All the While (Senior Semester #3)

by Gina Azzi

  AUGUST

  Chapter Four

  Maura

  “Are you awake?” Mia’s whisper cuts through the silence of her childhood bedroom. She’s sitting up slightly, her elbow propped against the pillows resting in front of her headboard.

  “Who?” Lila asks sleepily.

  “Any of you?” Mia whispers.

  “Why are you whispering? We’re all obviously awake.” Emma’s voice booms loudly. She sits up in bed next to Mia. I can just make out her shadowy silhouette from my spot on the air mattress at the foot of the bed. “Right, Maura?”

  “I am now,” I answer.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea?” Mia asks.

  “What?” Lila asks, now sitting up next to me. The mattress dips dangerously low on my side as she shifts her weight. She runs her fingers through her golden waves lazily. “Is what a good idea?”

  “Going to Rome?” Mia’s voice is still a whisper.

  “Yes!” We all exclaim in unison. Lila flops back down next to me and the air mattress lurches under my shoulder blades.

  “It’s going to be great, Mia, you’ll see,” Emma says reassuringly. “This semester, it’s going to be epic. We’re all going on such exciting adventures!” Her voice is alive with the anticipation of the future, of the unknown. An awkward silence settles quickly as my best friends, Mia, Emma, and Lila, all acknowledge that I’m not going on an adventure.

  I’m not going anywhere.

  “And you’re going to win Dad Vail this year!” Emma tries, overcompensating with her eagerness.

  I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. “Yeah, it will be great.” I barely mask the sarcasm.

  “Seriously, Maura,” Lila picks up where Emma leaves off, “the pact … it’s about pushing past our comfort zones, erasing some of those boundaries that have been restricting us. It’s just about having some fun and letting go, for one semester. You can do that from anywhere.” Her voice holds a note of a challenge that I’d rather ignore.

  Stupid pact. We all agreed earlier in the evening, while eating pizza and drinking sangria at Dante’s, one of Mia’s favorite restaurants on the Upper West Side, New York, that we would live it up this semester. Be wild, be courageous, be brave, try new things, blah, blah, blah. And it makes sense. It really does … if you’re Mia, Emma, or Lila. They’re going on real adventures, leaving McShain behind. They’re starting new chapters with new people in new places. Tomorrow morning Mia flies to Rome for to study abroad, living the dream her own mother never had the chance to. Emma is heading to Washington, D.C. soon for an internship on Capitol Hill, preparing for a future in government like she’s always aspired to. And Lila, who keeps joking about the killer tan she’s going to sport and the hot guys she’s going to meet, is participating in a medical internship through Astor University in California. They’re all going on adventures, already pushing past their comfort zones, moving the invisible lines that demarcate their self-imposed boundaries.

  But I’m not.

  Nope. Not me.

  I’m heading back to our campus at McShain University, still in Philadelphia, back to rowing. I’m not being wild, or courageous, or brave. Unless you count hitting up my old neighborhood to slum it with some of the guys, like Hector, who I know still kick it there.

  Sighing heavily, I turn over so Lila won’t detect the hint of tears in my eyes. I’m going to be lost without these girls. Even at my worst, things seem manageable when they’re around to keep me in check. But now, with all of them gone and wrapped up in the excitement of the new lives they’re living, I really will be on my own. Completely alone.

  “Sure,” I say into the silence, trying to sound confident.

  No one buys it.

  Mia reaches over to her nightstand and turns on her reading lamp. The light bathes half her face in a warm glow. She smiles at me reassuringly. “Trust me, Maura, if I can manage to get on a plane to Rome tomorrow morning, you can have an incredible semester and an even better start to the season.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  Because this is what I’ve been waiting for, right? This is what I always wanted. Isn’t it? This year, this season, is the culmination of everything I’ve ever worked for: endless hours of practice in the freezing rain, summer camps, two-a-days, torn hands coated with blisters the size of grapes, stress fractures layering my ribs. All of it was for this season so McShain University’s women’s rowing would be the best, number one, team in the United States.

  It’s what we always dreamed about. My twin brother Adrian and I. He rowed for LaFarge University, also in Philadelphia. Being near him is one of the reasons I chose to attend McShain. That, and the full-ride scholarship. Still, being close to Adrian was an important determining factor. I mean, we’re twins; we’ve practically been joined at the hip since before we were born. It’s funny, really, people always think twins have some sort of special connection or bond. I never really thought about it before or gave the idea much merit. Except now that he really is gone, it’s as if half of me is missing. We did have a lot of the same goals, the same taste in music and movies, the same sense of humor. We spent our whole lives growing together, and I don’t want to keep moving forward on my own. Alone.

  Now that he’s gone, I don’t know how to keep holding on to half a dream.

  Moments of silence tick by, and soon I hear Emma’s soft snore. Lila snorts next to me, and Mia laughs aloud. I keep my eyes closed and feign sleep as they continue talking about their semesters in new places, their expectations, their nerves. I can’t believe this is our senior year of college. Suddenly, it seems like it all went by way too quickly. Somehow, without even realizing it, we grew into adults.

  Mia, Emma, Lila, and I were grouped together in a quad our freshman year. I didn’t know what to make of them the first time I saw them. They were beautiful, smart, ambitious, and knew they were supposed to be at McShain. They all held themselves with a confidence I’d never detected in such young people before, as if they already knew their place in the world.

  I was a scholarship kid. I was an athlete. I had to fight my way to a McShain acceptance. I was born and raised in a poor suburb of Philly; my dad is a mechanic and my mom is a social worker. Adrian and I were a happy surprise: two kids for the effort of one. Mom and Dad struggled to make ends meet, but they always encouraged us to chase our dreams. When Adrian started rowing for our middle school at age twelve, I wanted in. Except our school only had a boy’s rowing team. I petitioned the school, and Adrian and his buddies backed me up. Soon, I was the only girl rowing in a boy’s eight, meaning there were eight members in the boat, for five counties.

  I was tough; I had to be. I was strong, stronger than most boys I knew. And I had a mouth filthier than any young girl should. But I was hardworking and disciplined and committed. And everyone knew it.

  It wasn’t until the McShain rowing team’s initiation my freshman year that I gave up that discipline for one night. I played drinking games, I did shots off an ice luge, I partied. And I got absolutely wasted. Stumbling back to the dorms as a hot mess, Lila, Emma, and Mia were forced to take care of me. Luckily that night, the one with me heaving over the toilet bowl, forged the beginning of a friendship between the four of us. The next morning I took the girls to breakfast as a thank you, and after that first day we were inseparable for the next three years. Sure, I always had the girls from my team, but Lila, Mia, and Emma were different. They were my friends because of me, not because of rowing.

  And now, we’re all going our own ways for the semester. And I’m staying in Philadelphia.

  Without them.

  And without Adrian.

  Chapter Five

  Zack

  The moment my plane touches down in Philadelphia, I feel unsettled. It’s strange being back in the place I consider home ten months of the year but now seems foreign to me, as if I don’t belong here. I know this year is going to be completely different. How could it not? Still, I’m not prepared for the old memories that b
ubble up when I step out of the airport and breathe in the city air.

  I almost laugh to myself, remembering the first time I landed in Philadelphia for the start of my freshman year. Looking back now, I’m still amazed that I even had the balls to leave Nebraska behind for a chance at life in a big city. I was a nervous wreck those first few days, wondering if I would fit in, if I would make friends, if I would be homesick. Then I became friends with Adrian and everything changed.

  Adrian was my best friend. For three years, he was also my roommate. And he is the reason I even tried out for LaFarge’s rowing team in the first place. At the start of freshmen year, I didn’t know a soul. Coming from a small town several hours outside of Omaha, Nebraska, to the private liberal arts school nestled in the heart of Philadelphia, this wasn’t a surprise. Most of the students here matriculated from the northeast. I figured I would get in with the guys from the lacrosse team; lax was always my go-to sport. Adrian changed my mind.

  I was assigned to a dorm room with Adrian. I thought he was Mexican. And when I asked, he laughed so hard I thought he was going to cough up a lung. “Puerto Rican, man.” He responded, tossing a gym bag over his shoulder and letting the door bang closed behind him.

  Feeling bad for being so small town and making an assumption, when I hit up Wendy’s that night for dinner, I brought him back some burgers and fries and left them on his desk. The next morning he asked if I had ever rowed before. “You should try out, man. You’ve got the build for it.”

  So I did.

  And as the days rolled into weeks which turned into months, I became a Division One collegiate rower.

  Adrian Rodriguez became my best friend, my brother.

  And then I fucking killed him.

  Now rowing is a curse I have to endure. Daily.

  Except I can’t stop because this year, I have to win Dad Vail.

  For him.

  * * *

  “Dig in! Faster! Keep it up!” Jen, our coxswain—the person who navigates our boat while also yelling out encouragement and instructions—shouts loudly, hitting the side of the boat with her palm.

  I tug on the oar, pushing up into the catch. Keeping my head straight, I barely blink as I stare at the back of Henry Pierce’s head. He wears a visor, his black hair sticking up at odd angles. Adrian always wore a baseball cap. It’s strange, feels all wrong. I’ve stared at the back of Adrian Rodriguez’s head for three years. He always sat six seat; I sat five. That’s the way it’s always been.

  Now that the whole team is back for the start of training, it’s obvious that we’re all struggling to redefine our new normal without Adrian in the boat. Our boat, also called a shell, sits eight guys plus the coxswain. We’re practically like a family. We train together, share meals together, some of us even live together.

  The whole practice, the boat feels off. Heavier, as if we’re dragging in the water. Of course a big part of that is because we’ve all slacked off during the summer and aren’t in the shape we were last May. We need to find our rhythm again, get back in sync after two months apart. But deep down we all know that it’s because Adrian isn’t with us. And his loss weighs us down regardless.

  * * *

  When I return to my dorm room, my phone alerts me to three new voicemails. I feel obligated to check them, even though I already know who they’re from. My sister, the only person who insists on leaving voicemails.

  I type in the code and sure enough Nicole’s voice floods through the speaker.

  “Hey, it’s me. Just calling to see what’s going on. Call me back so we can catch up. Miss you.”

  I groan inwardly and quickly delete the next two messages. I love my sister, I really do, but ever since Adrian’s passing last spring, all she does is check up on me. And I’m fine. At least, I’m getting there. Losing your best friend at any age isn’t easy, but it’s particularly difficult when he was only twenty-one, a really good guy, and you know you could have prevented it. Should have stopped it from happening.

  Tossing my phone onto my desk, I peel off my sweaty T-shirt and shorts from practice and jump into the shower, ignoring Nicole’s phone calls, messages from my friends, and the pre-class readings and assignments already flagged on online.

  Sometimes, it’s just easier to ignore everyone.

  * * *

  That afternoon I scan the list of assignments on online. Now that it’s my senior year, all of my major courses are at the advanced level, which means pre-class assignments. Being an Architecture major isn’t exactly easy, but I enjoy it and have stuck it out despite the heavy commitment required by crew. While the other members on my team are ready to float through senior year with a course load of electives, I’ve got my capstone to prepare for and it seems like the work has already started. In August.

  I can’t blow this year off or let my GPA slip, not if I’m planning to attend graduate school next year. Or land a sick gig in Manhattan at a big architecture firm. My stomach drops as I recall all of the plans Adrian and I had for after graduation. It seems wrong sometimes, to think of my next moves without him, but I know I have to move forward. And I need to do one of those two things because moving back to Nebraska isn’t an option I want to consider. I left my small town to grow beyond the seventy kids I graduated high school with and leave the expectations of my neighbors behind. I have zero intentions of saddling myself with a wife, a mortgage, two point five kids, and a dog by the time I’m twenty-five. No, I need to make my academic performance this year stellar so I have options when I graduate that don’t include ranching at my uncle’s ranch.

  Deciding to ignore the assignments a bit longer, especially since procrastination has always been an area in which I excel, I log onto Facebook. The first photo that appears on my Newsfeed is Maura Rodriguez. I inhale sharply, I can’t help it. She looks so similar to Adrian; even though they obviously aren’t identical twins, the shape of their eyes, the determination glaring from them, is exact. She’s smiling in a photo with her three best friends and while her friends’ faces glow and shine openly, there’s something about Maura’s smile that seems sinister. She’s still grieving. Hell, I’m still grieving, but the pain in her eyes tugs at something in my chest anyway. Knowing I’m responsible for putting it there causes a ball of anger to burn in my stomach.

  I haven’t seen Maura since Adrian’s funeral. I messaged her a few times over the summer, but she never responded. Even though I’ve chilled with Maura tons of times, she was always Adrian’s sidekick; it was strange to reach out to her without Adrian as a buffer.

  All through college she was a fixture in our dorm room. She was usually rowing at the same regattas as us, and she always cheered for our boat. We’ve crossed paths at the same parties, been to a few group dinners together, I’ve slept at her family home more times than I can count, bumping into her on my way to the coffee pot in the morning, but we’ve never hung out one-on-one. Still, I want to wrap her in a big hug after seeing her frozen smile and sad eyes in this photo. Now all thoughts of starting my assignments are forgotten.

  Instead, I grab some headphones and my car keys to head down to Boathouse Row. Maybe a run will clear my head.

  Chapter Six

  Maura

  My bags thump loudly on the ground as I struggle to unlock the door to my dorm this semester. It’s a single. For the first time ever, I’m living all alone, which I guess is a good thing considering the odd hours I keep to make rowing practice. The girls never seemed to mind but it’s a lot to ask of a stranger in her senior year.

  I kick my duffle bags farther into the room and place my laptop on the desk. I quickly unpack two framed photos: one of me and Adrian taken last Christmas (we’re both sporting ugly Christmas sweaters) and one of Mia, Lila, Emma, and me, taken just a few days ago in New York before Mia left for Rome. Emma already uploaded it to Facebook, tagging us all under the caption: On to new adventures, new beginnings, and an epic start to senior year! #seniorpact. Epic adventure my ass. I’m about to start the same p
hysically exhausting, mentally draining routine I’ve done for the last three years. The only thing changing on me will be the massive blisters that will shred my palms in the weeks to come. Big yay!

  Staring at the photos, the hollow bite of loneliness swells in my throat and causes tears to prick my eyes. My room is quiet; the entire dorm is quiet since most of the students won’t move in for another few days. I’m here early for crew. We start our heavy practice schedule tomorrow morning, bright and early. After several minutes of unpacking, the silence gets to me. Not wanting to be alone with my thoughts, with my loneliness any longer, I swipe my iPhone off my desk and plug in a pair of headphones. Grabbing one of Adrian’s old hats, a Toronto Blue Jays cap he got on a family trip to Niagara Falls when we were thirteen, I tuck my hair inside and pull the brim down low over my eyes. Locking the door behind me, I leave the dorm and step out into the bright sunshine. Tugging on a pair of sunglasses, I head in the direction of the river. To Boathouse Row. To a slew of memories of Adrian. To my home away from home.

  * * *

  Three miles into my run my legs are aching, my lower back throbs, and my tank top sticks to my chest and back. As much as my body is crying for me to stop, I have to push myself to do at least five miles. The ache feels good, reminds me that I’m in training, working toward something. Trying to distract myself, I look around, taking in the familiar sights of the running trail I’ve spent countless hours on over the past three years. The trees are still green, the river full of shells and sculls. Runners, bikers, and in-line skaters pass by in little bursts of energy, their colorful workout ensembles bright and summery. It’s a beautiful day and everyone is out enjoying the sunshine while summer lasts.

  At the four-and-a-half-mile marker, my shoelace becomes untied, a hot pink lace flopping back and forth over my shoe with each step. Rolling my eyes at myself for not double-knotting my laces, I begin to veer off the trail so I can stop and retie my shoes. As I slow to a jog, I step on the shoe lace and lunge forward, throwing my arms up to halt my face plant. Mere inches from hitting the ground, a solid arm shoots out and grabs me around my middle, pulling me into a chest of pure muscle.