A Matter of Heart

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  I smile to prove it, but Coach doesn’t look convinced. “What happened?”

  “She got dizzy and lost her balance,” Dad explains. “But once I got her in here and seated, she came out of it right away.”

  Coach nods, but his blue eyes are saying something different. “Did she lose consciousness?”

  Dad runs a hand around the back of his neck. “I don’t really know. It happened so fast.”

  “Just to be safe, you better get checked out.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I just had my physical two months ago.”

  He looks at Dad as if I’m not there. “Does Abby have a doctor she can see, or should I arrange something through the school?”

  “No, she has a doctor,” Dad says.

  “Coach—”

  He stops me with one look. “You don’t swim in my pool until you’ve been checked out.”

  I sigh dramatically. “Fine.”

  He stands. Then his mouth softens, his lips tilting up a tiny bit. A rush of warmth fills my chest. I don’t know how else to explain it. Coach doesn’t fawn ever, and he doesn’t praise much. But when he does, it means something. It means everything. That tilt of his lip is like a cartwheel coming from Coach.

  On his way out, he says offhandedly, “Not bad today, Lipman,” like a throwaway comment, but I know it isn’t.

  I shrug like, Yeah, whatever. But inside I’m lit up like the Fourth of July.

  3

  By the time I get back outside, there are screams from the pool area, but I can tell I’m too late. The race is over.

  Jen intercepts me before I make it through the crowd of parents. She’s got sweats over her swimsuit, and her wet hair is pulled back into a pony. She swam the 100, too, though the 200 is her best event. Usually we meet at our towels after the required parental visits and cool down. No wonder she looks pissed.

  “Where have you been?” She sounds pissed too. She’s a total control freak and doesn’t like to have anything out of place. Including me.

  “Dad and I went inside for a minute.” I’m not telling her about the folding-up-like-a-chair episode. She’ll make it into a huge deal.

  “It’s been a lot longer than a minute.” She rolls her eyes, which makes me smile.

  The first time I met Jen, she was rolling her eyes. We were six years old, waiting for swim camp to begin, and she was disgusted by the disorganized coach. If she’d been tall enough to reach the guy’s clipboard, she would have taken it and had us assigned to lanes and swimming warm-ups in two minutes flat. That first day, Jen asked me if I had a day planner. She showed me hers, complete with a coloring calendar and stickers. A day planner? I still had a baby blanket. I’m not sure if I nodded, but I was in awe. And as it turned out, the girl could swim too. We’ve been best friends ever since.

  “Connor just swam,” she says. “Against Alec. I can’t believe you missed it.”

  “It was my dad’s fault,” I say, which is the truth. “Did Connor win?”

  “Come see.”

  Jen grins and grabs my elbow. She uses her impressively wide shoulders to open up a lane to the pool. I follow, laughing because she’s laughing, and because I feel fine and I just took first place, and because I’m on the way to see my incredibly hot boyfriend.

  Just when I think this day can’t get any better, I see the scoreboard.

  Connor Moore first.

  Alec Mendoza second.

  Yes.

  Connor is standing by the edge of the pool, his cap and goggles in one hand, his chest still heaving. Tanner and Logan are giving him high fives. Connor’s hair is short enough that even wet it doesn’t cover his eyes, so I can see how happy he is, how pumped, and I don’t blame him. Connor lost the top spot to Alec when he got sick in the middle of September. It’s hard to believe he’s got his times back so quickly, but the scoreboard doesn’t lie. Two meets into October, and the king has his crown once again.

  “Chalk up another one for the good guy,” Jen says.

  “He wants to celebrate tonight,” I tell her.

  Her eyes zero in on mine. “You mean…celebrate?”

  She knows what I mean. Connor and I have gotten closer over the past few weeks. Just not that close. Not yet.

  “Abby, you can’t. Your frontal lobe.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Jen and I both took Childhood Development last spring and our teacher told us that a person’s frontal lobe isn’t fully functional until the midtwenties. She said no teen could make an informed decision about sex with only half a brain. Or something like that.

  Jen decided long ago that she was saving herself at least until college, so frontal lobe development makes perfect sense to her. It makes sense to me, too, but in a logical, light-of-day sort of way. After all, I just turned sixteen in September. But Connor is nearly eighteen. And the topic doesn’t usually come up in the light of day. It’s generally more in the light of his dashboard clock while we’re in the backseat of his car.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to say yes,” I tell Jen.

  “But are you going to say no?” She waggles her eyebrows at me.

  “That’s my plan.” My gaze shifts back to Connor in time to catch the ripple of his muscles as he stretches his shoulders. I sigh. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

  Jen folds her arms over her chest. “I’m not the one who told you to date a guy who looks like that.”

  “So I’m supposed to date someone ugly?”

  “For the sake of your frontal lobe, yes.”

  Garrett wasn’t ugly. That’s what I think, but I’m smart enough not to say it. Garrett was Jen’s one and only crush, and it all went wrong in middle school before either of us knew what a frontal lobe was. “So where’s your ugly boyfriend?” I say, playing along.

  “I’m saving myself. I haven’t met anyone hideous enough yet.”

  I hear Connor’s laugh and look over. “You think maybe he’s a little happy?”

  “You think maybe someone else is a little unhappy?” Jen says, knocking my arm with her elbow and gesturing past Connor.

  Alec is standing alone, rubbing a towel over his dark hair. It doesn’t take an expert in reading body language to know he’s pissed. Good. “Serves him right. All those stares he’s been giving Connor.” Plus, I don’t like to admit it, but I’m still mad that he had me fooled when we first met. I thought he was a cool guy. Then he turns out to be a bad loser. I hate bad losers.

  “What’s up with that, anyway?” Jen asks. “Did you ever ask Connor?”

  “He says it’s nothing. Just tells me Alec can’t handle finishing second and to stay away from the guy. Like I need to be told.” I pretend to shiver, but it’s not completely fake. Alec’s glares have spread my way the past few weeks. Maybe he hates me, too, because I’m dating Connor. I know I should ignore him, but it isn’t easy.

  There’s something about Alec’s eyes—they’re deep set and so brown they’re nearly black. You can look into them, but you won’t see anything but shadows.

  Mystery Man. That’s what Jen called him when he showed up at our first practice in August. I already knew him because he was a new hire at the gym where I teach swim lessons. We’d said hello a few times but worked different shifts. Still, I’d seen how much the kids loved him. I’d also watched him in the lap pool, and the guy worked. I liked that.

  Then this rivalry started between him and Connor. Over the past two months, it’s gotten worse, and now there’s something hot and angry in those eyes. I’ve caught him staring at me like he’s trying to figure something out. I have no idea what. We barely talk. I see him every morning at practice and every Sunday when we both teach, but that’s it. Now that I’ve seen how he handles losing, I want to keep it that way. I have no respect for whiners. You deal with defeat by working harder, not by glaring at the competition.

  Jen’s nudge brings me out of my thoughts. “Oh my gawd, look at this.”

  Alec is walking toward Connor. It’s not just a stroll, either. It�
�s an I’m-coming-to-rip-out-your-throat sort of walk. Tanner and Logan back up a little because everyone on the team feels the tension.

  My heart thumps against my ribs as Jen stiffens next to me. “No disrespect to your guy, but if there’s a fight, my money is on Alec.”

  “They’re not going to fight.”

  “Hope not,” she says. “You think Alec keeps a switchblade in his Speedo?”

  I swallow. I’m not going there. Not to switchblades or to Alec’s Speedo.

  He’s only a foot from Connor now. They’re about the same height, but Alec seems taller because he’s leaner. Connor is built a little thicker, and right now his shoulders are back and his hands fisted. Even though he looks ready for a fight, Jen is right. Alec looks ready to win the fight. Any fight.

  I start forward. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but before I move a step, Jen grabs my arm and holds me back. “Abby, no.”

  Alec leans in toward Connor. Close. I barely see his lips move, but I know he’s saying something. A muscle pulses under Connor’s jaw.

  Then it’s over. Alec moves past and I let out a breath I don’t realize I’m holding.

  Then nearly choke on it.

  Alec is headed for me.

  A second later, he’s standing in front of me, so close I can feel the heat coming off his skin. Pool water drips from his hair, and I half expect it to evaporate into steam as it hits his chest. My breath is trapped halfway down my throat. I step back and Jen wraps her arm through mine, moving closer. I love her for that.

  “Nice win,” he says, sarcasm heavy in his low voice. Alec’s eyes are like laser beams and I’m caught off guard for a second by their intensity. “If you can call it that.”

  What does that mean?

  He pushes past and his shoulder brushes mine, just enough for me to feel his anger like a living thing.

  “Jeez,” Jen whispers. “That guy has serious issues.”

  “Ignore him,” I say. “Who cares?” I turn to look for Connor. This has been an amazing day, and no one is going to ruin it. Not even Alec Mendoza.

  It takes me a minute to realize I’m still rubbing my shoulder where his skin touched mine.

  4

  “My heart is racing.”

  Connor whispers the words in my ear, then kisses my neck.

  My heart is racing too, but in a slightly different way, because while he’s kissing my neck, his hand is sliding down my arm, around the curve of my bra, and now it’s circling my stomach. My lower stomach.

  I cover his trailing hand with mine. “Connor,” I say hesitantly. I shift and the leather seat squeaks beneath me. Connor drives an old black sedan. It’s full of dents and smells like stale Doritos and chlorine, but it’s a BMW, so that’s pretty cool. The window above me is cracked open and the cold air feels nice, though it smells a little ripe since we’re parked near the canal.

  He sighs and pulls back. I scoot up a little higher in the seat and straighten my bra and my shirt. I’m a little nervous to meet his eyes. I love this backseat, and I don’t want to lose it. Or Connor. But I don’t want to lose anything else, either.

  I look up. He’s got a hand in his hair, his elbow resting on one knee.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  He lifts his face and all I see are shadows and lines: strong nose, wide-set eyes, full lips. I don’t need a light to see his face, though, because I’ve been watching him for two years now.

  I love that now he’s watching me too.

  A year ago, Connor was unattainable. I was a freshman and he was a junior. A talented, smart, gorgeous junior. Even Jen—who is usually immune to guys—was impressed. We didn’t see much of him because Connor swims for the Aqua Athletes club team, so he practices with them most mornings. During the high school season, from August to November, he competes for Horizon High, so he shows for one workout a week and comes to all the meets.

  Still. I couldn’t take my eyes off him right from the beginning. The guy is always laughing, always loose and relaxed. And when he swims—oh man. Watching him slide through the water with his muscles stretching and pulling is a beautiful sight. Connor was the fastest swimmer at Horizon last year, and I have a thing for speed. It turns out so does he.

  This year, at our opening meet in August, I finished first in the 100-yard free, and I anchored the 4 × 100 relay team that also took first. My points helped grab our school the win. Afterward, Connor came over to congratulate me. “Nice race,” he said.

  I managed a shrug. “Just getting warmed up for the season.”

  And then he smiled at me. A completely sexy smile that knocked me flat. SS#1—that’s what Jen called it. Sexy Smile #1. From then on, it was a joke between us, and she started keeping count.

  After SS#7 (and another meet with two first places), he said I cut through the water like a shark. When I passed him in the hall at school the next Monday, he called me Fins for the first time. Then about a month ago, in combination with SS#22, he asked if I wanted to grab some pizza after swim practice. I ended up in his backseat that night.

  And here I am again.

  He gives me a slanted look. “It’s all good.” But then his shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “Maybe it feels like I’m rushing things, but I’ve liked you for a long time.”

  “Liar.”

  He gives me a heavy-lidded look. “You swam at the club championships this past March up in Scottsdale.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “So?”

  “So you were wearing a purple and blue suit and you laid out your towel near the edge of a tree. I watched you braid your hair.”

  Heat floods through me. “You were watching? I didn’t see you.”

  “Your eyes were closed.”

  And I can picture it suddenly, the tree, my legs stretched out and thrumming with pre-race adrenaline. My eyes closed tight, visualizing the race while I braided my hair.

  Connor watching.

  I turn liquid at the thought of it. My breath hitches and his gaze drops to my chest.

  Oh jeez. I pull in air, but it feels like I’m underwater. Like I’ve gone deeper than I realized. I may not say yes, but Jen is right. It would be easy to not say no.

  “You have to stop looking at me that way,” I say.

  “What way?”

  “You know what way.”

  “Can’t help it.” He grins. “It’s biological.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “It’s true,” he says. “It’s the whole Darwin thing. Survival of the fittest.”

  “And we’re the fittest?”

  “Hell, yeah,” he says. “Who won the hundred free today?”

  “We did.”

  The grin widens. “You didn’t just win. You killed it.”

  Tingles race along my back at the memory of it. “You were amazing too. I can’t believe your time. Your lungs didn’t burn?”

  “Not even pneumonia can slow me down.” He trails a finger down my arm. “This is my senior year. It’s gotta be perfect, you know? Like we’re perfect together.” He slides back toward me. “You wouldn’t want to dis Darwin, would you?”

  “Darwin is biology,” I say. “I think what you’re talking about is chemistry.”

  He laughs. “I like chemistry. All that experimenting.” He kisses me again, and I feel his arms lift me onto his lap. He’s so strong. I want to thread my arms around his neck and just hold on.

  Instead, I push away. “I have to get home.” I glance at the dash clock and see it’s already 10:45. “Curfew in fifteen minutes,” I add. Mom and Dad put me on a tight leash when I started seeing Connor. I don’t think it’s him so much as the fact that he has a car. At first, I didn’t get why it mattered. But now I do.

  “One more kiss.”

  I plant a quick kiss on his lips and then smile at his disappointment. “I gotta get up early for work anyway.”

  “Call in sick.” His face is pressed to the curve of my neck, his lips planting kisses along my collarbone.

  “I can’t.
If I don’t show, they’ll give my class to Alec.”

  He pulls back as if I’ve dumped a bucket of ice water on his lap. “Nice way to spoil the moment.”

  “Sorry.” I slide off him.

  He shrugs. “It’s okay. I just hate that you work with Mendoza.”

  “We don’t work together. We teach separate classes.”

  Connor pushes open his door and moves back to the front seat. I do the same.

  He starts the car while I strap on my seat belt. An old Katy Perry song starts pulsing through the speakers.

  “So what did he say to you after the race?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” Connor puts the car in gear. “He can’t handle losing, so he has to talk trash. Just ignore him, okay? Whatever he says to you.”

  “It’s not like we ever talk.”

  “Good.”

  He pulls off the gravel and onto the road, and it’s as if we left the conversation behind. Connor likes to live on a constant high and hates anything that threatens to bring him down. Which is okay by me—why look for trouble, right? I reach for his hand and he squeezes my fingers. Resting my head on the back of the seat, I close my eyes. I’m thinking about Darwin. About being one of the fittest. About being a perfect match with the perfect guy.

  I’m the luckiest girl alive.

  5

  Mom and Dad are both in the kitchen when I shuffle through Sunday morning at eight. No matter how early I’m up, they’re always here, sitting at the table in their spots—Dad with the sports page spread out and Mom working the crossword. It’s a Sunday ritual with them, and has been for as long as I can remember. The only difference is now Dad wears glasses and Mom has switched to green tea because coffee upsets her stomach.

  They both look up and smile. I yawn. The kitchen smells like cinnamon, and I wonder if Mom has rolls in the oven.

  “Good morning,” she says. “Seven letters, teen TV star from the land of big sky.”

  “Montana,” I say.

  She smiles and pencils it in. “Thank you for being home on time last night.”