Breath Like Water

by Anna Jarzab

  “How would you like to fill your stomach with French fries?”

  “Yes! I’m starving. Diner?”

  Harry nods. I feel my phone buzz with a text message. It’s from Mom.

  Hope you’re having fun, it reads. Be home by 11.

  My parents are a bit wary of the whole our baby girl is dating thing, even though Nina’s had several boyfriends in the past few years, so they should be used to it. Nina’s the impulsive one, the type of kid to run into the street after a ball without looking, always pushing back against the rules and testing the limits of my parents’ patience. Even so, they’re much more protective of me.

  Maybe it’s because I’m younger, or because they think I’m more sensitive, but I think it’s because I’ve spent most of my life under the bell jar of the natatorium’s thick glass walls. They have faith that I’m safe in it, and that I would never leave it. Now that I’m building something outside of it, they’re not sure what to do.

  They trust me, I know, but I can almost hear Mom’s worry vibrating through the phone. I assure her I’ll make curfew and put the phone away.

  * * *

  The diner is a lot more crowded than it usually is when we go on Sunday mornings, but by now we’re friendly with the staff. Lucille, our favorite waitress, gives us a booth by the window.

  We already know what we want to eat, so we order immediately, then sit across the table from each other with giant smiles on our faces. Harry and I see each other every single day in the pool, but that in no way diminishes the specialness of these rare moments when it’s just us.

  Harry takes my hand at the same time I nudge his feet under the table with my toes. He laughs.

  “Presents?” I ask, fumbling in my backpack for his gift one-handed.

  “Presents,” Harry says.

  He carried a gift bag overflowing with red and white tissue paper into the diner with him, and he hands it to me now. I slide his wrapped gift across the table. He gives it a funny look, but when I ask what’s wrong, he tells me it’s nothing.

  “You go first,” I say.

  I’m nervous, wondering if he’ll like what I got him or not. I found it via a social media ad, and when I initially saw it, I thought it was perfect, but now I’m second-guessing. He’s never been as into swimming as me. Maybe I’ve committed the cardinal holiday sin of buying something for someone else because I wanted it for myself.

  He tears the wrapping paper off and pulls out a black leather notebook. It has his initials embossed in gold across the front. He stares at it for a second in shock, then starts to laugh.

  “It’s a swim log,” I say. “You use it to keep track of your times and splits and workouts... You don’t like it? It’s okay. I can...well, I don’t think I can return it because it’s customized, but I can get you something else—”

  “No, no, Susie, I love it,” Harry says. “That’s not it—how about you open your gift now?”

  The bag is huge, the type you’d get at a department store if you bought a lot of stuff, and it’s crammed full of tissue paper, so I’m expecting his gift to me to be large, but I keep pulling out pieces of tissue. Just when I think this is a joke and the bag is actually empty, I see a flat, rectangular black object lying at the bottom.

  It’s a black leather notebook, with my initials embossed in gold across the front.

  “We got each other the same thing,” I say, flipping through the pages. I look up at him. “How did we manage to get each other the exact same Christmas gift?”

  He smirks. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say we got served the same ad.”

  I laugh. “Way to take the magic out of it.”

  “Do you like it?” he asks. His expression softens, and I realize he was as nervous as I was about getting the right gift.

  “Are you kidding? I love it. Do you like yours?”

  Harry nods. “I do. But actually...”

  He hands me the notebook I gave him and takes back the one he gave me.

  “We should switch,” he explains. “That way, I can track all your splits and times while you’re in the pool, and you can track mine. We do it in our heads, anyway. Might as well have some place to write it down.”

  “Great idea,” I say.

  Suddenly, he gets up out of his seat and slides into my side of the booth.

  “You know what’s a great idea?” he whispers, tucking a curl behind my ear and brushing the tip of his nose against mine. I swallow hard. I feel like I’m dissolving. “This.”

  He takes my lips in a slow, luxurious kiss. I brace my hand on his chest and feel his heart beating hard and fast in the center of my palm. I don’t even care that we’re in public, that dozens of people could be watching. He’s here, and so am I, and we’re kissing—that’s all that matters.

  Thoughts fly out of my head like dandelion seeds in a strong breeze, coasting away gently until the only things I can focus on are physical: the warmth of his skin, the soft slip of his hair sifting through my fingers, the taste of his mouth—minty fresh, like he just popped an Altoid, which he probably did.

  I love kissing Harry. He’s the first boy I ever really kissed like this, and I wonder if every boy kisses like this, then think that’s probably not the case, which is a shame. The best way I’ve come up with to describe how Harry kisses is that he does it with joy. Like every tug of his lips is a moment of happy discovery, every gentle slide of his tongue against mine a delightful surprise. The playfulness that Harry brings to most things in his life is on full display in his kisses.

  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of this feeling. The closest I’ve come to it before was in the water, back when I was fast—that overpowering sense of rightness, of belonging to something bigger than myself. It’s as overwhelming as it is exhilarating, but I throw caution out the window and let myself drown.

  When we pull apart, I can hear the heavy sound of my own straining breath. It’s kind of embarrassing. Harry notices, too, and grins. I punch him softly in the arm.

  “Always so pleased with yourself,” I scold him, laughing.

  He leans back against the booth and puts his hands behind his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a delight.”

  “Oh. Harry. Hi.”

  Fee is standing at the edge of our table. She seems uncomfortable intruding on what was obviously a private moment, but she doesn’t leave. If I were in a more cynical mood, I’d think she was trying to interrupt us.

  “Hey, Fee,” he says, sitting up straight and shifting a few inches away from me. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Are you here with Val and them?”

  She nods and points to a table behind us. “They’re over there.”

  “You remember Susannah, right?” He turns to me and widens his eyes in a silent plea. I smile at Fee and give her a small wave.

  “Hi again,” I say.

  “Of course. Nice to see you. I hope your ears are okay? No more infection?”

  She taps her own ear, like I might not know what they are. I almost tell her that I didn’t have an infection—the drops were preventative—but I stop myself. It doesn’t matter.

  “All good,” I say.

  Fee forces a smile. “I’m glad. Anyway, I didn’t mean to bother you. I was just surprised to see you, Harry. I hadn’t heard from you in a while.”

  He shrugs all casual like, What can you do? “Swimming.”

  “Right. Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe at Tuck’s sometime soon?”

  There’s a painful note of hope in her voice. I feel bad for her. She clearly likes Harry a lot, and I know what that’s like. Doesn’t mean I want her to stick around, though. I slip my arm through Harry’s, feeling suddenly possessive.

  “Maybe,” he says. His expression brightens as Lucille approaches the table. “Oh, hey, food!”

 
; Fee disappears, or maybe we’re so hungry we stop noticing her once Lucille puts our plates in front of us. Harry sits next to me while we eat, talking a mile a minute about the new superhero movie trailer that just dropped, the Gwar concert he and Tucker are going to next weekend, the books he’s reading in his AP English class. Not even the shyest person in the world could have a meal with Harry and resist being drawn in. He’s a conversational riptide, and I float happily along in his wake, enjoying the sound of his voice as he describes in detail the expanded Marvel universe between bites of his burger. We do not discuss Fee.

  Harry insists on paying for dinner.

  “It’s our first official date, Susie,” he says when I try to argue. “Let me take you out.”

  I agree with some reluctance, though secretly I’m pleased. Things have changed since Harry and I got together—there’s one hundred percent more kissing, which I particularly enjoy—but in some ways our relationship isn’t all that different than before.

  Paying for a date, though: that’s something significant others do. And if Harry is anything to me, it’s significant. Harry is my boyfriend. The thought fills me with what can only be described as glee.

  Before we leave, I use the restroom. When I come out of the stall, Fee is standing by the sinks. It’s probably a coincidence, but it feels like she’s been waiting for me.

  “Oh. Hey.” I wash my hands, pretending not to notice the way she’s chewing her lip, as if she’s trying to get up the courage to say something.

  “So...you and Harry, huh?” she says. “I thought he liked you, but I couldn’t tell for sure.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I go with a highly articulate, “Yeah.”

  “That’s great for him. For you both, I mean. Harry deserves to be happy.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Thanks? What am I thanking her for? Being nice about it, I guess, since it doesn’t seem like the thought of Harry and me dating makes her very happy.

  “It’s just, that, like—has Harry told you about his, you know...issues?”

  I keep washing my hands, though they’re plenty clean by now, determined not to act surprised. What does she mean by “issues”?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, snatching a few paper towels from a dispenser.

  Fee looks at the ground. She seems a tiny bit ashamed, but she pushes forward.

  “There are a lot of rumors about him. People told me things back when he and I were... I don’t know how much is true and how much is made up. Lots of people don’t like him.”

  “Are we talking about the same Harry?” I ask. Sure, maybe a few people—like Jessa, and of course Dave—find Harry’s good-natured mischief-making annoying, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say anyone actively dislikes him.

  “I know he seems like this super-chill, cheerful guy,” Fee says, “but you know that’s all fake, right? Or at least some of it is. That’s the side of him he wants everybody to see, but he’s got others.”

  “Nobody is one thing all the time,” I tell her. Like, I can be uptight and single-minded and stubborn, but when I’m around Harry, my heart feels lighter, and the oppressive force of my expectations for myself are much easier to bear.

  With him, I’m discovering a part of myself that’s hopeful and optimistic. The other day, Nina caught me singing to myself and insisted on checking me for a fever.

  “Sure,” Fee admits. “But with Harry, it’s different. He hides stuff. Haven’t you noticed? You will. He disappears for days and then lies about where he’s been. He pulls away and won’t say why. It’s why I broke up with him in the first place. I didn’t trust him.”

  “You broke up with him?” I ask. “But don’t you want—”

  I strangle the thought midsentence. It seems rude to imply she’s still interested in him, though I’m certain she is. If she wants to get back together with Harry, she can’t possibly mean any of this. Unless she’s saying it to make me doubt him, hoping I’ll break up with him. But, all evidence to the contrary, Fee doesn’t strike me as a manipulative snake.

  Fee sighs. “It’s complicated. Anyway, I thought I should warn you.”

  “You haven’t really told me anything,” I point out.

  I can feel my face getting red. I don’t know why I’m the one who’s mortified here, but I feel foolish, because I have noticed how secretive Harry is.

  “I guess I feel like I don’t have a right to tell you anything specific,” she says. “Harry should do that. But he won’t. Talk to Tuck. Maybe he will.”

  I don’t respond to that, and I don’t think she expects me to, because she leaves. I wait in the bathroom for several minutes, praying that by the time I come out, Fee will be gone.

  Thankfully, I don’t see her as I walk back through the diner on the way to our table, where Harry is doing something with his phone. Could he be texting another girl? Is he texting Fee right now?

  Because that was her implication, as far as I could tell—that Harry isn’t faithful. What other reason would there be for him to go radio silent and then lie about it?

  Harry looks up at me with a grin. “There you are! I thought maybe you fell in.”

  There’s not a nonembarrassing yet still plausible explanation for a prolonged bathroom break, so I roll my eyes and reach past him to grab my coat.

  “Ready to go?” I ask.

  “Everything okay?” he asks warily.

  I smile and nod. For the first time since we started to become friends, all I want is to get away from him. I need some time by myself to think through what Fee said.

  Maybe I should tell Harry what happened. He should know that someone he considers a friend is talking about him behind his back. But it would hurt him. And, much as I hate to admit it, while some of what she said seems ridiculous, some of it struck a chord.

  As Harry takes my hand and tugs me toward the door, I decide not to say a word about it to him until I know how much of what Fee told me—if any of it—is true.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  164 days until US Olympic Team Trials

  “WHAT UP, STALKER?”

  We’re standing outside the room where Tucker has fourth period study hall. This is the third time I’ve tried to approach him one-on-one this week—the other two times, I chickened out. I didn’t think he saw me, but I might’ve been wrong about that.

  I don’t know what to think about Tuck. The fact that he’s Harry’s friend makes me inclined to like him, but he’s not super nice to me. I can’t tell if it’s because he resents that Harry spends more time with me than with him, or if he finds me annoying in general, but whatever the reason, I get a vibe he prefers it when I’m not around.

  Which makes standing here with him now feel weird. I can’t stop fidgeting with the strap of my bag. It occurs to me that he probably knows Jessa better than he knows me, since they have that class together and I guess they’ve been talking a lot.

  Maybe I should’ve asked her to come along as a buffer, but I didn’t want to tell her about my conversation with Fee. I only confided in Amber. She’s way less judgmental about...well, pretty much everything, though she did discourage me from going behind Harry’s back and interrogating his friends.

  “Would you like it if he randomly came up to me, or God forbid Jessa, and started asking us all kinds of personal questions about you?” she asked.

  I’d hate to think Harry wouldn’t trust me enough to ask me something like that straight out. But this isn’t about trust. This is about not hurting Harry. I don’t want him to think I believe a single word Fee said about him—and I don’t—but I’m a worrier. And Fee made me worry.

  Because he does disappear without explanation. He does go out of his way to pretend everything’s perfect, even when I know it isn’t. He does hide behind grand gestures and flippant banter. What does all of that mean?
/>
  Tucker waves his hand in front of my eyes to get my attention.

  “Susannah? Can I help you?”

  My mouth is dry. I clear my throat and ask, “Do you want to have lunch?”

  Tuck’s eyebrows shoot up so far they’re practically touching his hairline. “Just you and me?”

  “Is that weird?” I ask, feeling stupid.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, but I don’t mind weird. Let’s go. They’ve got nachos on the menu today.”

  Once we have our nachos, Tucker and I seek out an empty table in the busy cafeteria. He nods at a small round one in a quiet corner and we sit down across from each other.

  “So,” Tuck says, spooning a heap of sour cream, guacamole and cheese into his mouth with a giant tortilla chip. “What did Harry do now?”

  I take a deep breath, struck by the realization he’s had conversations like this with other girls.

  “Well, I guess that tells me a lot,” I say.

  “Eh, not really,” Tucker replies around a mouthful of food. “It’s not his fault. He’s so friendly girls sometimes think he’s into them when he’s not. And once they figure that out, who do they come running to for advice?”

  “You,” I say.

  Tucker bows without getting up from his chair, then shoves another chip into his mouth.

  “He’s into you, though,” he says. “In case that’s what this is about.”

  “I know Harry likes me,” I tell him.

  “Then why are you here?” He squints at me. “You don’t want help breaking things off with him, do you? Because I’m not the guy for that.”

  “What? No!”

  “Okay. That’s happened before, too.”

  I feel the conversation turning in the direction I meant to take it myself, but part of me wishes it wouldn’t. Amber was right. I should’ve talked to Harry. But now I’m curious.

  “How come?” I ask.

  “Why does anybody break up with anybody?” When I don’t respond, he sighs. “I don’t know. Harry can be too...much, for some people.” Tucker narrows his eyes at me as I shift in my chair. Then he reaches across the table and flicks my untouched plate of nachos pointedly. “Why are we eating lunch together, Susannah?”