Breathless

by Jessica Warman

  part four

  chapter 11

  Everything is different my second summer at Yale. I’m a year older, sure, but it’s more than that. For one thing, Drew is so busy working for Habitat that he’ll be able to visit only a few times, if that. But there’s something else—something Drew doesn’t know about. His name is Eddie.

  It’s a couple of weeks into the summer. This year, on top of all the swimming, I’m taking two classes, Romantic lit and early British lit. Even though I love to read, they’re tough; I can already tell it will be a struggle for me to get all my work done, especially if I want to have any fun.

  I’m leaving class on a Thursday afternoon, thinking about the nap I’m going to take as soon as I get back to my dorm. It’s so hot and humid outside that it might as well be raining already. I’m standing at the corner of Chapel Street, waiting for the light to change. My mouth is open, and I’m staring up at these big gray clouds, kind of waiting for a raindrop to hit my tongue, when somebody tugs at my sleeve. It’s Eddie. He’s in my Romantic lit class, and he’s a real student at Yale. He sits a few seats over from me in class. Half the time, he’s either asleep or on the verge of unconsciousness.

  I stare down at his hand on my sleeve. “Can I help you?”

  “I know who you are,” he says. He’s a little out of breath; he must have run to catch up with me. “My buddy Sam is on the swim team. He told me there’s a high school girl who gets in the pool with him every morning and tries to keep up.”

  He’s still holding on to my sleeve. I yank my arm away. “I don’t try to keep up. I do keep up.” But this isn’t exactly true. In addition to all the homework I’ve had to do, I’ve been going out to parties with my roommate, Renee, almost every night. Why shouldn’t I get the chance to have some fun? I’ve been drinking a lot, and smoking too much, and Eddie’s friend Sam is right: the past few days, it’s been a struggle to keep up in the water. But I’ll be fine; my body just needs time to adjust.

  Annoyed as I am to have to delay my nap, I can’t stop looking at Eddie. He’s what Estella would describe as “empirically good-looking.” As in, it isn’t a matter of opinion. He looks a lot like Drew, except he has straight blond hair instead of curly. But there are other things, too.

  As we’re standing there together, it starts to rain—hard. Without saying a word, Eddie takes my arm again and rushes right into the crosswalk, holding up his free hand so all the traffic will stop for us. He leads me down the street into a little deli, both of us running with our full backpacks smacking in rhythm against our bodies. By the time we get inside, we’re soaked.

  We stand there dripping, breathless. Eddie grins at me. “Wow.”

  “What?” I ask, wringing my hair out over the doormat.

  His smile gets so big that I can see his top gums. “I feel like we just took a shower together.”

  Eddie gets two hand towels from a waiter so we can dry off. Then he asks if he can buy me lunch.

  “I don’t even know you,” I say. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

  “I told you. My buddy Sam—”

  “What does that matter?” But I sit down at the counter beside him anyway, almost without realizing what I’m doing. “Do you swim?” I ask. “I haven’t seen you at the pool.”

  He shakes his head. “I play soccer. And I like to talk to interesting . . . women.” He looks me in the eyes the whole time he talks to me. It isn’t like talking to high school boys, with their eyes looking all over the place and their dumb flirty lines. It isn’t like being with Drew, who I’m so comfortable around that sometimes he feels more like a friend than a boyfriend. Eddie seems obviously interested in me, and just looking at him makes me feel like there’s electricity dripping down my spine. I can’t help but want to stay and talk to him.

  He orders lox for lunch.

  “That’s salmon, isn’t it?” I ask.

  He nods. “You’ve never had it before?”

  “I’ve had salmon, sure. How is lox different?”

  Eddie licks his lips. He leans toward me, until our faces are only a few inches apart. His complexion is flawless except for a single, tiny mole in the center of his chin. “Where are you from, Katie?”

  For some reason—even though he’s an honest-to-goodness Yalie, even though he’s probably the son of a senator from Westchester or something like that—I don’t feel embarrassed to tell him, “I’m from a little town in Pennsylvania.”

  “A little town?” he repeats. “That’s super. I grew up in this little town in upstate New York. We had only one traffic light. People here call me a country boy, but it had its charms.”

  I shake my head. “Mine didn’t.”

  “Well . . . you’re here now, aren’t you?”

  I nod. “Sure. I guess I am.”

  “Then you’ll probably never have to go back.”

  “I wish,” I tell him. “Sometimes I feel like, no matter where I go, I’ll never be able to completely leave.” It’s crazy—I don’t know why I’m telling him all this. But he doesn’t seem to mind. For the first time since we’ve been talking, his eyes flicker down the length of my body. “That’s interesting,” he says. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  We watch as the waiter brings our food. I ordered a chicken salad, which looks almost embarrassing—very small-town—compared to what’s on Eddie’s plate.

  “Want to try some?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Okay. Wait a second—close your eyes first. Open your mouth.”

  And right there at the deli bar, with people all around us, Eddie takes his bare fingers and places a piece of lox on my tongue. I keep my eyes closed while I chew. When I open them, he’s staring at me—his eyes are the same shade of blue as Drew’s—and I swear to God, I could slide right off my seat and onto the floor if I weren’t holding on to the counter.

  “I have a boyfriend,” I blurt.

  Eddie picks up another piece of lox. “Who said anything about boyfriends, Katie? I just want to get to know you a little better.”

  He brings the lox to my lips. I can’t stop myself; I close my eyes and open my mouth again.

  • • •

  When I get back to my dorm, Renee—another high school student here for the summer—is sitting on the floor, smoking a cigarette and reading a play for her drama class. Renee’s mother is a famous actress from New York City. Renee goes to a boarding school in Connecticut, and she has this confidence that I’ve never seen in anyone else. I know her family has money, but she’s so dirty. She wears long skirts that swish against her ankles when she walks, and she goes barefoot almost everywhere. Girls aren’t supposed to walk anywhere after dark without a guy, because there’s so much crime in New Haven, but Renee does it all the time. Plus, when any boy tries to talk to her—and plenty of them do—she just kind of nods, listening to everything he says, and then giggles in a way that probably makes him feel ridiculous for expecting her to care. It isn’t that she’s trying to be mean or make them feel insignificant, it’s just that she doesn’t crave acceptance the way everyone else seems to.

  When I tell her about Eddie, she puts her book aside and sits up straight. “Oh, Katie. You don’t believe that he just wants to be friends, do you?” Her long black hair hangs over her shoulders in two loose braids.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s possible, isn’t it? That a boy could be interested in a girl for something other than sex?”

  She already knows about Drew and his commitment to virginity. “I guess it’s possible—I mean, you know it is. But I know Eddie—he’s a Phi Gamma Delta,” she says. Their frat house is right around the corner from our dorm. “He’s gorgeous, Katie—hell, even I’d like to sleep with him. And you know, I’m very selective.” She crosses her legs. The bottoms of her feet are so dirty, they’re almost black. Our room is a mess of clothes and books and makeshift ashtrays.

  “Drew is gorgeous too,” I say.

  “Right.” She nods matter-of-factly. “And Drew
barely wants to touch you.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Well . . .” She chews at the edge of her thumbnail, considering. “Are you going to tell Drew about Eddie?”

  I shake my head no.

  “Why not? I mean, if you aren’t doing anything wrong, then why keep it a secret?”

  I try to come up with a good answer. I don’t have one. I know what she’s getting at—if I’m not doing anything wrong, then there shouldn’t be any reason why I can’t tell Drew about it. And I know I probably shouldn’t get to know Eddie any more than I already have. I also know I might not be able to help myself.

  It’s funny what you remember about people sometimes. As I’m standing there talking to Renee, I remember how, the first time she and I ever went out together at night, we were walking back to the dorm when she decided she had to pee. Instead of waiting until we got back, or trying to find a real bathroom, she just ducked into an alley, hiked up her skirt, and squatted in the dimness while I stood there waiting for her.

  “People are going to think you’re homeless,” I said.

  She just kind of shrugged as she stood up. “So?” Then she smoothed her skirt and kept walking, like nothing had happened.

  I think that’s the thing I’ll remember most about her once the summer is over. Renee is smart and pretty and has money and everything else people are supposed to want. But she isn’t preoccupied all the time with making sure everybody notices, like Estella. She doesn’t seem embarrassed by her shortcomings, either—like the way her nose is a little big, and she’s so pale despite all the sunshine this summer. I can’t imagine how good it would feel to be so confident—how easy and free she must be, even in her sleep.

  Over the next couple of weeks, Eddie and I start spending a lot of time together. He takes me to a few parties at his frat house, and he always makes sure I have a drink and that the music isn’t too loud for me, and then afterward he walks me back to my dorm and we sit outside for a while and talk. Sometimes we talk all night. And every time we’re together, he does little things that make it clear he doesn’t just want to be friends. Like, he keeps his hand on my waist and stands a little too close while we’re talking at parties, or else he puts his arm around me while we walk back to my dorm. I know I shouldn’t let him, but it all feels so good, so exciting, that I keep telling myself I’m not doing anything all that wrong.

  One afternoon before class, we’re watching TV in the attic of his frat house. As he’s flipping through the channels, he stops at a rerun of Sesame Street. “Hey! That’s me!” He points to the screen, where there’s a little boy singing a duet with Oscar the Grouch.

  I can tell from the blond hair that it’s definitely Eddie. He looks about six years old. He sings with his thumbs hooked in the straps of his overalls and has a sweet, high voice.

  “Oh my God,” I say, leaning forward to get a closer look. “It is you!” I shake my head. “You were a child star!”

  “Aw, no, it was nothing like that. My mom was a producer for PBS. They’re always using staff kids for extras.”

  “How many episodes were you on?” I can feel my heart beating faster.

  Eddie grins. “Ten.”

  On-screen, he and Oscar finish their song, and a few of the other characters come into frame. Little Eddie, his smile wide and familiar and sweet as pie, does his best to wrap his arms around Oscar, Elmo, and Big Bird, all at the same time. “I love you, my friends!” he says.

  I look at the grown-up Eddie. He opens his arms wide. “Come here, my friend,” he says, giving me the same sweet grin. That’s when I know I’m in trouble.

  I should stop seeing him, but I just can’t. Instead, I keep pretending there’s nothing going on. One night, as I’m getting ready to meet Eddie in the lobby of my dorm, I notice that Renee is just lying on the floor, tossing a rubber stress ball into the air, trying to catch it with one hand.

  “What are you doing tonight?” I ask.

  She misses the ball. It rolls across the floor and lands at my feet. Sitting up to reach for it, she says, “Not much. I’m kind of tired.”

  “Why don’t you come out with us? It’s fun.”

  She shrugs. “I’m not really into frat boys.” She pauses. “Well, maybe I’d be into someone like Eddie.”

  “You should come,” I urge. “I could set the two of you up.”

  She smirks at me and throws the ball at my head. It hits me right between the eyes. “Katie, I get the feeling he wouldn’t be interested.”

  • • •

  It seems like I stay out later and later every night. Either I’m talking to Eddie until sunrise, or out drinking with him or Renee. No matter what night of the week it is, there’s always something to do. I’ve started chain-smoking, too. It’s hard not to; I’m either at a party, where it’s nearly impossible not to smoke while I’m drinking, or else I’m in my room with Renee, who smokes constantly.

  I’m not keeping up with the reading in either of my classes. I’m at a slight advantage because I’ve read most of the material before, at Woodsdale, but I’ll be lucky if I can still pull off As.

  And then there’s swimming. Most mornings, by the time I get to the pool, I’ve barely slept at all. For a while, I figure it’s okay; as soon as I get in the water and start moving, I feel the exhaustion slipping away. I still finish drills before lots of the other swimmers, even on the mornings when I show up late.

  But one morning I’m not so lucky. It’s mid-July, and I haven’t had more than eight hours of sleep all week combined. Even Renee seems concerned.

  As I’m leaving for the pool, she puts her hands on my shoulders and studies my face. “Jesus, Katie. You look like hell.”

  “I’m just tired,” I tell her.

  “You mean exhausted.”

  “Yeah,” I admit. “But it’s fine. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “You smell like a frat house sofa.”

  “That’s funny,” I say, grinning, “because that’s where I’ve been all night.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Still not cheating on your boyfriend?”

  I nod. “Eddie just likes to flirt. We have fun together.”

  In reality, there’s a little more to it than that; I know it, and so does Renee. But I haven’t done anything I should feel guilty about. I’ve lain beside Eddie on a sofa and let him wrap his arms around me. I’ve held his hand, the same way I’ve held Lindsey’s or Mazzie’s—or even Estella’s—a thousand times before. I’ve fallen asleep beside him, both of us fully clothed, and slept that way all night. But I’ve never kissed him. I’ve never let him touch me in any of the ways I might want him to touch me. I know I’m lucky to have someone like Drew, and I’m not going to do anything that will make it hard for me to look him in the eye.

  When I explain this to Renee, she asks, “So what if Drew were doing the same kind of thing with another girl? Would you think he was cheating on you?”

  I still feel drunk from the night before. I haven’t eaten yet this morning. “That’s not fair,” I tell her. I don’t know why she’s so concerned about my relationship with Drew. I get the feeling that she’s disappointed in me somehow.

  “It isn’t?” She shakes her head. “Whatever. You need to go. You’re already late.”

  I don’t make it past my first 400 yards of freestyle before I have to stop swimming, hoist myself over the edge of the pool, and throw up into the gutter. It’s nothing but straight booze coming out of me, and everyone around me knows it; the smell is enough to make me sick again.

  One of the coaches—his name is Paul Goodman—hurries over to me. “Out,” he says.

  “I’m okay,” I insist, trying to catch my breath, unwilling to look at him. For the first time in my life, I feel like if I let go of the gutter, I might sink to the bottom of the pool. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep last night. I just need to get warmed up—” But I gag on the sentence, leaning over to throw up again.

  �
��Who kept you up all night?” Goodman asks. “Let me guess—it was a boy, right?”

  My vision is blurry, my thoughts jumbled. “Uh, yeah.”

  “And I bet I even know his name,” he says. “Let’s see, who could it have been? Jim Beam? No . . . he’s a little out of your league. I’m guessing it was Sam Adams.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. “Get out,” he says. “Rinse your mouth out, put some clothes on, and come to my office.”

  Sitting across from him, I want to cry. He leans back in his chair, gazing at me with a look I can’t quite identify. Is it anger? Pity?

  “You’re screwing up,” he says.

  I shake my head, panicked. “I’m just overwhelmed. My classes are hard, and I’m not used to having so much work. And, okay, I admit, I’ve been to a few parties.” Before he can respond, I say, “I’ll stop. I’m done. I know I messed up, and I know how to fix it.”

  “You’ve been late almost all summer,” he says. “It doesn’t matter how fast you are. If you want to be part of our team when you’re a freshman here, you have to act like you’re part of it now.”

  I nod. “Okay. I’ll be on time. I’ll be early. Please, just give me another chance.”

  He narrows his gaze, considering.

  I can’t help it; I start to cry. “Please. Swimming is the only thing I’m good at.”

  “Okay, Katie, you don’t need to cry. It’s okay. You can come back.”

  I wipe my eyes. “Thank you. I promise I’ll do better.”

  “Good. I hope so.” He stands up. “I should make you clean up the mess you made, but I think you’d be better off going back to bed.”

  I look down. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve got one more chance, Katie. I’m giving it to you because you deserve it, and I know you’re sorry.”

  I nod.

  “All right. Go back to your dorm. Go to bed. Don’t get up until tomorrow morning.”

  For the rest of the summer, I don’t so much as look at a beer. I stop smoking during the week, and I even convince Renee to go outside to smoke. I show up at least ten minutes early to every practice.