The Insomniacs

by Marit Weisenberg

  You have a family. You have your mom, me, and Laura.

  Mike patting my back, telling me it would be okay when I was so sick, my mom at the entrance, stone-faced.

  First things first. Get the hell out of this house. This neighborhood.

  * * *

  A small packed bag held everything I needed to stay out all day. My car made a toylike whining sound when I backed out of the driveway fast, into the dark predawn.

  A hand banged down on my trunk. Hard. I nearly jumped to the roof.

  Mr. Kitchen rode his bike around to my window, standing on the pedals and balancing shakily as he raged at me to watch where I was going, dying to school me. The old me would have apologized profusely. Now, I didn’t roll down the window. Instead, I backed out slowly, leaving him spitting anger in my driveway.

  I made my way out of the neighborhood onto twinkling city streets and looked at the clock. A second later, I forgot what time it was and checked again.

  First stop: coffee. At a drive-through, I purchased two of their largest size available. No, I didn’t want any food.

  Outside the aquatics center, sleepy swimmers shuffled in. I blew on my coffee and eyed the drop-offs, the swimmers who carpooled together, all carrying their tiny duffels and backpacks.

  I finished the massive coffee and felt the crazy caffeine rush and acid burn. I drank half of the next one, then flung open my car door.

  It was easy to sneak in with the swimmers. I wore a bathing suit, shorts, flip-flops. No one questioned me when I walked over to the divers’ dryland workout equipment. I was aware of the inspirational quote Coach Mike had pasted on the wall behind me. I refused to look at it but I could recite it from memory:

  “To be as good as it can be, a team has to buy into what you as the coach are doing. They have to feel you’re a part of them and they’re a part of you.”—Bobby Knight

  I wondered how long it would take to forget it.

  I hauled myself up onto the trampoline and gave it three practice bounces to get my sea legs back. Snap to stand. Jump to twist. Swivel seat.

  Back drop. Back dive tuck. Then onto the somersaults. Over and over and over again. Some coaches would have said enough already. That I was being reckless, careless at this point. Mike would have said the more practice, the better.

  My body took over in that strange way it always did when, deep down, I knew what I was doing. Yes, my muscles were weaker. Yes, my head was about to split. Yes, my acrobatics weren’t neat. They were wild. But that wasn’t the point. I’d been afraid to come even this far before. Acknowledging the truth about Coach Mike was a relief and now I was free to continue. The harder I worked, the sooner it would come back.

  “Excuse me?”

  I landed a somersault tuck. “What?” I sounded ready for a fight.

  A kid, maybe fourteen or so, stood at the base of the trampoline. His water polo sweatshirt read Yang. I hated water polo players. They always hogged the pool. Had his coach sent him over to tell me to get out of here? No divers until after school?

  “I don’t really know anything about this equipment but it looks like you’ve popped a few springs.” He pointed to the back edge of the trampoline.

  I twisted to look. Shit.

  “It’s fine,” I said. He shrugged and sauntered away as I swiped at the sweaty hair sticking to my face. Now the water polo coach had his eye on me. Assholes. I could practice my dive list in the pool if they weren’t here.

  I freed myself from the equipment and took to the stadium stairs. The last time I’d done stairs had been with Caroline. I buried the thought of her.

  Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up.

  The pounding. If I listened to the pounding, I wouldn’t feel the pain.

  Other sounds began to penetrate my concentration—a whistle blow, the crash of swim strokes.

  I’ve been in love with you since I moved to this street.

  The vomit caught me by surprise. I lunged to the closest trash can. Volumes of coffee came up. Who knew I could hold that much liquid?

  The industrial wall clock read 7:00 A.M. It was time to get ready for school. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and made my way to the showers. In the locker room, I glimpsed a stranger’s beet-red face in the mirror, realized it was me and averted my eyes, struck for a second by evidence that I existed.

  * * *

  I spent the morning visiting my teachers, one by one, before the bell rang or for a few minutes after class. Some were excited to speak with me, glad I was taking responsibility for my missing grades. Two teachers weren’t even really sure who I was. Five times, I explained my situation—my concussion—my confusion when I saw my grades. Each of them complied with my request and we went back through the grades online as I made a master list of assignments I needed to turn in and tests to retake.

  A few acquaintances said hello. Preeti gave me a dirty look in the hall, obviously sympathizing with Izzie about what a cold bitch I was. Otherwise, it was business as usual. Diving was something that took place far from school. A few days, at least, was the time it would take for word to spread about Mike and Caroline.

  I looked at my phone one time during the school day. There was an email that practice was canceled. A few texts from teammates asking if I knew what was going on. If Mike’s wife had gone into early labor. There was a message from the neurologist’s office that I’d missed my follow-up. Nothing yet from my mom.

  At lunch, I downed the rest of the cold, second large coffee while I drove to a drive-through for more. Somehow the vomit incident hadn’t deterred me. The thought of food, however, made me nauseous.

  This was called getting my shit together and it felt fantastic.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  THURSDAY, APRIL 21

  After lunch, the latest injection of caffeine sang like a high note through my veins as I took my seat in Spanish.

  Two of Van’s soccer friends were in the class but, otherwise, I didn’t know a soul, which would make it my easiest class of the day to navigate.

  I crossed my ankles, slid lower in my chair, and tried to shake the feeling that the two soccer players were looking at me more than usual. I thought I heard some whispering and a brief cackle from one of them. I proceeded to work on a math take-home test while pretending to jot notes on Señora Lozano’s lecture.

  “Señorita Ingrid?”

  Señora Lozano asked me a question to which I replied automatically in surprisingly rapid-fire Spanish. For a second, I had no idea whether what I’d said was even in the correct language. But it seemed to be, because she moved on. Who knew caffeine and three weeks without sleep had made me smarter? I was beginning to love living on adrenaline.

  The insistent sensation of someone staring a hole in my back penetrated my focus. I glanced over my shoulder and one of the soccer players—Ethan—matched my stare with a curled lip. His friend guffawed. I shifted uncomfortably and fixed my eyes forward again. The classroom phone began to bleat.

  “¿Hola?” Señora Lozano answered, removing one turquoise clip-on earring. Her eyes snapped to mine. “Yes, she’s here. Okay. Sending her now.” Señora Lozano placed the phone in its cradle and looked at me with dawning interest. “Ingrid, you’re wanted at the counselor’s office.”

  Everyone stared at me as I sat, unmoving.

  “Honey, they said to gather your things for early release.”

  * * *

  Mrs. White was around thirty-five, I guessed. Her hair was highlighted bright blond and she wore an eyelet-patterned, knee-length skirt and a neon-green tank top beneath a white blazer. She spoke fast. On her desk were scattered photos of toddler-age twin boys, she and her seven bridesmaids from her wedding, and one of a man—presumably her husband—wearing wrap-around sunglasses and holding up a tropical drink, his cheek pressed to hers.

  I’d never met Mrs. White before. I assumed my huge high school must have multiple counselors. I pegged Mrs. White as the cool one. The one the students could talk to about thei
r friends, their love lives, or other sensitive matters.

  “Ingrid. Hi! I’m Christina White.” She held out a manicured hand and gave mine a petite shake. “Take a seat.”

  I said nothing. Mrs. White glanced down at my incessant foot-tapping. I stopped and pressed my fingernails hard into my palm. Why couldn’t I sit still? For a second, Mrs. White, surrounded by the sunlight pouring in through the window behind her, became a blur of green neon as if I’d looked directly at the sun. I refocused my eyes.

  “Everything all right?”

  “I’m good.”

  “A student from your diving team withdrew from the high school today. Some serious allegations are being made about your coach’s conduct, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now.”

  Caroline was gone?

  “We wanted to check in with you. Let you know there are resources here if you need someone to talk to. About anything.”

  Less than twelve hours and the high school counselor had heard the rumors. Those boys in Spanish class had obviously heard. It was truly amazing how fast word traveled. And, clearly, everyone was speculating about the nature of my relationship with Coach Mike.

  You had to be kidding me.

  “I can’t help but notice a precipitous drop in your grades,” Mrs. White prodded.

  “I’m fine,” I said quickly. “I had an injury—a concussion—so I missed some school. I have all my assignments. I’m back on track.”

  Mrs. White consulted her computer screen. “You live with your mom?”

  I nodded. Yes, I lived with a single mother.

  “Any siblings?”

  “No. It’s just the two of us.”

  “If there is anything that’s hard to discuss with your mom, I want you to know you can always come here to talk.”

  “No. We’re good. She works a night shift and sleeps in the day mostly.” I was spinning and understood too late that I now sounded like one of those neglected kids who was perfect for a close family friend or Boy Scout leader—or coach—to prey on.

  All kinds of alarm bells were going off in Mrs. White’s eyes.

  “I’m good. I promise.”

  “I’m here if you need me, Astrid.”

  “Ingrid.”

  Mrs. White brightened three shades of red. “Ingrid! I’m sorry.”

  After that, she consented to my hasty exit.

  * * *

  The bell sounded as soon as I left Mrs. White’s office. Twenty seconds later, the halls swarmed with students, trickling in from every available doorway.

  I’d almost made a clean escape.

  I was at the farthest possible point on campus from the parking lot and I impatiently made my way through the crowd, hoping no one would notice me.

  I bumped into someone’s arm, jostling his red backpack.

  “Ingrid!” It was John Michael, my former would-be prom date. I waited for the familiar spark of worship in his eyes, the excuses I’d have to make to get away from him. I was taken aback when I saw something more like leeriness. Like I was slightly gross.

  “Hi,” I said, studying his reaction to me with a twisted kind of interest.

  John Michael nodded his princely head and moved on quickly.

  I looked around, unable to stop myself. Two senior girls watched me. I eyed them coolly. No one mattered, I repeated to myself, even as I cast my eyes downward.

  When I entered the parking lot, I pretended to riffle through my backpack for keys to look busy. When I passed a silver jeep, I heard a male voice say something I couldn’t hear and then, “Caroline.” Laughter in response.

  For the first time, I thought of how Van was feeling right now, how he was affected by the gossip. His girlfriend was the one who had cheated on him with a thirty-four-year-old.

  I tucked myself into my hot car and relished the sound of the automatic locks sealing me inside, away from the unsettling hostility. The stench. My soiled T-shirt from the morning was balled up in the backseat, radiating the smell of coffee and bile. I started the car to get the air going. Nothing happened but a click.

  I lifted my eyes and scanned front and side to side. The people closest had heard and were now waiting expectantly for my car to start.

  I wiped at the sweat on my upper lip. Please let this piece-of-trash car start and get me the hell out of this place. I will be perfect from now on.

  I went for it and turned the key. For a second it wheezed and there was hope the engine would turn over, the car whining louder and louder and straining. Now many eyes were on my car and the futile noises it was making.

  I stopped. Instinctively, I looked to where I knew the boys would be. They weren’t in their usual spot anymore. I was ashamed of myself for even checking. What was I going to do? Go ask Van for a ride?

  A knock on my window startled me so badly, I heard my own audible gasp. A boy with black horn-rimmed glasses and thick, glossy hair that fell over one eye waited patiently for me to roll down my window. Without power, that wasn’t something that was going to happen. I opened the car door a crack and the boy stepped back.

  “Do you need any help?” he asked.

  The kindness of strangers.

  I didn’t need any of that today.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  I exited the car and breezed past the boy as if this had been part of my master plan for the day.

  * * *

  I woke with a start. At first, I didn’t know where I was and I couldn’t place the older woman with gray hair and oily pink eyelids looming above me. I noticed the stacks of imposing bookshelves. The librarian was shaking my shoulder gently.

  “It’s five p.m. I’m going home, hon.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said, sitting up in the stiff-backed chair.

  “Don’t be. You kids need all the sleep you can get.”

  With trepidation, I checked my phone. There were more texts from teammates. I didn’t read them. There was a voice mail from Caroline. I ignored it.

  I had one message from my mom: Went in early again. Thought I’d see you before I left. Can you bring in the trash cans?

  Did she still not know?

  I took off for home on foot, ditching my car and listing a tad as I hauled both my heavy backpack and swim duffel, the latter strapped across my chest.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  FRIDAY, APRIL 22

  More coffee. I couldn’t believe I’d ever been upset about not sleeping at night. I needed the extra hours. First, I’d catch up on schoolwork. There was so much to get done. But after that, I could cram in more schoolwork, more workouts. I felt a little smug, like I could lap everyone with my achievements.

  I made a list, broken down by the half hour. No more naps at the library. If I calculated correctly, I could finish all of my assignments over the next two days. I also plotted out time for three workouts per day.

  With a knot in my stomach and increasingly swollen hands, I sent a polite email to the competitor USA Diving club in town. I needed a coach soon because their college connections were necessary. I was scared that despite my record, they would say no, that they wouldn’t want the stink of scandal in their club. But if I could fix this before my mom found out … if I could fix all of it, everything would go back to how it was before the accident.

  I was running on schedule. When math was complete, there was the essay for English to begin. I wondered if Van had turned it in. My eyes flicked to the window but I didn’t get up from my desk.

  I started an outline for the essay but I suddenly couldn’t form a reasonable argument. Whenever I tried to think deeply, I wasn’t clear-headed. I kept hitting a wall and spinning my wheels, unable to hold a thought for more than a few seconds.

  My attention was all over the place as I clicked through windows on my computer, not really doing anything but totally unable to tear myself away from the screen. I was scanning my email when I felt the prick of an idea. I went into my drive to the diving team’s shared folder. At the top of the listed documents was the
slideshow from the awards dinner that Mike had posted.

  I enlarged the slideshow to full screen and hit play. I knew what I wanted to see. Immediately, I hit pause on the first photo. It was grainy at first and then corrected into crystal clear focus.

  For the second time, I was looking at Mike with the high school team he’d once coached. And there it was. She was. It had just barely caught my awareness that night. Like a half-formed thought, I hadn’t even known what I’d wanted to go back and see. Then the urgent feeling had dissipated when my thoughts moved on to how grand Mike and I looked together in the photos that followed.

  There was Laura, Mike’s wife. In the back row. Her black beauty mark was visible even though her hair was much darker, wet, and slicked back.

  This was a high school team.

  I’d never really asked how they’d met. I knew Laura was younger than Mike. I knew they had Florida in common and the diving world was a small one. Not for one second had it ever occurred to me that he had been her coach.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  FRIDAY, APRIL 22

  Erase Mike from memory. Focus, Ingrid.

  Coffee.

  I trotted downstairs and when I arrived in the blindingly bright kitchen, I briefly forgot why I was there.

  It was 4:30 A.M. Time for my run to school. If all went well, I’d call the tow truck and get a jump before anyone saw me, and I’d still make it to the aquatics center to enter with the swimmers at 5:45 A.M.

  I began to jog out of the cul-de-sac, past Van’s lit window, when I realized something had been different about the entry of the house. I circled back and put the key in the lock but the door opened wide as soon as I touched it. I’d forgotten to lock up.

  Someone had slipped a note beneath the door.

  I unfolded the yellow legal paper, torn jaggedly from a pad, ready to read the words “Slut” or “Whore.”

  Ingrid,

  I heard your car battery died. Text me if you want a jump.