A Matter of Heart

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  Good morning, Thursday. Let today be the day.

  I roll my shoulders, but there’s tension there I can’t get rid of. Even swimming, I never felt this stiff. It’s not that I’m losing hope.

  It’s that I’m losing myself.

  The day stretches ahead of me, and for what? Without swimming to anchor me, I’m adrift. Up until two weeks ago, I woke up to swim. I planned my meals for swim. I kept up my grades so I could swim. I said no to clubs and parties because of swim. After school, I either swam or did something else that would be good for swimming. I went to bed early because of swim.

  I remember reading a magazine story about these boaters who got stuck in a storm, lost their motor, and floated for weeks at the whim of the waves. They had no way to move forward, and it drove them insane.

  The way it’s driving me insane.

  Only, I’m not stuck on a boat. There are other parts of my life that don’t rely on swimming, that can help me take my mind off whether the phone is going to ring today.

  Like Connor.

  Just because we met in the pool doesn’t mean we can’t connect on dry land. I smile to myself, thinking of just how well we connect in his car. Yeah, it’s been a little weird the past week, but that’s because we’re still making it all about swimming. This morning, I’m going to look as good as humanly possible, and when he gets out of practice, I’m going to be waiting. Even if it’s only for a few minutes, we can talk about the Halloween party. So far, we’re keeping our costumes a surprise, but that doesn’t mean we can’t meet up in advance. Jen will be bummed if I don’t go with her, but she’ll understand.

  Mom drops me off at school while the parking lot is still pretty empty. The only ones here this early are swimmers, cross-country, and ROTC. The air is cool but not cold, pretty standard for October in Phoenix. Everything smells fresh and the sunrise over the Superstition Mountains is pretty enough to be a postcard. I hurry across the asphalt and through the back gate leading to the pool facilities.

  As I cut through the gym locker room, I hear Bree and Hannah and a few of the others talking in the showers. Crap! Did practice get out a few minutes early? I drop my backpack near my locker and push open the door leading to the covered walkway.

  For a second, I don’t see or hear anyone. The pool area looks empty. Then I hear the rattle of the pool gate and see the sweep of wet blond hair and tan shoulders that belong to Connor. Perfect! I paint a smile on my strawberry-glossed lips. The gate jangles as he swings it open, his blue Speedo workout bag banging the metal rungs as he holds it open. Someone else is coming and I hear him laugh—the deep one that means he’s not just being polite. Then he steps back and to one side and it’s Jen he’s holding the gate for.

  My best friend—even more perfect. Only for some reason, it doesn’t feel that way.

  She says something—I can’t hear what—and he laughs again. The gate clangs shut behind them and they’re talking and my muscles are stiffening into concrete with every passing second. I watch them walking together, but in my head something shifts like one of those hidden pictures. Now I see them together walking. They’re laughing, talking, both wet from the pool, from a practice I couldn’t attend.

  What else have I been missing since I started missing practice?

  Then Jen looks up and sees me. “Hey,” she calls. I watch her and don’t know what I expect to see, but it’s just Jen and her usual smile.

  “What are you doing here?” Connor says. He reaches for my hand and leans over and gives me a quick kiss. “Strawberry,” he says, tasting my lip gloss.

  “You know fresh fruit is good for you after a workout.”

  He grins his sexy grin. Jen finally stopped counting them because there were just too many. But now I try to remember the last one before this and I can’t. Are they numbered in a way I’d never considered? Because our days together are numbered? Or are they still coming as fast as usual—just in someone else’s direction?

  I glance from Connor to Jen. I hate this feeling…this jealousy. But I can’t help it from stinging. “What were you guys laughing about?”

  She drops her swim bag and straightens the sides of her swim parka. Jen hates to be cold and her parka is a nice one: black on the outside with gray furry lining inside. Connor, on the other hand, just has a towel around his waist.

  “There was a Band-Aid floating in the pool,” Jen says. “While we were doing streamlines.”

  “Ah,” I say, understanding immediately. For streamline drills, we straighten our bodies like an arrow and try to shoot our way across the bottom of the pool using only our legs to propel us. Swimming so deep always brings up stuff that’s stuck to the bottom.

  “Anyway,” Jen explains, “the Band-Aid ended up glued to Bree’s goggles when she surfaced.”

  “I was still underwater and even I heard her scream,” Connor says.

  “She was freaked,” Jen adds.

  “So then Tanner grabbed the Band-Aid—”

  “Of course, he couldn’t just toss it onto the deck,” Jen interjects, looking at Connor to finish.

  “So Tanner told everyone he saw a scab attached, and I said no, I thought it was a hair.” Connor grins and rocks back on his heels.

  “After that,” Jen says, “everyone had to take turns guessing where the hair came from.”

  “Can’t repeat those,” Connor says. “Could get expelled.”

  By now, they’re retelling the story to themselves. I smile as widely as I can but it’s one of those “you had to be there” stories.

  “Coach didn’t get mad?” I finally ask.

  Jen shakes her head. “It was right at the end of practice, so he let us out a few minutes early. We’re supposed to be tapering for State, anyway.”

  “I thought I heard everyone else in the locker room.”

  “Yeah.” Jen looks at Connor. “We got to talking, I guess.”

  “And now I gotta run.” Connor rolls his eyes. “I was supposed to check in at ceramics and make sure my pot got fired.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I say.

  “To ceramics?” He sounds surprised at the idea, and I suppose it is stupid. I’ve never offered to go to his class before.

  “You’ve never shown me what you’re making.”

  “Because I’d rather be making out,” he says, and it doesn’t sound cute; it sounds…stupid.

  I don’t have much practice hiding my feelings, but I give a pretty decent imitation of a smile and even shove his chest lightly with one hand. “Get out of here. I’ll see you in the hall after second period.”

  “And wear more of that strawberry stuff,” he adds, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

  He disappears inside the locker room, and Jen grabs her swim bag with a sigh. “He’s a crack-up.”

  “I know,” I snap. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  She flashes me a look of surprise. “I didn’t say he wasn’t.”

  “But maybe you’d like to change that?”

  She shifts, pulling her coat tighter around her waist. “What is up with you?”

  “Is it Connor?”

  “Is what Connor?”

  “The guy you like.”

  “I told you there is no guy I like.”

  “Jen,” I say, my gaze glued to her face.

  She rolls her eyes, and I think she’s just looking for a way to break eye contact. But then she looks back at me, her gaze locking on mine. “Even if it was Connor. Even if I loved him with all my heart and a complete lack of frontal lobe, I would never, NEVER, do anything about it. And you know that.”

  It’s my turn to look away. Jen is a better person than I’ll ever be, a better friend than I deserve. I know deep down she wouldn’t go after my boyfriend.

  But is she wishing she could?

  Is he wishing it too?

  37

  The taps come in a rhythm. I prop myself up on an elbow. Rhythmic taps mean Dad is in a good mood.

  “Come in,” I whisper.

 
“Hey,” he says, slipping inside. I sit up, yanking the covers over my shoulders. The mattress squeaks as Dad sits on the edge, smelling of mint. “Tough day tomorrow, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Tomorrow is Saturday and another Horizon meet I won’t be competing in.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  We still haven’t heard from doctor number two, even though Dad has called the office every afternoon. How long can it take to look over some test results?

  “Don’t worry about it.” He stretches his neck and it cracks with a little popping sound. “You don’t need to prove anything. You’ve got your qualifying times, and missing one more meet won’t hurt you.”

  “I know, but”—I swallow—“when will we hear?”

  “They know it’s urgent, Ab. Hopefully tomorrow. The office is open most of the day.”

  I wiggle a hangnail on the edge of my thumb. “It’s going to come back okay.”

  “Of course it is. But don’t go crazy worrying about it. Whatever the results are, we’ll deal with it. You’ve already overcome so much. The way you’re swimming on the beta-blockers? You’re doing something amazing.” He clears his throat but I can hear how close he is to tears.

  I yank at the hangnail. A tiny bubble of red wells up.

  “You’ve taught me something,” he says in a halting voice. “I couldn’t face it at first when we got the news. I’m embarrassed to admit that. But you never gave up. You found a way. And for you to get out there now and swim competitively and keep the dream alive, after everything…” His voice catches, and there’s a gleam of wetness on his cheek.

  I look down, pressing a finger into my thumb. I feel the burn, watch the blood spread around my nail.

  “I’m so proud of you, honey,” he says. “You’re a fighter. And you’re talented. So much more talented than I ever was. You’re going to do this because you’re stronger than any problem. And you’re going to prove it when you get out there and swim that fifty on beta-blockers—and win.”

  My chest is so tight I can hardly breathe. “Dad.” I try to fill my lungs, but it’s only my eyes that are full. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  He stops me with a pat of his hand. “I won’t be. Ever.” Something loosens inside of me, and then he adds, “Maybe it won’t be first or second, Ab. I understand that. But I’ve been mapping your times over the past week and you’re in contention. Top three for sure.”

  I force a smile, and thank God there isn’t enough light coming in from the hall for him to see me clearly.

  “You know, I was thinking,” he says. “Maybe tomorrow before the meet, you and I can go to Lifeline. If you can’t swim for Horizon, maybe you can swim for me.”

  “Oh, Dad.” I shake my head.

  “Just to get it on record.”

  “I’d like to, but…” I shrug. “Coach needs me early to set up. It’s a home meet.”

  He’s quiet a second. “Okay. All right.” He squeezes my arm. “Maybe Sunday, then?”

  “Sure. Sunday.”

  On Sunday, I’ll figure something out. Or maybe by Sunday I’ll have the results.

  “Well, then,” he says, “I’d better let you get some sleep. You still doing your stretches every day?”

  I nod.

  “Taking your vitamins? Staying hydrated?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” He’s quiet for a long second. I hear his breath in time with mine. “I love you so much, Ab.”

  “I love you too, Dad,” I say.

  And that, at least, is the absolute truth.

  38

  “How do I look?” Jen says.

  I turn away from my bathroom mirror and then laugh. She’s stuck a squirt gun into the cleavage of her vest. “Like a killer slut,” I say.

  She looks back at herself and the gun wobbles. “If anyone touches my boobs, they could die. Literally.”

  It’s finally Saturday evening and full dusk outside the bathroom window. We haven’t had our first trick-or-treater yet, but I’m guessing any minute now. Mom and Dad are setting up chairs outside. It’s become a tradition for all the neighbors to gather in the cul-de-sac and sip spiked hot chocolate while passing out candy.

  I’m so ready for a party. For a major distraction. Dad talked to the doctor’s office this morning and they promised to call today. But today is now tonight and still no phone call. I need something else to concentrate on, and a gun in Jen’s cleavage seems like a good choice.

  “You’re not really going to wear it like that, are you?”

  “Please. I’m not a tacky serial killer.” She pulls the gun free and sticks it in the back waistband of her pants. “What do you think?”

  “More tasteful, but it covers the tramp stamp.” We spent nearly an hour applying glitter tattoos in the space of our lower back, just above our panty line. Mine says I DARE YOU. Jen’s says WICKED.

  The iPod is on and playing Taylor Swift. In rhythm, Jen turns to study her tattoo, trying different ways to angle the gun. “I wonder if it was this difficult for Bonnie every time she went out with Clyde.”

  “Don’t forget we also have machine guns.”

  “I know.” Sadly, she cradles the plastic gun in her palm. “This little baby isn’t menacing, but it shoots Silly String, and I don’t want to give that up.”

  “Fashion or firepower,” I comment. “Sometimes we just can’t have it all.”

  The party doesn’t start for another hour, but we’ve been getting ready ever since the meet ended this afternoon. Horizon won and sealed our spot at the top of the district.

  Jen had an amazing day. First in the 200-yard free and second in the 100 free. She hugged me after the 100 and I had to fight back tears.

  “I know this is complete torture for you,” she said, her head bent so our foreheads touched, her wet arms across my back—two cold spots chilling my sun-warmed skin.

  “It’s okay. It’s also completely wonderful for you.” I squeezed her shoulders.

  For years, guys have ribbed her for those shoulders, for the bands of muscle—for being stronger than them. But Jen never lets it get to her. Now, for the first time, I wish I had some of that strength. “You know I’m pretty coordinated,” I said. “I can feel crappy for myself at the same time I feel happy for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  I pulled back so she could see into my eyes. “Yeah.”

  That helped me get through the day until the guys’ 100. Like last week, you could feel the competition between Connor and Alec. The tension rippled through everyone when they lined up, and when the race ended, the gasps were shocked and loud.

  Alec beat Connor.

  It was close, literally three-tenths of a second between them, but Connor was furious after the race. I told him the same thing everyone else told him—he’d had a bad start off the blocks. It happened to everyone at least once. And it was the truth. He’d been slow to get in the water and Alec had touched him out.

  But even now, hours later, I’m still wondering if that’s all it was. If maybe it had something to do with the inhaler I found in Alec’s swim bag. Coach should know about that—I need to tell him. I’m not sure why I haven’t.

  “Brown or black?” Jen asks.

  I blink, coming back to the present. She’s holding up two eyeliners. The brown matches her eyes, but I point to the black. “Go double thick, top and bottom.”

  She leans in toward the mirror and I can’t help smiling. It’s half the fun of a party—getting ready. Even Jen, who never wastes time with extra primping, sat still while I painted her nails Graveyard Gray. We straightened each other’s hair, the heat of the clamp adding a gloss that’s made Jen’s hair nearly black and mine a deep, shiny brown. For once, Jen agreed to nix the pony holders, and we’re wearing our hair long and loose.

  Our costumes turned out perfect. We found matching pinstripe vests that look good on both of us, even with Jen’s muscles and my slender build. I’m longer in the torso, so mine is just short e
nough to show off a flash of belly button. I’m wearing gray trousers and Jen’s got on black skinny jeans. I tried to get her to wear stilettos, but in the end, she went with her boots. “I can’t go on a killing spree with uncomfortable shoes.”

  I’m dusting bronzing powder over my cheeks while Jen smudges on the black eye pencil. “So,” she asks, “has Connor told you what he’s dressing up as?”

  “Not yet.” I dab a little perfume in my cleavage.

  She raises her eyebrows.

  “What? I read it in a magazine article.”

  “Let me guess,” she says dryly. “Tips for losing your virginity?”

  “I don’t need tips.”

  “No,” she agrees, “because any girl can get laid. All she has to do is say yes. It’s a proven scientific fact.”

  “Really? You found that in a scientific journal?”

  “Yes,” she lies. “With pictures. Huge, overdeveloped hormones. Tiny pea brains.”

  “Connor does not have a pea brain.”

  “When it comes to sex he does. You could spray baby poo between your boobs and he’d still say yes.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s perfume, Jen. Not a neon sign that says ‘Sex Here.’ ”

  “Good. Because you want your first time to mean something.”

  “It would mean something with Connor.”

  She’s quiet for a second. I can tell she’s working up to something. When her eyes meet mine in the mirror, the humor is long gone. “Do you love him, Ab? Really?”

  I see his face in my mind. His blue eyes. The feel of his hand when he sweeps it up my arm. His sexy smile.

  He’s lazy. Alec’s words jump into my head and I shut my eyes for a brief second, short-circuiting whatever neuron that came from. But mixed feelings I can’t sort out are working through me. I know we’re perfect together, but is it because we both swim fast? Why does something feel wrong lately? Is it me? Is it him? Or is it the two of us as a couple? A flaw, like a thick heart wall that you can’t believe because it doesn’t make sense?

  I need things to make sense. “Before all this happened,” I say, “it felt like that was where it was going. Maybe it still is. It’s all mixed up.” I see the flash of worry in Jen’s eyes. Is she worried for me—or is she in love with Connor?