“Shut up.”
“I should be the one who’s scared,” he said.
“To sneak out? Why aren’t you?”
“I am. But I promised you I’d help you sleep. And maybe a walk will help.”
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. All I knew was it was a lot easier to talk when we were next to each other, walking or swinging rather than facing each other in the close space of my bedroom.
“God, what if we never sleep again,” Van was saying, bringing me back to the playground. “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. Look at this. It’s beautiful.” We both took in the gentle mounds of the greenbelt in the distance. The dark disguised the worn and dated condition of the school built in the 1960s. “I’m starting to think maybe people who don’t sleep get to have two lifetimes. The one at night and the regular, boring one during the day. At night you can do whatever you want.”
“Don’t even joke about it. I have to get it together.”
“You have it together, Ingrid,” Van said pointedly. “Besides crippling insomnia, you completely have your life together.”
“I did. I think I may have developed a case of stage fright. In diving we call it a block,” I said, casually.
The steady creek of the swing next to me slowed. I kept swinging lightly, as if that would also make light of what I’d said.
“What do you mean?”
I could smell the iron of the chains. “I’m supposed to go back in a few weeks, but I may not be able to. I can’t remember that last dive and I don’t think my body will obey if I can’t see the moves in my mind. And my mind is refusing to see them. It just stopped cooperating. I’ve been told what went wrong but I can’t remember exactly what happened. And I’m really scared to get back up on that board until I do.”
“I’m sure the block is because you got hurt, right? It’s because you’re scared.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. It’s definitely why I can’t sleep. Who knows? Maybe when the concussion heals, all the memories will come back.”
I’d told him too much and dreaded that he was about to say the wrong thing and I was going to feel foolish. I hadn’t told anyone. Not Coach Mike, not my mom, not Izzie, not the neurologist. Why bother? Only I could help myself. I began to swing higher.
“I don’t blame you,” Van said. “From what I’ve learned, diving is about getting as close as you can to hitting the board. So basically, as close as you can to getting injured.”
“Pretty much. It’s a crazy sport. It’s also about getting the perfect angle to maximize speed and height. A coach can help but really, no one can explain it to a diver—how you get there. I can’t tell you why or how but naturally, I can do it. Could do it.”
“You can still do it.”
“I like your confidence.”
“Do you like your coach?”
“He’s really good. You need someone to push you and to coax you and to be in your head so they can convince you that you have it.”
“Didn’t you say before that it’s mainly about trusting your instincts?”
“Yes and no. There are different types of divers: the type-A ones and then the thrill-seekers who need the adrenaline.”
“Which kind are you?” Van asked. For a second, I thought he was joking. I thought it was all too clear.
“The type-A kind. I don’t like leaps of faith and just trusting myself. I like careful practice.”
“Yeah, I know.” He agreed, like he knew this about me. “But you wouldn’t have the guts to do it at all if you weren’t a little bit of the other type as well.”
I looked over at him and gave him a little smile. Van cleared his throat. “I’m not your coach, but maybe I can help you.”
“Ha! How?”
“Because you need someone objective. You also need someone who’s going through the same thing—insomnia. And because I’ve had enough therapy to last me a lifetime,” he stated matter-of-factly.
He’d surprised me. I felt him waiting for my reaction. “You have a lot of knowledge, Van Tagawa.”
“I do,” he said, and laughed at himself. “When my dad died, my mom took me every week. Then later I struggled with depression on and off.”
“I never knew.”
“You were gone.”
For a moment, I felt like I’d abandoned him. In hindsight, maybe I had. “Did therapy help?” I asked.
Van cleared his throat. “Probably? My mom moved on quickly when she married Kevin. But it was nice because it was like she was telling me I didn’t have to move on right away, too. Did you go to therapy after your dad left?”
The mention sent a zing through me like an unexpected electrical shock. “It was just a divorce,” I said. “Not just, but you know what I mean.”
“Tell me what you do remember about your last dive. What happened leading up to it?” Van asked. He threw me by beginning to swing from side to side, getting too close to me, and I didn’t like being out of sync.
I tipped back in the swing so I could make out the playground’s black mulch and metal fencing beyond. It instantly bothered my head so I hauled myself up to seated. “Everything was normal. I saw other divers, Caroline, I saw my coach, the crowd. Then I walked out to the edge but I don’t remember anything after that.” A more complete description would have included the person next to me, with his hand on Caroline’s lower back and my incomprehension that he was even in the building.
I knew I sounded deceptively unemotional. I could feel Van studying me. I steeled myself for more questions, but he backed off, gently saying, “Take it easy on yourself. What you need more than anything are delta waves, that deep sleep. That’s the only way you’ll feel rested and heal up.”
“Then what are we doing out?”
“Trying to relax. Break the loop. What’s keeping us awake is stress about losing sleep.” After a second, he said, “It’s funny that we’ve both mentioned Caroline.”
“What?” We didn’t talk about school. But now we were talking about her?
“It’s nothing. Just a coincidence that she was in both of our stories about when we stopped sleeping.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FRIDAY, APRIL 8
“What are you so happy about?” Colette asked. I’d just sat down at the table to join my friends in the cafeteria. Our table was located beneath the giant painting of a knight, our school mascot. Without asking, Colette moved my backpack from the bench next to her to a greasy spot on the floor.
“Nothing,” I said, a little too defensively, shaking the dressing into a prepackaged salad. It was extremely loud, kids eating and filing in and out, but hearing my tone, Izzie and the other girls stopped their conversation. It was rare for me to show any kind of edge.
“Did someone ask you to prom?” Colette smirked, knowing the answer full well. My former possibility had moved on. He’d asked a tenth grader named Harper Brandon.
Before I had to give her the answer she wanted to hear, I saw Colette lift her eyes to someone behind me. I recognized the perfume just as I felt a tap on my shoulder. I tilted my head up and saw Caroline standing above me.
“Hey! Just wanted to see if practice was okay yesterday. I saw you talking to a few people and then you left.” God, even her voice was sweet. She was wearing a white cotton V-neck sweater that showed a shade of cleavage.
“Oh, it was great. I touched base with Mike. And I got to see everyone. You were right. Thanks again.”
“Of course. Anytime. Sorry you had to get a ride home.”
“It was fine.”
“Cool. Maybe I’ll see you at Connor’s party tonight?” Caroline said, referring to someone from her class. Of course, I hadn’t heard of any party. I was suddenly stuck on the realization that it was a Friday night.
Caroline wasn’t really waiting for my answer. She was just being polite. She smiled and gracefully crossed the cafeteria, turning a few heads in her wake. A band geek made a rude gesture behind her back and when he saw me c
atch him, I narrowed my eyes and he looked away.
A shadow passed over my mood.
What are you so happy about?
Colette was right—I had been happy. Too happy, I knew. Last night had been the best night I’d ever had.
(A) I’d never stayed out until three A.M. with a boy.
(B) I’d never spent time in the company of a boy who was the number-one person I wanted to spend time with.
(C) It may have been a mistake telling Van about the stage fright, but it felt like a tiny, tiny weight off my shoulders.
Without permitting myself to admit it, a stupid part of me was looking forward to this evening with Van. But I’d forgotten tonight was a weekend night. Undoubtedly, he would be busy. With his girlfriend.
“Which one is that?” Colette asked, gesturing with her chin to my salad. Her refusal to acknowledge my friendship with Caroline spoke volumes. The rest of the table looked like they had questions.
I hadn’t even registered what I was eating. My brain was sluggish when I stared down at the label, working to make sense of the lettering. “Santa Fe barbecue chicken,” I obliged Colette.
“Watch out. That one has a billion grams of fat.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FRIDAY, APRIL 8
Early in the evening, Coach Mike texted: Pizza? Our place? You can come watch and laugh at us old people trying to put together a crib. God, I think I was still skateboarding when you first met me.
I wanted to sink into Mike and Laura’s couch and feel taken care of, but I had to get myself in a better place before I faced Mike. Mike would want to talk diving and he would know instantly that I was off. He’d pull it out of me that I was scared. He wasn’t good with scared. He was good with strong.
Instead, I whiled away the early hours of the night at the movies with my friends but, later, I only remembered snatches of what we’d seen. After the movie, on the drive back to Izzie’s, Colette said, “Anyone up for a stop at Connor’s party?” That got my attention.
“We could,” Izzie hedged. “I’d have to lie to my mom about where we went after the movie.”
“Text her,” Colette said. “Just keep it simple. That’s the key to lying. And always include a grain of truth.” The car went silent, contemplating Colette’s wisdom.
When I looked out my window, at first, I was confused by the sight of trees blurring together like an impressionist painting. Then, my vision telescoped and I couldn’t see the road ahead. It was what I’d once felt on a tire swing as it twirled and twirled, the chains entwining endlessly above me, while Van and Wilson screamed with glee. Panicked, I’d launched myself off the side.
I was on the verge of making a scene in Izzie’s car, to do anything to get them to let me out.
“Nah, we don’t know him. It would be weird,” Izzie, the unspoken leader, concluded. “How about that street festival downtown?”
I began to breathe again. Relieved but shaken, I remained uneasy in the back row. It was terrifying how close I’d come to losing it in front of everyone.
Soon I was spit out at the hot, crowded festival. I slapped at mosquitoes as we maneuvered through swarms of people. I scanned the vendors’ jewelry with my friends, not really seeing it. The girls’ chatter faded as I walked into a cloud of music.
“Oh my god, look who it is!” Izzie said.
It took a second for the song to take form for me. Then I saw the live band performing, the downtown skyline in silhouette behind them. There were four guys onstage. My eyes were drawn first to the massive, dark sweat rings under the arms of the lead singer’s T-shirt. But then I realized the lead singer was Van—standing center stage, a little farther out front than the others, microphone in hand.
Izzie was yanking on my arm. I realized I was standing, frozen, watching him.
That gravelly singing voice had become more mature. And sexier. I’d seen Van play before but it had been with his high school band and he’d been the best one by far. This band was good. And this was a big festival. Why hadn’t he told me he was in a “real” band? From what I could tell, he was the youngest member. The others were in their early twenties at least.
Izzie tried to pull me up front to dance. I resisted and shook my head. But I met her smile and found I couldn’t stop.
God, that voice. And the crowd. I scouted for Caroline but didn’t see her. Or the boys.
At the end of the song, Van chugged a bottle of water, then lifted the tail of his shirt to wipe off his face, exposing his lean stomach. And a six-pack.
It was almost funny how Izzie and Preeti gasped.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this happy. The energy from the crowd was so alive.
“Van is so good!”
“Oh my god, and that drummer is so hot!”
Later, when we drove home, Izzie said, “What if they get big?”
It was possible. I had the random thought—my dad would have been really proud.
* * *
Izzie tried to convince me to spend the night. Her sweet mom had chimed in, worried about me being alone so much. I’d made my excuses. If I couldn’t fall asleep in my own bed, it would be impossible in someone else’s.
Late that night, I rolled onto my side, still fully clothed on top of my bedspread, eyes wide open, wired from the evening’s turn of events.
The phone shook on my bedside table. I flipped it over, hoping but not expecting.
You awake?
It may have been my favorite text ever.
* * *
“I think you just fell asleep.”
“What are you talking about? No, I didn’t.”
“Then how come I can do this?” Van dodged right, tore past me, and made a basket.
“You are such an asshole.”
“You know you love it!” Van laughed, taunting me.
We were back at the playground and Van had brought a basketball. We’d started an impromptu game and Van wasn’t really taking it easy on me, and I was feeling a little competitive. I hadn’t expected to hear from him because I thought he’d be doing rock-star things, like going out with his band, hanging out with his girlfriend.
On the car ride home, I’d texted him: I was at the festival and saw you onstage! You were so good!
All I got back was: New band. You should have said hi.
Now I slapped the ball out of his hands and dribbled in place. “Why didn’t you tell me about the band? You guys are so good!” There was a thrill at having him all to myself after seeing him onstage.
Van had showered since the performance and wore a clean black T-shirt. “I don’t know. It’s a newish thing,” he said quickly, a little self-consciously.
“I couldn’t believe the crowd!”
“Yeah, well, they’re still auditioning me. They aren’t psyched I’m in high school.”
“From what I saw, they’ll keep you around. By the way, how do you have the energy to play basketball?”
“I definitely can’t sleep after that.”
Van suddenly stole the ball and made another basket.
“Hold on,” I said, ready with an excuse. “My hair is in my face.” I walked backward and shook it from its ponytail. Van followed me and came a step closer.
I scooped my straight hair back again while he watched. It was like this with us. One second it was easy; almost as if we were the best friends we had been when we were eight. The next second, there was an awareness of who we were now and we were both overly conscious of everything. At least it felt that way for me.
As soon as I was done I lowered my arms and snatched the ball from Van, catching him off guard. I tore past him and made a basket. Van picked it up and started dribbling, swaying back and forth, back and forth.
Van sped past me but this time I used my body to block him, sick of him running over me. He was bigger and taller, and his chest was hard and solid when I slammed against it. I tripped backward and Van used a hand to catch my back and right me before I creamed myself on th
e pavement.
“You are not allowed to wipe out,” he said, somewhere close to my ear.
My entire body was flush with his and I could hear his heartbeat thudding in his chest. I stood still, caught off guard at the sensation of being close to Van.
We stood like that while we both caught our breath.
Van took a step back first and, wanting to seem unbothered, I grabbed the ball and zigzagged around him. This time the ball hit the rim and bounced off.
“Stop!” he said. “I could have reinjured you. You’re such a great athlete I forgot for a second that you’re supposed to be recuperating.”
My head was in fact not liking what I was doing. I realized that only once the fun and games were over. I bent to tie my shoe and collect myself.
“You okay?” Van came over and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Yes!” I straightened and his hand fell away. “I’m fine!” He kept touching me tonight and I liked it too much. Van consulted his phone. “It’s really late. Or really early, I guess. It’s four.”
“Seriously? We’ve been here that long?” It was still a night sky, low clouds hiding the stars.
“Yep. Come on. I’ll walk you home.” Van bounced the ball a couple of times but when we hit the streets, he held it tight. One car passed us and we both kept our eyes straight ahead.
We took a right onto our cul-de-sac. One of the neighbors’ grown daughters, a beautiful, twenty-something Asian woman, wearing only a black sports bra and small black shorts, jogged past us, her long, straight hair flying behind her. She didn’t seem to think it was odd that we were all out on the streets so early.
Van abruptly stopped.
“What?”
“It’s my dog.” He jogged ahead.
I expected to see Stella but it was Heidi, the old black Lab Van had had since I first met him.
I caught up to him. Van had squatted down next to the dog, holding her graying head gently in his hands, checking Heidi over, making sure she was okay. Her tail wagged, but otherwise she seemed blind, her eyes glazed over with a filmy light blue. She was ancient.
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