, even more than I’d been when I was half naked in front of him. I felt like I’d shown him a part of my soul, and I didn’t know how I felt about it.
“Are you ready to go downstairs?” he asked, leaving me to catch my breath again as he went for the door.
I followed him down, his words from the pool replaying themselves again and again in my head, and feeling guilty when I compared them to the look on Patrice’s face when she’d told me Michael had canceled on her. He’d said he wanted to surprise her. It really didn’t have anything to do with me. I’d had tons of guy friends before. What I had with Michael was no different. We were just friends.
Michael’s apartment was a cookie-cutter version of ours. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the kitchen and a very small lamp next to an armchair, where Michael’s mother was reading a book. She looked up, an oxygen tube tucked into her nostrils and a pair of reading glasses on the end of her nose.
I knew immediately where Michael got his kind face and always-smiling eyes. I wondered if she recognized me from that first night in the parking garage, but her expression didn’t give anything away.
“Mom, this is Kate.” Michael led me into the living room with a hand on my lower back. It was warm against the cold, mostly wet towel.
She set her book on the table beside her and reached out to shake my hand, bending just slightly at the waist. “I’m Harriet,” she said and then wheezed out a little cough.
“You feeling okay, Mom?” Michael asked, taking a cautious step toward her.
She waved him off. “I’m fine.”
“I’m going to change,” he told me, already walking in the direction of the hallway. It was strange to think that he slept in a room that was just like mine but completely different, that our surroundings perfectly mirrored each other but had nothing in common.
“So you’re the swimmer girl,” his mother said, and I whipped around to look at her. She tugged a little at her long hair. “I’ve been hearing about you a lot lately. We’re both very excited about having someone from Michael’s school right across the hall.”
“Really?” I went to sit on the sofa and was already on the clean tan fabri
c when I remembered that I was wet and jumped back up. “Oh my God. I’m wet! I am so sorry! I completely forgot!” There was a water spot on the fabric in the shape of my butt.
From the hallway, I heard Michael laugh. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Little Mermaid. That sofa was secondhand. You’re not ruining anything special.”
From the armchair, Harriet sighed. “I miss salsa.” She smiled dreamily up at me. “Michael’s father was an extraordinary dancer.”
There it was again, the past tense. Again, I wanted to ask about Michael’s dad, but I definitely didn’t want to do so in front of Harriet.
“My lungs don’t really allow me to dance these days. Not to mention the oxygen tank.” Harriet laughed, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond. I’d seen her unable to catch her breath that night, and I’d known she had an oxygen tank, but there was something about having it there before me, physical evidence that his mother might be more than just a little sick, that made it hard for me to even look directly at her.
“I should change,” I said quietly, snatching up the change of clothes I’d brought with me. “Um, where’s the bathroom?”
In unison, Harriet and Michael said, “Door at the end of the hallway.”
I smiled and slipped away to change. It was pretty typical. Beach themed. The clear shower curtain featured tropical fish and bright pink and orange coral. The soap dish was shaped like a seashell. There were rainbow fish on the toilet seat. I got undressed, standing naked for a few minutes to let my skin air-dry, and then changed into my warm clothes.
When I got back, Michael was standing by a stereo in the corner of the room. There was an iPod sitting on the dock on top, and he scrolled and clicked around on the screen. Salsa music exploded into the room, and Harriet winced.
“Sorry,” Michael muttered, and turned it down to a more manageable volume. He came over to me, and I tried to look confident when I faced him. I didn’t miss the way his gaze slid down my body. “Okay, come here.”
I met his eye. I expected him to have that jokey smile on his face that he always did, but his face was full of quiet seriousness, like this salsa lesson was of utmost importance. He held out his hand to me, and I was suddenly very aware that his mother was watching us. I put my hand in his, and I felt it all the way down to my toes. He curled his fingers around mine and then he tugged me toward him, taking my other hand.
I looked down at my feet, seeing his bare toes inches from my own, and when I looked back up, his eyes were so close, settled on me.
“Don’t follow the music. I just want to show you the basic step. Okay, so on one, you go back with your right foot. On two, you pivot onto your left foot, and then on three, you step back to starting position. You don’t move on four. On five, you do it again, but step forward instead of back. Does that make sense?”
I’d been staring at his lips. This close to him, I could see every tiny detail in them, the ridges and lines. I nodded.
And then he started counting. I stepped on his toes more than once, every time Harriet chuckling a little, but not in a condescending way. She laughed like this was the greatest day of her life. Michael’s hips twisted gracefully as we moved forward and back and forward and back, and mine stayed firmly in place. He tried to coax me into movement, demonstrating how to twist my body.
“You just, you can use your whole body if you need to,” he said, demonstrating a hip movement that started from his chest, all the way down to his feet, and I stood there, frozen. There was no way I was going to attempt a full-body maneuver like that, not in front of him, and certainly not in front of his mother.
“It’s no use,” I said instead of duplicating the movement. “I’m a robot.”
Harriet laughed. “Awfully lifelike characteristics for a robot. Don’t let Michael fool you. When he started learning to salsa, you would have thought all his joints were glued together. He couldn’t move his hips, either.”
I smiled at Michael. “You talk a big game for someone who started out stiff like me.”
He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad. You expected me to be able to do all those things in the pool. I bet you weren’t so great at first, either.”
“Actually, I was a natural.”
Michael snorted and took up his place in front of me again, and I was happy that I’d managed to get out of attempting to roll my whole body in front of them, even though I was still completely unable to keep up with Michael’s hip movements.
“Okay, Miss Robot, now do the exact same thing but out to the side instead.” He nodded at me as if that should make perfect sense, and when he stepped out to his side, I went forward, and we slammed against each other.
“Sorry.” I was blushing all the way down to my ankles. Maybe the dancing hadn’t been such a great idea after all. There was a reason some people did it on TV and others didn’t do it at all.
Michael smiled at me. “You’re doing great. Here, let me show you.”
Both of his hands dropped to my waist, his fingers digging wonderfully against my bones, and I shivered.
“Cold?” he asked, and even though he was still gripping my waist, he was doing an excellent job of avoiding my eyes.
“Just a little,” I whispered. A lie.
He pressed into my hips on either side to show me which way to go, and once I had the step mostly down, he took my hands again, back into our earlier formation.
“You’re doing so well,” Harriet said from her chair, and I glanced over my shoulder at her. Her book was still open on her lap, but her eyes were fixed on us.
After we’d danced through a few songs, he stepped back from me. “Are you ready for a spin?”
My stomach jittered, and I let him lead me, showing me how to step under his arm, our hands twisting over each other as I spun around back to him.
“Okay, again.”
I spun again, but this time, he spun, too, maneuvering under my arm so smoothly that I almost missed it.
Beside us, Harriet clapped her hands. “You’re doing so good, Kate. You two work well together.”
There was something about the way she said it, you two, that made me pull away from Michael. The music kept going, but I turned away from him, my stomach feeling all hot and churny as I looked over at the clock on the wall, out of show as opposed to actual concern about the time. “I should probably get home. It’s getting late.” I couldn’t look at Harriet as I made my way to the door.
I was out the door before either of them could say anything, trying not to slam it behind me in my haste. I rushed into my apartment and shut the door as if the double layer of doors between us could fix whatever I’d broken.
When I lay in bed that night, all I could hear in my head was the sound of his voice counting, over and over.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Almost like counting swim strokes.
Eleven
It was an hour and a half drive from our spot in the parking garage to the aquatics center where my old high school held their swim meets. I took a spot in the stands as soon as the first race began, finding a place where I could let the people in front of me, a very enthusiastic group of adults, hide me from the room. I didn’t want my father to accidentally catch a glimpse of me, even though he wasn’t much one for scanning the stands.
My eyes traveled the room, the huge pool and the swimmers from the other team crowded around it, people in bodysuits waiting to warm up and their parents whispering in their ears. I scanned all the way to the end of the stands. I hadn’t seen Harris when I came in, even though a handful of swimmers from the girls’ and boys’ teams were lounging by the starting blocks. For just a second, my eyes froze on them. They smiled and joked and some of them stretched, and it felt strange to be up here instead of down there. I’d never known life in the stands, and now I’d never be down there again.
I snapped myself out of it when I realized Harris was already on the block. They were starting with the relay, and I’d completely forgotten that he’d said h
e was swimming the event. Harris was a strong swimmer when he set his mind to it, but he’d never been able to outswim the other guys for a spot on the relay. They called the shot, and Harris dove into the pool.
I watched in shock as Harris pulled out in front, giving the team a significant lead that had them finishing far ahead of everyone else. Cal, always the last man on the medley, came out in an easy win, and while everyone else cheered, I watched as the other guys on the team patted Cal and Harris on the back and high-fived them.
I just stared at Harris. Way past six feet tall, he’d always been my giant best friend who could swing me over his shoulder with one arm, but this was different. His biceps bulged, his chest was solid, and I could see every muscle in his abdomen. He’d said he wasn’t lifting, but he looked bigger to me.
My father approached him. I knew neither one of them was paying attention to the stands, but I still hunkered down behind the group in front of me until I was certain they wouldn’t see me. I recognized their serious expressions, had experienced those small talks on many occasions. My father would take me aside and tell me quietly what weaknesses he’d spotted in the other team, what was wrong with my form, how I could pull ahead. Fixing, always fixing, to make sure I had the best time. I watched them now and felt something unpleasant collect behind my chest bone.
Harris put his sweatpants back on, leaving a damp mark around his middle. He watched the girls’ medley without wavering, his eyes glued to the pool. I’d never seen him that interested in results. We were usually on the sidelines making fools of ourselves until my father got angry.
And then Harris glanced up at the stands.
I couldn’t even bring myself to hide because I’d missed him so much. I saw the moment he recognized me. His eyes swept the stands, springing right by me until they came back with a double take, landing on me. Without worrying how it would look to anyone else, he raised a hand and waved. I waved back excitedly, but my joy was short-lived. My father caught Harris waving and searched the stands. When his eyes found me, I half expected him to smile, to actually be happy to see me.
How to Breathe Underwater Page 11