Breath Like Water

by Anna Jarzab

  “Okay, get out of here,” Beth says. “Enjoy your night.”

  * * *

  “Can I tell you a secret?” I ask as we walk down the street to the beach hand in hand. We turn a corner and the water comes into view.

  “Is it scandalous?” he asks, eyes widening playfully.

  “I guess that depends on how easy you are to scandalize.”

  “Try me.”

  It’s a relief to see him so buoyant and cheerful. Just a few days ago, he was racked with anxiety over getting on a plane. He clutched the armrest in a death grip, wincing with his entire body every time the plane shook. I kept thinking about something Dad said to me on my first plane ride: The scary thing about turbulence is that it reminds you how fast you’re going. I told Harry this, but he did not find it comforting, so I gave him my hand to hold.

  We remove our flip-flops and step onto the beach. The air is spiced with the salty tang of the ocean. I take a deep breath, pulling as much of it as possible into my lungs. The waves hit the sand in a succession of muted crashes, casting white foam out like fingers. The beach is nearly empty; other than us, there are just a few people walking their dogs.

  The sand is cool against the soles of my feet, and slightly damp, even this far away from the water. I like the feel of it between my toes. It has the consistency of brown sugar, fine-grained and crumbly.

  “I’ve never gone swimming in the ocean before,” I confess.

  Harry lets out a theatrical gasp and clutches his chest, kicking up sand as he staggers backward like he’s been shot. I punch him in the arm, which probably hurts my knuckles more than his bicep.

  “We could remedy that,” he says, tugging the belt loops of my jeans. “What are you wearing under these pants?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “I would. I absolutely would.” He slips an arm around my waist and kisses my neck. “You’re going to show me someday, right?”

  My laugh is breathy and nervous. “You see me in almost nothing every day of the week!”

  Harry makes a fart noise with his mouth and gives me two thumbs-down. “Swimsuits are equipment. Underwear is...”

  He smiles instead of finishing his sentence. The look on his face is almost dreamy.

  “Underwear is what?”

  He gives it some thought before saying, “Sexy.”

  “Not the kind I wear.”

  Harry frowns. “Why do you make mean comments about how you look and dress? I don’t get it. It’s like you’re trying to convince me not to want you.”

  “No, that’s not it,” I insist. “I don’t know why I do it. I guess I...”

  “You guess you what?” he presses. “Susie, come on. Whatever you’re thinking, you don’t have to be embarrassed to say it to me. I told you something I tell almost nobody. I trusted you with the most private part of my life. Don’t you trust me?”

  “That’s so manipulative,” I tell him.

  “Is it working, though?”

  I sigh. “I’m really worried about having sex and I know you want to and I think I want to, too, but I’m not sure I’m ready and I’m also terrified of getting pregnant and—are you a virgin?”

  Harry shakes his head slowly. My heart cramps. I didn’t think he was, but getting confirmation of it is a different thing. Was it Fee? Was she his first?

  I almost ask, then decide I don’t want to know.

  “I want you to want me,” I say. Harry hums the opening bars of the Cheap Trick song. “But when you talk about sex, even if you’re joking, I get all worried about doing it and being ready for it and being bad at it and...sex is a big deal to me.”

  “It’s a big deal to me, too,” he says, staring at the ground. My stomach sinks. I feel terrible, like I’ve ruined everything and hurt him.

  “You asked,” I say. “I’m just being honest.”

  “No, it’s good,” he says. His shoulders relax and he smiles at me. “I’m glad you told me.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re not ready to have sex. That’s okay, I can wait. And I’ll stop bringing it up even as a joke if you don’t like it. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You’re ready now?”

  “I feel ready. I mean, I love you, Susie. I have for months. And I’m not in your same situation, where it’s my first time. I’ve done it before, so I’m less scared.” He pauses. “But so we’re clear, I’m not not scared. If we have sex, when we have sex, it’s not going to be just any girl. It’s going to be you. I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “You love me?”

  “Did you even hear anything else I said?”

  “Nope, I pretty much stopped listening after that.” I’m so happy to hear those words, if I were a cartoon I’d have hearts for eyes. “Did you mean it?”

  “Of course I mean it!”

  He reaches for me and presses his mouth to mine, gently teasing my lips apart. When our tongues touch, it’s like a shock, like being hit by lightning. I’m tingling from my head to my toes. If sex is even half as nice as kissing, maybe we should do it right now.

  We’re both breathing hard, staring at each other. A smile breaks over his face.

  “I love you, Susie,” he whispers. He closes his eyes, as if it’s too hard to look at me right now.

  I kiss his eyelids. “After Trials. If we can table it until then, I think I might...”

  He groans. “You don’t need to give yourself a deadline for sex.”

  “I like deadlines,” I tell him. “They work for me.”

  “I know, but it’s not something you have to schedule. We can take it as it comes.” He squints at me in the fading light. “Right now, we have a bigger problem.”

  My stomach turns over. “What problem?”

  “I told you I loved you,” he says. “Twice. Usually, there’s some kind of, um, response?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassed. “Harry, I love you. Obviously. What is wrong with me?”

  He kisses me, laughing. “Nothing. You’re amazing. I have never felt this way, about anyone.”

  “Thank you for loving me,” I whisper. I didn’t realize it until now, but I honestly thought no one ever would. That Harry found something inside me to love feels like a miracle.

  Harry looks off to his right, down a long, empty expanse of beach, then turns back to me, grinning. “Race you!” he shouts, scattering sand as he takes off running.

  “Seriously?” I chase after him, heart pounding in my chest.

  We don’t get far before Harry slows down, tiring of the effort or growing bored with the game. He gives himself a triumphant, dorky self–high five as I catch up with him.

  “Sorry, Susie. Better luck next time,” he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

  “No fair,” I pant. “You had a head start.”

  “Life’s not fair,” he says with a laugh.

  “It’s okay,” I say, leaning against him. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “When you win, I win.”

  His eyes widen with delight. “When you win, I win. It’s why we make such a great team.”

  “Must be.” I give him a winner’s kiss on the cheek.

  Harry sits on a patch of dry sand and tugs me down beside him. We kiss for a long time, sinking slowly down into the sand until we’re lying together, me on top of him, then him on top of me. He removes his fleece and spreads it like a blanket, then pushes me down on top of it. My sweatshirt comes off next; he balls it up and places it under my head like a pillow. The light is draining fast from the sky, but we don’t need it to see each other. We use our hands instead, our lips, our hips, pressed together so close it’s like we’re one person, moving in a coordinated, slightly delirious dance.

&nbs
p; His fingers creep under the hem of my T-shirt.

  “Is this okay?” he asks. He’s touched me like this before, but not immediately after a conversation about sex. I guide his hand farther. I don’t want a second to pass without his hands on me, without the feeling of his skin sliding against mine. I make my own explorations—slowly, deliberately, enjoying every noise he makes. He tastes like salt and sunscreen and Red Vines, perfectly Harry.

  We eventually tire ourselves out, the exhaustion from today’s hard practice descending like a heavy curtain. He settles down next to me and I curl into him, resting my head on his chest. His fingers trail up and down my arm. I shiver, though I’m not cold. He kisses the top of my head.

  “Thank you for loving me back,” he murmurs.

  We’re both tumbling into sleep, and I know we shouldn’t, even as it’s happening. We have a curfew, and a public beach is not the best place for a catnap. But he’s so warm, and I’m so tired. Our breathing slows, and the rest of the world slows with it.

  * * *

  “Susannah,” a voice says. Someone is shaking me by my bad shoulder. It’s the pain that wakes me. “Susannah, come on, you need to get up now.”

  I wrench my eyes open. They feel scratchy and dry from the sand and the salt air. Beneath me, Harry stirs. His arm tightens around me as he sits up in alarm.

  Beth is kneeling in the sand. In the dark, it’s hard to see the expression on her face, but if I had to guess, she’s pissed. I fumble in my pockets for my phone.

  “It’s almost eleven,” Beth tells me. “You missed curfew. We didn’t know where you were.”

  “Shit,” I say. My hands start to shake. I’m in so much trouble.

  “We didn’t mean to,” Harry says, rubbing his eyes. “We sat down and we were so tired we fell asleep. If you think about it, this is your and Dave’s fault for working us so hard today.”

  “Now is not the time for jokes, Harry,” Beth says.

  I jab him in the ribs with my elbow. He squeezes my arm in solidarity. He knows how upset I am to have broken the rules.

  “What the hell is going on here!” Dave bellows, stalking toward us. It takes him a while because his shoes keep sinking into the sand, so it’s more like he’s running in slow motion. I would find it funny if I weren’t so terrified. My heart is like a hummingbird’s, pounding at a thousand beats per minute.

  When he reaches us, Dave points at Harry and shouts, “You get away from her right now! Get up! I’m not going to tell you twice, Matthews.”

  Harry glances at me, eyes wide. He doesn’t want to leave me, but we both know Dave won’t stop until he gets what he wants. Harry scrambles to his feet. I feel like he’s been torn away from me, like something is irreparably broken.

  Dave keeps going after Harry. “Susannah is a good kid!” he yells, jabbing his finger at Harry. “She always followed the rules, and then you come along, and suddenly she’s rolling her eyes and talking back and breaking curfew—”

  “It was an accident,” I insist. “It’s not Harry’s fault.”

  “You mean standing up for herself and living her life and doing what she wants rather than what you want for a change?” Harry yells back. “Yeah, I’m terrible influence, Dave. She’s not a rag doll you can throw around.”

  “Stop!” I cry. I grab Harry and drag him backward.

  He shrugs me off. “He can’t talk about you like this.”

  “Everybody calm down,” Beth says. “Let’s go back to the hotel and talk about this like adults.”

  “They’re not adults!” Dave says, throwing his hands up. “They’re kids. Stupid, immature kids.”

  He rounds on Harry and me. “You two want to grope on a beach in the dark, do it on your own time. Not on a training trip that I brought you on so you could maybe have the smallest shot at being competitive in the most important meet of the year. This is my time. My team. And if you want to swim on it going forward, this—” He gestures between Harry and me. “This ends. Right now.”

  Harry shakes his head. “Not happening.”

  “Then Susannah can forget about the Olympics,” Dave says. He looks at me. “This is over, or you’re off the team. I know he doesn’t give a shit about swimming, but you do. That’s my condition.”

  I shoot a pleading glance at Beth, who looks stunned.

  “And don’t look at Beth to save you—she works for me,” Dave snaps. “You’re not the only swimmer who’s counting on her. Don’t ask her to pick you over the rest of them, because she won’t.”

  Dave has been my coach for nearly ten years. He knows exactly what knives cut the deepest, and he keeps them nice and sharp at all times.

  I can’t look at Harry. He doesn’t say anything to me. I don’t think he’s looking at me, either. The moment stretches endlessly, and everyone keeps waiting for someone to break it, but nobody does.

  Finally, Beth puts a hand on my back and says, “We need to take this conversation off the beach. You broke curfew and our trust. We’re going to have to talk about that, and about consequences.”

  Harry glares at Beth. “Making her choose between me and swimming isn’t enough of a consequence? We were two blocks away from the hotel and we accidentally fell asleep because we swam for eight hours today. Sorry if I’m not interested in being punished for an innocent mistake.”

  He starts to walk away, up the beach toward the road.

  “Harry, where are you going?” I call out. I hate watching him leave. This can’t be how it ends. It’s barely even begun.

  He turns. “I’m not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me watch you pick swimming over us.”

  Dave scoffs. “Go to bed, Matthews. I better see you in the pool at seven a.m.” Then he takes off in the opposite direction, farther down the beach. Harry heads back to the hotel.

  I try to follow Harry, but Beth holds me back. “Give him time to cool off,” she says.

  “Which one?” I ask.

  “Both.” After a few seconds of silence, Beth adds, “You know, he’s not wrong about all this. Dave. You’re at a linchpin moment in your career. A boyfriend can only be a distraction.”

  “Have you been thinking this the whole time?” I ask.

  “I know it feels unfair, having to sacrifice normal things for what will be, at the end of the day, a two-minute race,” Beth says. “But you can’t slack in school. And you can’t neglect your family. Those are nonnegotiables. Everything else has to go into the pool. You have to be able to know, no matter what happens in Omaha, that you gave it all you had.”

  “And you don’t think I can do that if I’m with Harry.”

  “It would be difficult. Speaking from experience,” she says. “Grady wouldn’t let me date when I was in high school, so the second I was in college and out from under his thumb, I got together with a guy in my dorm. Nothing dramatic happened, but I did not perform well in the pool that year. I deprioritized my swimming and focused all my time and energy on my boyfriend. It put my scholarship and my elite status at risk, two years before the Olympics. If I could go back and do it again, I’d make different choices.”

  “Harry cares about my swimming,” I insist. “He doesn’t want me to lose focus. He helps me.”

  “He can do all of those things as your friend,” Beth says. “For now.”

  “Where does it end? You didn’t date in high school, then dating in college almost ruined your career. A career you walked away from, by the way.”

  “I remember,” she says quietly.

  “What am I supposed to do? Be a spinster till I retire? What if I compete into my thirties? Am I never allowed to be in love or have a boyfriend or get married or anything?”

  I never raise my voice to Beth, but I’m shouting now.

  “Of course not. In a few years, you’ll be mature enough to handle a relationship and your career. Once school isn’t
part of the equation, it’ll be easier.”

  “A few years?”

  “You can’t let this incident throw you off your game, Susannah,” Beth says. I wish she would stop ignoring my questions. “You’ve been making great progress. I think you’re going to kill it in Des Moines, but you have to stay focused. It’s just this, then Richmond, then Bloomington, then Trials. Each meet has to count.”

  I know she’s right. I’m the closest I’ve been in years to being ready for the Olympic Trials. I can’t lose my focus, and I definitely can’t lose my coach.

  But I don’t want to lose Harry, either.

  * * *

  When Beth and I get back to the hotel, Dave is already there, and he seems to have calmed down a bit. Not enough to go back on his decree that I have to break up with Harry or I’m out of GAC—he stands firm on that—but at least he’s not yelling anymore.

  He and Beth sit me down in Beth’s room and lecture me for a while, but I tune them out after Dave reaffirms his ultimatum. I’ve heard enough. All I can think about is Harry walking away from me on the beach, how sad he looked with his shoulders slumped in defeat, how devastated he sounded. I keep replaying it in my head, and on every repeat viewing, my heart breaks like it’s the first time.

  Finally, Dave tells me I can go. Beth tries to comfort me, but I hurry out the door. I’m livid, but I know making a scene won’t solve the problem.

  Back in our room, Amber and Jessa are waiting for me. “Did Dave and Beth really catch you having sex with Harry on the beach?” Jessa asks as soon as I walk through the door.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “That’s the rumor going around,” Amber says. She shows me a series of texts on her phone from GAC people saying they heard from someone who heard from someone who was eavesdropping on Dave and Beth and so on and so forth.

  I make a disgusted noise and start changing into my pajamas. “We weren’t having sex. We were talking and fell asleep on the beach.”

  “Are they sending you home?” Jessa asks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she sounds almost hopeful. “Are they going to call your parents?”