by Angel Lawson
Yes! It’s real.
It’s a picture, taken during one of my mom’s intense phases with photography. Sometimes she gets a whim and decides to document nearly every moment of our lives. The phases don’t usually last long, so there are certain points in our childhoods that have a borderline obsessive photographic record. Actual photographs can be hard to come by—digital is easier and also easier to wipe away, to pretend never existed. But the picture in my hand is scarily tangible, as are the subjects; me and Hamilton.
We’d both spent a month practicing long-course racing, essentially flipping the lanes on their sides, doubling the distance. The races are slower, a bit more tedious. Pacing is important, because if a swimmer starts with a burst of speed, they’ll flame out quickly, making it hard to complete the race. It was the summer before the twins came home, before Hamilton knew the truth about us all. We’d spent the training period egging each other on, trying to best one another. But we’d also relied on one another. Cheering for better times, a perfected flip-turn, a well-executed dive. We were teammates, not enemies. Back then I was just Gwen—or Gwendolyn. He always called me by my full first name. He was just Hamilton, the funny kid with a bright smile. That’s who I see in the photograph I’m holding. Gwendolyn and Hamilton—happy. Gold medals of accomplishment hanging around our necks, arms wrapped around one another.
When I think back on the downy nostalgia of childhood, these are the moments that make it golden. These were the moments I was happiest.
I stare at the photo for a long time, trying to reconcile the broadly grinning Hamilton in the photo with the one I know today. The boy who hates me. Torments me. Ignores me. How strange to think, back then, that I thought I knew enough of Hamilton to be so sure of his character. And then again, later on, to have placed him so easily into the role of a monster. Now, he’s the boy who won’t stop kissing me.
If I thought his prior mindfucks were top-tier, then I was wrong.
This shit takes the cake.
Unbelievably, it’s the second kiss that bothers me most. There was something about the way it started—gentle, almost sweet—that makes me want to turn away from the memory. It was an uncomfortable earnestness, as if we were just two regular, equal people, and I wanted it. I liked it. But the whole thing was dishonest in its honesty.
And that’s the thing about kissing Hamilton Bates; every kiss brings out warring emotions. Guilt, desire, betrayal, want.
Is that his plan? To confuse me?
I lean back and stare at the ceiling, letting my eyes flutter shut.
I don’t like him, and I really don’t trust him, but his mouth? His hands? After seeing him play the cello, I shouldn’t be surprised at the accuracy of his touch or why I’d want more. I wonder what it would be like to really have his hands on my body. Would it feel as good as his mouth does on mine?
No.
My eyes pop open, narrowed.
No, I am not going down this road or entertaining this one bit more. He was drunk. He’s a dick who’s trying to manipulate me, and acting as if it could ever be anything more isn’t just doing my family disservice. It’s doing me a disservice.
Closing the lid, I stand and return the box to the closet, sliding it, and my conflicted feelings about Hamilton, back where they belong—hidden and in the past.
10
Hamilton
“Ham—are you even listening to me?”
“Huh?” My eyes dart down to Reagan’s. Her hand, clasped around my neck, tugs me to face her. I answer, “Yeah, I’m listening.”
Obviously, I’m not listening.
I try to now, angling my face to hers, but it’s such a struggle. Every time she opens her mouth, it’s blah blah blah. The girl is just dull as dirt. If she’s not trying to find out where I’ve been, where I’m going, or what I’m going to do with her, it’s just the most basic ass gossip imaginable. I do actually have a life.
She rolls her eyes, well aware that I’m lying. “I said, good luck today. I know it’s a big one.” Her other hand runs down my arm, feeling my bicep. “Are you nervous?”
“About what? Practice?” I scoff. “This is like my millionth swim practice, Reagan. No. I’m not nervous.”
“I mean about the captain announcement.”
Well, fuck.
I wasn’t.
I narrow my eyes. “Why, have you heard something?”
“Ah, no?” Her fingers tickle my neck. “It’s just... I got really nervous before cheerleading announcements last fall. I’d worked really hard for my position, and you know how Campbell can be about playing favorites.”
“Ah, right, cheerleading.” My grin must not look as condescending as it feels, since she just nods in response. Some schools that cheer competitively might be comparable to the pure athleticism of swim, but Preston’s squad is nothing more than hot pieces of ass prancing around in short skirts with their tits bouncing all over. “The coach makes this call, not some status-conscious bitch. Our captains are based on experience and leadership. I’m the obvious choice.”
The bravado is only a little false. I know good and well that Adams has a chance of sliding in and stealing my spot. But I have a little insurance in the form of my father’s gracious donation to the swim club. A little extra security in case Coach decided to make a decision based on empathy rather than merit.
Speaking of…
I can see Adams turning down the hallway from over the top of Reagan’s head. She’s got this small but sunny smile on her face, which is weird. I lift my head to watch her, that small smile growing. Where’s the blank sadness? The stoic indignation?
That’s when I notice Tyson Riggins, her new little friend, loping along beside her.
My hand curls into a fist, teeth clenching.
God, I hate that guy.
He’s only been here for a week, and he’s already upsetting the established social order at the school. Someone needs to explain to him that Gwendolyn Adams is strictly persona non grata. She’s kryptonite. Off limits.
Mine.
“Babe!”
“What?” I snap, glaring down at Reagan. She looks almost as annoyed as I feel. Good. It’d sure be nice if she stopped buzzing around me like a pesky fly.
“I said, I’ve got to get to Econ.” Despite her annoyance with me, her face tilts up, like she’s expecting a kiss.
My eyes dart back over to Adams and our gazes instantly lock. Normally, she’d never let that happen, and if she did, she’d probably look away.
She doesn’t.
Knowing her eyes are on me, that something about this has gained her interest, makes me wrap my arm around Reagan’s waist and pull her close.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I say, flipping on the charm. I touch her chin and plant a kiss on her mouth. She reacts with zeal, kissing me back passionately, like she’s trying to crawl into my skin. Almost instantly, I regret all of this.
Down girl, that’s enough.
I try not to grimace when I see that Reagan’s eyes are glazed, but she ultimately walks off, nearly tripping over her feet. I feel the heat of Gwendolyn’s eyes boring into me and wish I didn’t. What, did she think there was something going on with us? That she meant something to me?
If anything, my lapse in judgment cemented the fact that I need to just stay away from alcohol.
And Adams? I really, really need to stay away from her. Which, I realize fifteen minutes later, after a rousing welcome from Coach James, is going to be more challenging than I think. We’re sorted into the same competitive lane.
I lower my goggles and dive in, immediately setting the pace. Heston follows, then Gwendolyn, and a junior who’s fast as hell. Even in the water I want my distance from her, so I push too fast, and I know—I know I’m working my shoulder harder than I should, but I don’t let up, not an inch. I take a breather at the end of the lap, rotating my stiffening shoulder to ease out the burning tightness. Heston stops when I do, always looking for a short cut.
“
Did you see Adams?” he pants, water dripping down his grinning face. “I think her tits got bigger since last year.”
I shoot him a glare and duck under water, pushing off the wall with the balls of my feet. What the hell is it with everyone? Is Adams suddenly not off limits anymore? Has she been uncancelled? Did all it take was one kid from Northridge showing up and talking to her to undo everything we’d established over the last six months? It’s bullshit.
Fucking Heston, I think, switching from freestyle to backstroke in one easy flip. I keep my eyes on the ceiling, counting the little flags that hang overhead so that we don’t crash into the wall. Heston’s a trust fund baby who will spend his freshman year of college on the beaches of Italy at his family’s villa, fucking local housewives and keeping the winery in business. If he decided to get his hands on Gwendolyn, he’d absolutely destroy her.
In fact, I already have suspicions that he’d had some involvement in the set up with her sister at the party. Sky was always known for being so easy to manipulate—like clay in anyone’s hands, really—and Heston’s a lazy fuck. The utter lack of effort necessary to inflict as much damage as possible has his name written all over it. It’s just a feeling, although I don’t really put it past any of the Devils. They’ve just been too quiet about it—too cooperative. They definitely haven’t wanted to talk to me about it, no matter how many times I’ve casually broached the subject.
Slam!
I jerk out of the water, arms tangled, pushing hard. Adams flails in the water beside me, eyes accusatory. “What the hell, Bates! Stay in your own damn lane!”
“My lane? It’s those goddamned gangly arms of yours taking up all the space!”
She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but she snaps it shut, drops under water and swims away.
Satisfaction swells within me as she backs down first.
That’s right. Know your place.
Of course, it’s all dampened when I look over my shoulder and see Coach James watching us with a frown on his face.
Shit.
We make it through the rest of practice without further altercations. While everyone finishes their final cool-downs, I grab my towel and wrap it around my waist. Heston and the others in my lane do the same.
“Do you think he’ll announce captains now?” Heston asks, drying off his face.
“I thought so, but... I don’t know.” I look around, stomach dropping. “Maybe not.”
James is standing with a few of the assistant coaches, glancing at the swimmers and taking notes. It’s not unusual. There are new swimmers on the team. People grow over the summer—sometimes a few inches—it can completely change their score. We also occasionally lose a swimmer or two. There are a lot of factors when creating a team roster, but something about the delay makes me antsy and uncomfortable. That feeling multiplies when he blows his whistle and says, “Good first day. I’ll see everyone back tomorrow,” and then adds, “Bates and Adams. I need to see you in my office.”
Heston’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead, mouth spreading into a jaw-dropped grin. He slaps me on my back. “Oh, fuck, this is it! Good luck, bro.”
Rigid with frustration, I pull a pair of shorts over my Speedo before walking over to the office. Gwendolyn is already there, towel wrapped under her armpits, skin pebbled with goosebumps. Her teeth worry away at her bottom lip. Without my even wanting them to, my eyes dart down to her tits. Fucking Heston. He’s totally right. They may be bigger. My dick twitches in confirmation.
“Thanks for waiting,” Coach says, striding into the room. He drops his clipboard on his desk and folds his arms. Coach James is young, fit. He swam at Princeton and made it to the Olympic Trials. I respect the hell out of him. There’s something about him. He just knows how to get the best out of the team. He’s not a dick, either, which is not always the case in competitive sports. “I know you two thought I was going to make the captain announcement today, and you’re right. I was.” He rubs his chin. “But then I saw you two have that little fuss in the lane and I knew I needed to talk to you directly first.”
For the first time since I walked in the room, Gwendolyn looks over at me. I don’t give away the fact that my heart is suddenly banging against my chest.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Is there a problem?”
“You two are my best swimmers,” he begins. “I think we all know that. Each of you bring a different strength to the team. Gwen, you’re consistent, hardworking, focused. You take the time to encourage younger swimmers and foster a team mentality.” She beams reluctantly at the praise. I manage not to roll my eyes, and look attentive when he looks at me. “Hamilton, you’ve got the right kind of competitive nature this sport requires, strong leadership abilities, and unwavering spirit.”
There’s a ‘but’ lingering in there somewhere. We both know it.
“I don’t like the friction that’s been going on between the two of you for the last year. I know there are extenuating circumstances, but it goes beyond what happened with Gwen’s sister.” It’s like all the air is suddenly sucked out of the room. Our backs go ramrod straight so simultaneously, it’s like we’re two marionettes on a single string. No one mentions Sky. Not even teachers. “I can’t have this kind of division on my team, especially not from my two best swimmers. I need unity and cooperation in the team leader. And I think deep down, you both know I’m right.”
“What are you saying?” Gwendolyn asks quietly. “That neither of us are going to be captain?”
“I won’t deny that the thought crossed my mind, but if I did that, I’d be losing a really great asset for this team. And that’s not exactly fair, is it? So, I had another idea.” He looks between us. “Co-captains.”
“Excuse me?” I blurt.
Gwendolyn’s jaw drops.
Coach holds up his hands. “Do it together or don’t do it at all. It’s your choice. If you can’t work together, I’ll find someone else to do it.”
“I—I—” Gwendolyn seems unable to speak, instead blinking owlishly at the coach.
My vision narrows until I’m seeing nothing but the red of the wall behind the coach. This can’t be happening. It can’t. My hands fist and I feel the tension building in my neck, in the shoulder that’s already smarting from swimming too hard. This was supposed to be it. Things were supposed to get better after this. I was supposed to be captain and make my dad proud and finally, finally be better.
“Coach,” I start, trying to regain some semblance of composure, because I have to. I have to fix this. “I understand where you’re coming from. I do. But is there anything, anything—"
“Bates, I’ve spoken to the headmaster and some of the other faculty, and we all agree. It’s time for this feud to settle down. It’s lasted for months and it’s affecting the quality of life at Preston for students and teachers alike.”
“With all due respect,” Gwendolyn finally speaks up, “Bates isn’t the only problem I have at this school.”
“I’m aware,” he gives her a sympathetic look, before shifting his gaze on me. “As much as I hate to admit it—Hamilton, you have a lot of influence with the student body. They’re looking to you for cues. It’s a power structure I’m not a fan of, but it’s how the culture of this school operates. You have power here.”
It sounds like a compliment. I’m not sure it is.
“Coach...” Doing this in front of Coach James is humiliating enough, but Adams having to see the way I beg him with my eyes is just a cherry on top of this shit cake. “I have less power than you think.”
“You have enough,” he argues. “And I think it’s time you use it for something worthwhile. Nothing changes if you don’t agree to get along and work together. You’re both gifted students and skilled athletes. You can achieve so much more together than divided.” He sighs, shaking his head at the open door, where the team is still milling around the halls. “I know it’s more complicated than that, which is why I’m giving you this chance.
You can blame me for making you work together, if that makes this easier on you. Or you can walk away. It’s up to you.” He grabs his clipboard. “Let me know before practice tomorrow, what you decide.”
He walks out of the room, a heavy silence falling between the two of us. Anger burns under my skin, but hotter than the anger burns the bone-deep shame of failure. It should have been guaranteed. I should have been so good, so proficient, that there was no question. I should have had this shit in the bag. And now my best-case scenario is coming in tied with someone who doesn’t even belong here. This is not what I want. It’s not what my father will want.
But walking away from the position would be worse, wouldn’t it? I need it for my applications. For my pride. Even if I have to share it with a she-witch in the process, it’s still...
It’s still something.
“Look, Adams…” I start, trying to figure out how in the hell I’m supposed to talk her into something I don’t even believe in.
“I ain’t looking at shit.” she replies plainly. “This is going to be a hard pass for me. You can forget it.”
“Let’s talk about this—"
She storms out of the room, leaving me standing there like a fool.
I swallow down a new swell of anger and follow her out. I watch as she ducks into the girls’ locker room and pause for a hot second, dithering only a moment before following her in. A few girls are still in there, all dressed, just gathering their things. They gape at me intruding on their space.
I bark, “Leave.”
They scurry out like mice, leaving the two of us alone.