Breath Like Water

by Anna Jarzab

  “Wanting air is not the same thing as needing it,” she tells us.

  It’s embarrassing how long it takes me to understand what she’s trying to do, how she’s trying to free us from the net of accepted swim theory we’ve been trapped in since we were guppies. At first, all I feel is frustration and fear, and my performance in competition reflects that. But after a particularly lackluster invitational swim, Beth is quick to reassure me.

  “When you make such big changes, it’s like hitting a reset button. You’ll get faster once you adapt,” she says.

  As much as I like swimming for her, and as hopeful as I am about her methods, I’m worried I’ve ruined everything by taking this risk. If my big Beth gambit fails, what will I even have left?

  * * *

  “You’re getting stronger,” Harry says as we leave the JCC. After that weekend where he bailed on me, we resumed our routine like nothing happened, and he hasn’t done it again.

  On the other hand, he doesn’t flirt with me anymore, either. The October air is chilly, and even though I’m wearing a heavy sweatshirt, my wet hair is making me shiver, but he doesn’t offer me his fleece. I guess now that I’ve locked myself away in the friend zone, Harry’s decided to take the chivalry down a notch.

  I know I should be relieved by this, but I’m not. Why can’t I ever be grateful for what I have? Why do I always want more?

  “You think so?” I ask, hating how desperate I am for this morsel of praise. Harry takes his role as my unofficial stroke coach seriously and he’s full of critiques, most of which are helpful but still. I want him to think well of me.

  “Oh, yeah, I can tell the difference,” he says. “Your form is so much better. Not that it was bad before, you know, it’s just been...optimized. Maybe I should look into Pilates.”

  “Can’t hurt,” I reply with a smile. He doesn’t return it.

  “Hey, so...” he says when we reach his car. He spins his keys around on his finger. “I can’t get breakfast with you today. I’ve got to go home to shower and change.”

  “Oh. Okay, no worries,” I say. He unlocks the car doors and I slide into the passenger seat, tossing my bag over my shoulder into the back.

  “Big plans today?” I ask, hoping the question sounds casual.

  “Just hanging with Tucker. I haven’t been around much and I think he’s feeling neglected.”

  “What are you guys going to do?” I ask as he pulls out of the JCC parking lot. It’s not far from here to my house. I can feel my time with him slipping away. I wish he would ask me to join them.

  Harry shrugs. “Video games, probably. Nothing major.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  My phone chimes with a text from Jessa on our group chain with Amber: We’re going to Deer Park this afternoon. Not that I think you’ll say yes but do you wanna come?

  “I’ve got plans this afternoon, too,” I inform Harry.

  Ugh. It sounds like I’m lying to save face, which I sort of am, or like this is some sort of competition over who’s busier and more popular. I’m an idiot.

  But he’s barely even paying attention. We’re at a stoplight and he’s looking at a text he just got.

  “Cool,” he says, but I doubt he heard me.

  We reach my house a few minutes later. I climb out of the car and wave goodbye to Harry.

  “Have a good one, Susannah,” he calls through his open window as I trudge toward the house.

  I text Jessa that I’m in. Amber sends a bunch of balloons and party hat emojis in response. I get a fainting goat GIF from Jessa.

  It’s not until I’m halfway to my room that I realize: he called me Susannah.

  * * *

  “This place is a hellmouth,” I say as a group of moms nearly plow into us with their giant strollers. “How is this better than the real mall?”

  Deer Park is our town’s huge new outdoor shopping complex. Parking was practically impossible, and the sidewalks are so crowded that we’re forced to walk together in a single file line. The day is bright and sunny, but a cold wind slices through our down jackets. We have to keep walking and shopping just to stay warm.

  “It’s outside!” Jessa sips her giant white mocha and swings the shopping bags she’s accumulated in a wide arc that knocks Amber’s Cubs cap off her head. “Spending money is so much fun.”

  “Hey!” Amber cries, righting her cap. “Careful.”

  “Spending money is fun for you,” I say. The only thing I’ve bought is a box of ear dry drops at CVS because I ran out and the last thing I need is an infection. I never forget how much wealthier Jessa’s and Amber’s families are than mine, but it’s less conspicuous when we’re in the pool.

  “Hey, that’s right, you hate public places,” Amber says. “Not that we don’t love all your adorable grumbling and whatever, but how come you decided to come with us?”

  The truth is embarrassing, but I’m in a confessing mood.

  “Harry had plans after our workout today and I didn’t want him to think I was a friendless loser so I told him I did, too. And I didn’t want to lie, so...”

  “Gee, I’m so honored,” Jessa says. “The elusive Susannah Ramos deigns to hang out with us to fake out her fake boyfriend.”

  “Don’t be mean,” Amber says. “Can’t you see she’s heartsick?”

  “I’m not—Oh my God, guys, don’t look but it’s Harry.”

  Jessa grabs my arm. “He’s with Tucker. Did you know we’re in the same English class? I didn’t even realize that till after the party. Let’s say hi.”

  “Let’s not,” I beg. The last thing I need is for Jessa to insinuate something about my feelings for Harry because she thinks it’s funny to watch me squirm, which she would totally do.

  Harry and Tucker are sitting on the edge of a nearby fountain, and by the looks of it they’re trying to push each other into the empty pool. Tucker notices us and shouts Jessa’s name.

  “Yo! Hey! Come over,” he calls. Jessa drags me toward them by the elbow. Amber shoots me an I’m so sorry look, but it’s too late for her to rescue me.

  I smile at Harry, who looks pleased to see me, but wary, too. It becomes clear why a minute later, when three girls I don’t recognize join them at the fountain. One of them throws her arm around Harry’s shoulders and gives him a squeeze.

  I plaster that smile on my face and don’t let it waver, but inside I’m dying. He’s here with a girl.

  Tucker gives Jessa a hug and I shoot Amber a questioning look. She shrugs, but she doesn’t look surprised. Are Tucker and Jessa friends now? If so, she hasn’t told me. Or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention.

  “Hey, Susannah,” Tucker says. He glances at Amber. “You were at the party, right?”

  She nods and tells him her name, which he seems to have forgotten, then Tucker introduces us to the other girls.

  “This is Val, Hallie and Fiona,” he says, pointing to each one in turn. Fiona is the girl who’s got her arm around Harry. My Harry.

  No, not your Harry, Susannah—get it together. I smile at them, but Harry gives me a weird look.

  “Fee,” the girl says, pointing to herself. “Have you guys met Harry?”

  Jessa finally gets what’s going on here. She narrows her eyes at Fee.

  “Yeah, we’re on the same swim team,” she says in a tone that implies she thinks Fee is kind of stupid. Fee brightens.

  “Oh, that’s awesome,” Fee says. “Harry’s a great swimmer, but we’ve never met any of his friends from the team.” She gives Harry a light smack. “Always keeping secrets.”

  “The team is not a secret,” Harry mutters.

  “He refuses to tell us when any of the meets are,” Fee confides to me in a fake whisper. “We were together for months and he never let me see him swim.”

  “Then how do you know he’s a great swimmer?” Jessa
asks.

  “Look at him,” Fee says. “Plus, there’s all those medals he’s got in his room.”

  We were together for months. We were together for months. I guess I should’ve assumed Harry wasn’t always single, but he never mentioned any girlfriends to me.

  Were, were, were, I force myself to remember. As in, not together anymore. Right?

  But also: She’s been in his room. What did they do in there? Not homework, I’ll bet.

  Harry seems mortified.

  “The meet schedule is on the GAC website,” I tell Fee. “They’re open to the public. You could come whenever you want.”

  Fee grins at Harry. “Maybe I will.”

  “Thanks,” Harry says, glaring at me.

  “No problem.”

  “What’d you buy?” he asks me, nodding at my CVS bag.

  “Just some Swim-EAR,” I say. This is ridiculous. I need to leave. Harry looks like he’s thinking the same thing.

  “Oh, do you have swimmer’s ear? Harry gets that all the time,” Fee says, pinching his earlobe. It’s an unbearably intimate gesture. He closes his eyes for a second but doesn’t wince or pull away.

  “No.” I pretend I’ve received a text. I am so uncomfortable I want to crawl out of my skin. “My mom wants me home. Nice to meet you guys. See you in the pool, Harry.”

  I walk away without caring if my friends are behind me. I’ll hide out in a store and meet up with them later. I can’t be around Harry and his...girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Not for one second longer. But there’s a part of me that thinks, You did it again. You freaked and you bailed. What a coward.

  I feel a hand drop on my good shoulder.

  “Susannah,” Harry says.

  My breath catches in my throat and all the muscles in my back tighten. I turn, steeling myself. If I can pretend I don’t care about this, it’ll be over soon. Everything ends eventually, even pain. If nothing else, swimming has taught me that.

  “Hi!” I say. The sun is in my eyes, and I can’t see his expression. “So, Fee is nice. How come you don’t want her at meets?”

  “We’re friends,” he says. “We went out for a while, but I haven’t seen her in months. Tuck invited them. I didn’t even know they’d be here until they showed up. I didn’t blow you off for her.”

  “I didn’t think you did,” I tell him, nervously zipping and unzipping my coat. “Besides, we’re just friends, too.”

  He stiffens. “That’s right.”

  “So it doesn’t matter who you hang out with.”

  “Back there it seemed like it did a little.”

  “It doesn’t. But you should let her see you swim,” I say, because I really am so proud of him, of how good he is when he lets himself be. “Everyone who loves you should see you in the water.”

  “Okay,” he says, looking sort of confused. “Maybe.”

  I pat his arm in a friendly way. “See you later, Harry.”

  “Bye, Susannah.”

  My heart falls out of my chest and splatters onto the sidewalk like a water balloon. I wish he would go back to calling me Susie. But the thing that really breaks me is the realization that he touched my right shoulder, not my left, because the left is the one that always gives me trouble.

  Harry would never knowingly hurt me, not even to stop me from walking away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  225 days until US Olympic Team Trials

  “WHAT DID I tell you, Susannah?” Beth shouts happily, reeling me in for a hug.

  “That was incredible,” she tells me, rocking me back and forth. “You did such a great job.”

  When I pull back, we’re both grinning. I’m panting and dripping, too. I’ve just climbed out of the pool after winning my first 200 IM in competition since Beth took over my training.

  Coming in first is amazing, but we’re celebrating my time, which was good enough to put me on the roster for Winter Nationals. If I can hit the qualifying mark in the same event at that competition, I’m going to Trials. The California sky is bright blue and cloudless, and I feel like I could float right up into it.

  “Go warm down,” Beth says.

  I wait until I’m out of her sight range to massage my left shoulder. I didn’t feel any pain during the race—too much adrenaline and distraction—but now that it’s over, the damned thing is throbbing.

  No big deal, I think as I hop into the warm-down pool. When I get out of here, I’ll ice it and take some ibuprofen. Nothing so insignificant as a little discomfort is going to bring me down from this high.

  When I get back to my hotel room, I text Harry about my race results. He’s supposed to be here with the rest of us in California, but at the last minute he got sick—a bad flu, Dave said, but Harry never mentioned it to me. He’s been so distant since we ran into each other at Deer Park.

  Still, I send him my time, knowing he’ll get what I’m trying to tell him, then check my phone every five seconds hoping he’s messaged back.

  Finally, those three wavering dots pop up...then they subside. Then they pop up again...and disappear. I groan and fling myself across the bed. The high is gone. I might as well go to sleep.

  Finally, my phone chimes. I fumble for it, but when I pull up his message, all it says is: !

  “A single exclamation point?” I shout.

  I’m sharing a room with Amber, who chooses this moment to walk in.

  “Whoa, what did that phone do to you?” she asks.

  I shove it at her. When she sees Harry’s message, her eyes widen.

  “What a chump,” she says, letting the phone drop to the bed. “Don’t let it bother you. You’re going to Nationals. If he’s not happy for you, sucks for him.”

  “He’s one exclamation point’s worth of happy for me,” I mutter, covering my face with a pillow.

  “That time is worth two exclamation points at least,” she concurs. “I would’ve sent you three.”

  “That’s very generous of you, friend.”

  She slaps my hip. “Get up. We’re celebrating. Dinner’s on me. You can even order dessert.”

  “The team is paying for dinner,” I remind her.

  “Well, in that case, order two desserts.”

  * * *

  By the time we get back from California, Harry has recovered enough to return to practice, but he looks run-down. I feel terrible for him. The one time I had the flu, it flattened me for a week. We swim in adjacent lanes, but he’s clearly not up for our normal chatty banter. Maybe his minimal response to the text about my time means nothing, but I’m afraid that he might be mad at me.

  I dress in a hurry after practice, forgoing a shower, and hustle out to the hallway to wait for him outside the men’s locker room. It takes him a long time to appear—it seems like every single member of GAC has left by the time he emerges—and I realize too late that he was probably trying to avoid me.

  “Hey,” he says. He looks uncomfortable. “What’s up? Do you need a ride?”

  I gather up all my confidence and say: “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you’re upset with me or not.”

  “Oh.” He shifts his bag from one shoulder to the other and leans against the doorjamb, staring over my shoulder at the wall behind me. “I’m not.”

  “Come on. I know something’s up. Just talk to me.”

  There’s a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I’ve swallowed a diving brick and it’s dragging me under. That awkward encounter at the shopping center was not my finest moment. Every time we seem to be on solid ground, I panic and run away. If he’s mad about that, I can’t blame him. If I keep doing it, how can he trust me?

  “I’ll drive you home,” he says, pushing off the wall. “We can talk in the car.”

  But once we’re on the road, he doesn’t explain, or even
bring the topic back up. I have to do it.

  “So...?”

  He drags his hand down the side of his face. “Sorry, I haven’t been feeling well. It’s hard to text when you’re puking your guts out.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Harry shoots me a look. “I was sick. Thanks for the Get Well Soon card, by the way.”

  Shit, he’s right. I didn’t even bother to check in and ask how he was feeling. I just threw a number at him over text and expected him to shower me with praise on cue. I am such an asshole.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I was thinking about you the whole time. I missed you in California.”

  “You did?”

  “Of course. I miss you all the time when you’re not around...sometimes even when you are.”

  It strikes me only after the fact that this is a dangerous thing to say. I feel as if my heart has fallen out of my body, like it’s dangling from my chest like a puppet on strings. All it would take is one smack from Harry to send it flying right out the open window to be crushed under his tires like roadkill.

  “You do?” he asks, concentrating on the road. His whole body is tense and he’s gripping the steering wheel like he’s trying to choke it to death.

  He’s so nervous, and all I want is to comfort him. I put a hand on his knee. He flinches.

  “Please don’t touch me,” he says—not meanly, but with great force.

  I snatch my hand back. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  We used to touch each other all the time—correcting each other’s form, helping each other wrap ice around aching joints, fixing each other’s caps—and he never seemed to mind. Something really has changed between us, and I’m worried there’s no going back.

  He sighs. “I can’t fake this ‘just friends’ thing anymore. It’s too hard. I’m a mess.”