The Insomniacs

by Marit Weisenberg

  “You quit gymnastics because of your injury, right?”

  Caroline’s expression closed off. For a moment, I didn’t think she was going to answer. “It started that way. Then when I was gone, rehabbing, I grew. I was like this giant freak compared to everyone else. I was treated differently after that. Then I overthought everything and got in my own head and pretty quickly fell away. It just sucked. It had been my entire life.”

  I understood completely but didn’t know what to say that would be right. I didn’t want Caroline to think I felt sorry for her but I could see her disappointment. Most athletes had complicated feelings about their sport and how it took over their lives, but it was clear she had loved being a gymnast.

  “Anyway,” she said. “I know how weird these breaks are. My advice is, don’t think too much. Just get through it. Keep picturing yourself picking up where you left off.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I hoped she knew I really meant it. Caroline nodded and kept her eyes on the road.

  “You look good, by the way. Are you wearing makeup?” She had put on a pretend-shock voice that I resented a little. I had, in fact, put on some makeup. It was because I looked exhausted otherwise.

  “A little.”

  The music on her stereo was all Van’s influence. She played the same three songs he was obsessed with. I noticed there was a pair of men’s shower slide sandals, the kind swimmers wore, on the floorboards of the backseat. I couldn’t picture Van wearing them and wondered if they were a gift from Caroline.

  “What are you working on at practice?” I asked, trying to keep up my end of the conversation. It took so much work. It was easier to space out these days, hope to rest my head against a window and close my eyes. The perfume scent in the car that I’d loved so much at first was more cloying than I’d thought.

  “Same shit I’ve been working on forever, it feels like.” Caroline wasn’t forthcoming.

  “Are you excited to dive at USC?” I asked.

  “I’m excited to get the hell out of high school, but diving—it’s not my sport. I’ll give it a try when I get there but I’m not sure where I’m going with it.” Said like a kid who had college paid for. “Is the AC too cold for you?”

  I had my arms crossed stiffly. “No,” I said, and shook my head to try to relax. “I’m good.”

  At a stoplight, Caroline checked her phone, holding it loosely in one hand. Then she read something of interest because she brought her phone closer and hovered her head over the screen, intent. Then, very unexpectedly, she chucked the phone in the backseat of the car.

  “Ugh!” she exclaimed. A dark expression descended over her features.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Caroline thumped her head against the back of the seat and squeezed her eyes shut as though my question and me being in the car had suddenly aggravated her. A car behind us honked and Caroline gave it a dirty look in the rearview mirror before starting to drive. She cleared her throat. “It’s my parents. They’re all over me because of my grades. Until I get them up, I’m only allowed to use my car to get to school and practice.”

  So that was why she walked to Van’s. “I thought your grades were good!” I thought this because she’d said the podcasts didn’t interfere with her work.

  “They were. I slacked off once I got into USC. Senior slump. Spring fever. Whoops,” she said dryly.

  Whatever her parents had said, Caroline seemed really upset. Her forehead creased and she began chewing her thumbnail. I wanted to ask if she was okay but a storm cloud had gathered on her side of the car.

  “Is it killing you to sit on the sidelines?” Caroline asked abruptly. It almost felt like she was putting me in her sights. If she was unhappy, maybe she wanted to know someone else was, too.

  “Yes,” I said. Because that was what I was supposed to feel.

  Caroline waved her parking pass and swooped into the parking garage when the yellow gate swung up like a guillotine.

  “It’s rattled the team, you know. If it can happen to you of all people, it can happen to any of us. And Mike has been out of sorts. He pushes you so hard, but it’s like his favorite child is missing.”

  I dismissed that with a shake of my head.

  “You know what I mean. You’re important to him. You’ve made his career.” Caroline parroted what my mom had said. “You helped him rise from the ashes.”

  He had made my career, too. We were both from families with reputations and we were the outliers. I knew what Caroline was referring to; unlike two other members of his family, Mike hadn’t gone to the Olympics. He didn’t make it past trials. He was the less-talented member of a diving dynasty, which hit all too close to home and was probably why I’d instantly liked Coach Mike. But now he wasn’t even thirty-five and he was working toward building a center where kids from all over the country came to be coached by him.

  “Just make sure you come back. We miss you.”

  “I will. I miss you guys, too.”

  When Caroline and I strolled into the chlorine-scented entrance and waved to the college student working the front desk, Caroline gave me a quick nod, then headed to the locker room to change, her heavy swim duffel flung over her shoulder.

  The swimmers and members of my diving team had all arrived for practice, bodies filling in the lanes and milling on the deck by the three platforms and springboards beyond. Caroline always ran late. I was never late to practice but if I were, I would have been so nervous to face Mike’s reaction.

  When I walked onto the steamy deck, I felt that familiar click. I could breathe again. It was like I was close to something I fundamentally needed. The sting of chlorine, damp swimsuits, the people talking louder and louder over the splashing and echo. It felt like home even more than real home. The chemical smell stayed in my nostrils long after I’d left the center and I used to hear the rhythmic din of the swimmers in my sleep.

  When I drew near the divers, I saw Devon on the springboard in a practice suit and Coach Mike, in his usual board shorts and T-shirt, coaching her from the deck. Devon stared straight ahead, closed her eyes for a pause before jumping twice and then launching herself at that perfect angle we all wanted to achieve—about 10 percent away from vertical—then tucking and blindly flipping backward, toward the board, doing a reverse one and a half.

  I knew she had been working on her reverse dives. Devon was the second-best diver on the team and of course Mike would be working closely with her in my absence. I both wanted to be Devon at that moment and I never wanted to be Devon again. The thought of doing a reverse and not knowing how far I was from the end of the board was terrifying. As I’d learned, the price of missing those dives was high.

  Coach Mike noticed me and pointed. “Hey!” he yelled. “New kids sign up with Ashley!”

  “Ha, ha,” I said, joining him at the side of the pool.

  “What’s up? I didn’t expect you today.”

  “I came with Caroline. To say hi.” Coach Mike scanned the deck for a moment, presumably for Caroline. Maybe he’d give her a break if he thought I was the one who had made her late.

  “Did you see my text about getting a second opinion? Hey, Marta.” A little girl from the younger division ran up, wordlessly gave Mike a hug around the waist, then scurried off.

  “I did. I’ll talk to my mom.” There was no way I would ask her to take me to more doctors, let alone pay for them. Mike was usually sensitive about my mom’s availability and resources. He’d even stopped the movement to have team bags monogrammed because he knew that was just the kind of thing that would be tougher for some families.

  Mike trained his eyes back on Devon. With a start, I realized that without a purpose here, I shouldn’t take up his time.

  “I better leave you to it,” I said, trying not to feel the sting. What had I thought? That I was the best member of the team and would walk in and be treated like a queen? Embarrassed, I realized that was exactly what I’d thought.

  “Are you going to watch for a
bit? Next time you come, you’re going to be suited up or at least dressed for dryland workout, okay?” Mike kept his eyes on the pool.

  “Yes, sir!” I teased.

  I backed away. Mike folded his arms and I watched him watch Devon.

  I knew without me he’d have to focus more on my teammates. But the feeling felt familiar, from even before the accident. I realized that he’d been doing this lately—not quite focusing on me the way he used to. Or maybe it was that he’d pull away and focus on others, especially Devon, as soon as I faltered.

  After her next dive, when Devon exited the pool, Mike met her. “Hey!” He sounded brusque. “Why didn’t you tell me you could dive like that?” Devon grinned ear to ear. “That’s exactly what I want to see from here on out.”

  Devon was leveling up. I heard my mother’s refrain about her own job play in my head: Everyone is replaceable.

  “Ingrid!” My teammate Carrie came up. Then Alix. They patted me on the back and I was cardboard. Smiling automatically. Quickly answering their questions.

  “It’s so weird to see you in clothes!”

  “Hey, can you tell Caroline I took a rideshare home?” I said suddenly.

  “She’s late again,” Alix said when Caroline sauntered onto the deck.

  Mike turned his stern look on us and the small group around me dispersed. Life went on. I was left standing alone, conspicuous.

  I felt someone staring at me. Tate and Heidi, two divers my age, stood in front of the plans for the grand expansion to the diving facility tacked up on the wall. When I looked their way, I thought I saw one of them elbow the other, and they stopped talking. I touched the back of my head and then swiftly turned to leave practice.

  To reach the exit, I had to cross the deck, as endless as a football field. At the last second before the tunnel that would lead to street level, I changed my mind and slowly climbed the stairs to the stands, picking my way higher and higher up until I could almost touch the ceiling. I wanted to watch for a few minutes, unseen.

  Mike’s intensity at practice was at a level I hadn’t seen for a while. Like he was newly recommitted. Was it because of my accident? Was he creating as many backup plans as possible? There was less joking around. The usual crew of girls circled him, teasing him, but he gave them his back so he could conference with divers one-on-one. The girls had no choice but to drift away.

  I understood why the girls thought Mike was attractive, but it was hard for me to see it. He was like family. I propped my chin on my hand and thought back on the actual day, in this building, when Mike told me he would be my family and I’d tacitly accepted.

  I remembered it was the winter I turned fourteen. My dad’s assistant had called out of the blue to inform my mom that my dad was coming to Austin. The assistant wanted details about my practice the following day so my dad could watch. Of course, the meeting changed, his assistant accidentally canceled his flight, my dad’s regrets were conveyed …

  But I didn’t know any of that until later. I waited for my dad to arrive before practice so I could introduce him to Coach Mike and the team. But then practice began and he was nowhere to be seen. I fixated on the swim center entrance for the entire two hours, thinking, Any minute now. Then, Maybe he’ll catch the last five minutes. When practice concluded, I remembered my teammates wandering away in groups, looking like emperor penguins in their long black parkas, and I stayed behind, carefully packing my bag so I could be alone.

  Mike was preoccupied with wrapping up practice so I didn’t think I needed to say a word about my dad being a no-show. I thought Mike had forgotten about the potential visitor. I was almost out the door and about to cry like a baby when I heard, “Ingrid.”

  I waited for Mike to call out something for me to work on at practice the next day. Instead, he came over to me. Very firmly, Mike said, “You don’t need him. You have a family.”

  I nodded stoically, trying to keep my eyes emotionless, wishing he couldn’t see my chin quiver.

  “You have your mom, me, and Laura.”

  Mike had no idea how often I thought about those words. At the time, I didn’t know I wouldn’t see my dad for another three years and counting. The only power I had was to let Mike fill his shoes.

  Was I still Mike’s family if I didn’t dive?

  Probably not.

  Below, the tiny figures continued to dive. Less than two weeks ago, I’d been mindlessly doing my thing at practice, unstoppable and confident, a machine. Not thinking about anything else besides diving. Confident in my place.

  I wanted that girl back.

  Why did I feel like I needed to find something else before I could find her?

  My eyes landed on the half-worn-off sticker stuck to the metal railing: PERSIST.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  FRIDAY, APRIL 8

  It would be so easy to stare at my ceiling all night. I listened to the crickets and the empty quiet of the house, telling myself to rest. To finally let the thoughts go.

  But, if tonight was like every night since the accident, the worries would become obsessive.

  I began to make snow angels on top of my bedspread, my arms and legs making whispers across the fabric, debating.

  Or—

  I flopped over onto my belly. My fingers flew over the screen, typing the quick message, casting a line to the other side of the street.

  Are you awake?

  We were just two friends helping each other out. He wasn’t the Van I’d fantasized about. This was the real version and everyone knew reality couldn’t possibly live up to the fantasy.

  Downstairs, the back door creaked opened. Then I heard the footfall on the stairs. I counted slowly to ten but my heart wouldn’t stop racing.

  When Van appeared, I tried to contain the massive smile about to split my face.

  Van grinned from my bedroom threshold. “Hi.”

  * * *

  Van was once again seated in my desk chair. He’d kicked off his flip-flops and I was perched on the edge of my bed, reporting back on my Ambien experience.

  I cleared my throat. “So I felt hungover—”

  “That’s exactly how it makes me feel—gross.”

  I’d noticed Van used the word “gross” a lot.

  “Have you ever even gotten drunk?” he asked.

  “Um,” I wavered. Then I conceded, “No.”

  The problem with my room was my bed was disproportionately large, which kept putting Van and me too close together. I had a good view of his dark eyes, which constantly changed color. When he was amused—like right now—they lightened, orange penetrating the brown. I was having a hard time finding a balance between not staring and not making eye contact at all.

  “What do you and your friends do for fun?”

  I was surprised he wanted to know. “Hang out. Go to parties. Same as you and your friends.”

  “What about you? Do you go to those parties with them?” He was watching me now. I brushed my hair back over one shoulder and he looked away again, dragging one foot back and forth through the carpet.

  “Not usually. Sometimes.”

  “I never see you,” he said.

  “My friends go to different parties than yours.” I’d noticed that when we talked, we got off track a lot. Van always seemed to stop me in order to ask questions—about my friends, myself.

  There was a pause and before he could consider the high school caste system and where I fit into it, I continued with my Ambien report. “So, anyway, I’m not even sure if I slept. But then tonight I read something that said insomniacs actually sleep more than they think they do.”

  “I don’t know,” Van said skeptically. “I think I can account for every hour.”

  “You must be sleeping sometimes. Otherwise you would have died by now.”

  “The weekends have been better for some reason. Maybe because alcohol’s usually involved. I guess we could try drinking every night.”

  “I have to get back to diving. Not ruin myself in the me
antime.”

  “You don’t think the break will be good? Go back stronger.”

  “It’s the kind of thing where a break can mess you up. Make you think too much about what can go wrong.”

  “No, not you. You’ve always been unstoppable.”

  He’d surprised me with his compliment. “Ha. I wish,” I said.

  Van sprang up and stood like a sentry at the window again. He rested the side of his head against the wall. In profile, you could see a glimpse of the man Van would become. Strong, eye-catching. A lot like his elegant father in the entryway photograph. Sometimes I thought of the word “lonely” when I observed Van but it was hard to imagine. He was always surrounded by people.

  “It seems like everything is quiet over there.”

  “It always does,” he said.

  That gave me the chills because it was true. Besides the one night I’d seen and heard the girl, it was always silent.

  “Do you remember anything more?” I asked.

  “No. Nothing. I just have this really bad feeling that sits over me, like the hangover from that night never cleared.”

  Initially, Van told me he wanted to see the house to help him remember. But now it seemed like we were just watching the house and waiting for something to happen.

  “Hey, do you want to get out of here?” Van asked suddenly.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  * * *

  The elementary school playground was four blocks away, under the cover of live oaks and out of street view. Van and I sat on the swings next to each other, swaying gently, both of us holding onto the cold chains.

  At first, I was anxious at the thought of leaving my house, but then I realized I had no reason to worry. No one was waiting on me. It had never occurred to me that I could come and go as I pleased.

  After pestering Van with questions about where we were going once we set off on the streets, he had said, “Damn, for someone who leaps from a billion feet off of a board into water—not to mention, backward—you act like you don’t like taking risks.”