The Line Below

by Ali Dean

  “You’re in control, huh?” Shay pressed into me, and I groaned. She’d turned this innocent little cuddling session around, knowing I couldn’t do anything about it here.

  “You know,” she whispered in my ear, “I think I want to see how much control you really have.”

  “Shay,” I said on a pant, holding her hips and trying to keep her still. “This is a public beach.”

  She giggled. “Fine,” she said on a sigh, turning around and leaning back into my chest like we were earlier. Except this time, I was hard as a rock, and unable to think about anything but her body riding me.

  After a moment, I forced a change of subject that would get my mind off taking her on a public beach. “Have you talked to your parents about training with Coach Mandy this summer and helping coach the Cali Sharks club team?

  She sighed. “No. I still don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

  It was clear as ever what she wanted to do, and from my perspective, she had what it took. If being one of the best collegiate swimmers in the nation wasn’t enough to go pro, I didn’t know what was. She said she had to make the Olympic team before she could really make a living, but Shay had what it took to figure it out. The woman was disciplined and dedicated. If she had to coach on the side and live in a shitty apartment instead of a nice condo for a while, she’d do it no problem. Hell, by then, she better be living with me, but I couldn’t start talking about helping support her dream from a financial perspective. Not only because I didn’t have the money yet anyway, but because it would complicate what was already pretty fucking complicated in her head.

  It was like she thought she needed her parents’ permission, or some achievement in the pool she didn’t have yet, before it was okay for her to go after her dreams. I never experienced it myself, but I got it, because I got her. It was a risk, and she was scared.

  All I could do was love her, support her, for now. Some encouragement and reassurance that it was okay to go for it might be good, but I couldn’t talk her into it. She had to come to that decision on her own. Shay was strong. I had no doubt she would land wherever she wanted to be.

  “I’m here baby, whether you decide to work at a bank or drive me nuts prancing around in a bathing suit for a living – ” I didn’t get to finish.

  “I do not prance around! I’ve never pranced in my life. I don’t even know what prancing is, anyway.”

  “As I was saying,” I continued, trying not to laugh. “You could collect garbage or clean toilets and come home stinky and I’d still be here, loving you.”

  Now she was laughing. “Could we get any cheesier? Sitting here, watching the sunset on the beach and saying this shit.” She was really laughing now, full-body hysterics. “Really, Jett? I’ve actually heard that embalmers and plumbers make decent money. As long as you’ll still love me, I can be whatever I want to be, right?”

  “Sure, baby. Now, I didn’t say I’d have sex with you if you came home stinkin’ like dead people or with strangers’ shit stains on your hands, but I promise to keep loving you.”

  Fuck, who was I kidding? I’d probably still have sex with her. Maybe in the shower, but still. No way I could keep my hands off Shay Spark.

  Every time I come home for break, I find myself looking at our house from a different perspective. Usually it’s just through my own eyes after being around the college scene and getting back to a real home. I’m always a little awed and appreciative of how much space we have, how well the kitchen is stocked, how clean and well-arranged everything is in the house we grew up in. This time, I’m looking at it through Jett’s eyes, and I realize that we’re not just a little bit well off, we live in total luxury. It’s not a normal American home, it’s a wealthy, showy home, made for dinner parties with important people to showcase the successes of our family, not for Sunday brunches to accommodate all the family members and kids in a comfortable environment. I mean, I still appreciate it, it’s just… so different from the Deckers’ neighborhood. And I think I might like the Decker scene better, even if it’s not where I came from, or maybe because it’s not where I came from.

  We’ve been home three days, it’s the day after Christmas, and we’re driving back to school in two days. I took off Christmas Day from the pool but was there on Christmas Eve with the rest of my old club team, the Bay Area Dolphins. They allow former high school club members to train with them on winter break or other short breaks from school without being a formal member of the team. Everyone’s on college break, so even though some of the high school swimmers are taking time off for the holiday, the pool has been packed. Kick hasn’t shown up at our old pool yet, and it doesn’t look like she’ll be joining me for today’s midday session. It’s ten and she’s still asleep.

  Kick’s used the break like normal people do, I guess, partying with high school friends, staying out late, and sleeping all day.

  “Have you heard anything back from your applications?” Mom asks.

  We’re sitting at the kitchen counter. Dad’s in his office and Mom’s taking the day off given the holiday. I’d been bracing myself for this conversation, and my palms sweat as I prepare myself to tell her. I was hoping Dad would be here too; he might take my side, but probably not.

  “I haven’t heard anything.”

  Mom sighs. “You’ll hear soon, I’m sure. Your grades from this semester come in yet?”

  “Not yet, but I’m pretty sure I got all As. Maybe one A+ in statistics. We’ll see.”

  “Good. That’s good,” she says with a satisfied nod.

  “Mom.” She looks at me expectantly, and my entire body feels hot and uncomfortable. My teeth sink into my lower lip. I have to do this. Just rip off the Band-Aid. “I, um, I’m thinking about staying on campus this summer again and training.”

  She stares at me. Silent.

  “I know that last summer it only made sense because of the trials, but if I take one of these internships, no matter where it is, here, New York, Chicago, I won’t have time to train like I need to. I want to keep working with Coach Mandy. The consistency is so beneficial. I mean, after staying with her all summer I’ve had the best early season ever.” I’m rambling, waiting for a reaction, anything.

  She turns away and busies herself at the kitchen sink. “Shay, really, it’s not like you to throw away opportunities like this.”

  “But Mom, training with Coach Mandy is an opportunity too.”

  She turns around and looks at me. “An opportunity for what, Shay? You swim with her the rest of the year. You’ve done great with college swimming. You’ve got half the school records. It’s only one more year after this and then what? It’s not like you’re going to keep doing it.” She pauses. “Are you?”

  I can’t tell her all of it. Not now. Not yet. I shrug. “People do,” I say lamely.

  “Masters swimming? Okay, sure. That will be a great way to stay fit, maybe meet other young professionals and network, but you certainly don’t need to be training like you do now.”

  I’ve lost my motivation to argue with her. I’m afraid I’ll break down and tell her everything and we’ll start screaming at each other. She’s ready to explode with the idea that I might not do an internship. Telling her I might try swimming professionally after graduation would tip her over the edge.

  “Honey,” she says sympathetically. “I know swimming might feel like everything right now, but it won’t once you graduate. It’s been a great thing for you, a good group of girls, teaching you about discipline and balance, but you need to look at the big picture. Swimming isn’t going to support you in the long run. You’re top of your class and incredibly bright. You need to start thinking about your other talents and how to put your best foot forward in the working world.” She puts a hand on my arm. “I know it’s hard to think about when you’re in college, but the real world is right around the corner. An internship at a bank or wealth management firm will give you a taste of that, position you to really hit the ground running when you graduate
next spring.”

  “Right. Yeah, I know,” I concede, trying not to show how defeated I feel. She’s right, after all. It’s not like I expected any different response from her. But it still sucks.

  Going straight to the pool after the conversation and swimming hard for three hours eases my frustration, but it doesn’t keep me from second-guessing if everything would just be easier if I put this Olympic dream to rest. I could join a masters swim team, continue swimming regularly and competing, but treat it more like a side thing than the center of my life. The idea depresses me. I haven’t reached my full potential. I have a shot at being the best in the world. I know it. I just wish my mom believed in me too. I wish anyone did, really. Sure, my teammates and maybe my coaches would agree I’ve got a lot of talent and focus and drive, put that all together and there’s a chance I could make it, but no one is really rooting for me, jumping up and down and saying “go for it!”

  Maybe that’s because I haven’t let anyone in. I haven’t really shared this dream. Except with Jett, and kind of with Coco, but neither of them are swimmers so they can only reflect on my feelings and thoughts about it, not so much on the realities of it.

  I feel like a balloon inside me has been popped and deflated. It was filling up over these last couple of months as I killed it in the pool, giving me confidence, and with the wake-up call from my mom, I’m back where I was after the Olympic trials. It’s such a long shot, so unrealistic, a little girl’s dream. Yet I just can’t let it go.

  Kick is hung over on our way back to campus a couple of days later. I’m driving, and she’s slumped in the passenger seat. She’s been back to her usual habits, and I don’t know if she’s planning to straighten up when we return or not. The only people on campus will be athletes in training, so that should help keep her in line and regain her focus.

  There’s been tension building between us, and I can’t put my finger on where it’s coming from or what it means. I should have asked her a long time ago about her comment on quitting the team, and maybe it’s my avoidance of the topic that’s the problem.

  Breaking the ice, I ask, “You aren’t still thinking about quitting the team, are you?”

  She doesn’t move from her slumped position. “I think about it every day. I think you’re the only college swimmer on the planet who doesn’t.” Resentment underlies her comment and my fists tighten on the steering wheel.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Shay, most people who spend hours pushing their bodies wonder why they’re doing it and if they shouldn’t just stop. You’re not normal.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.

  After a long silence, I ask, “Why don’t you quit then?” I’m afraid to ask but too curious not to. If she doesn’t love it, if she questions it every day, what keeps her coming back?

  “I’m scared I’d turn into a total fuck-up if I quit. I’d have so much free time on my hands, I’d go to concerts every night, probably become a drug addict or something.”

  There’s no inflection in her voice and I know this is her honest answer. It’s a little disturbing.

  “So, you hate swimming but you do it so you won’t become a drug addict?” It comes out sounding like I’m making fun of her but I seriously want to know. I want to understand.

  Kick finally sits up in her seat. “I don’t hate it,” she admits. “Sometimes I like it. I like the team. I like knowing I’m at least doing something right when I have a decent workout and my body is spent after. If I race well. You know, that feels good.”

  Okay, we’re getting somewhere here. “But?”

  “But fuck, Shay, do you know what it’s like to be your sister? I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a whiny entitled brat, but it’s true so I’m just going to lay it out there.”

  She pauses and I can hear her swallowing, wondering if it’s too late, if she’s about to make a mistake. I don’t know how I know it, but the air is heavy. She takes a few more breaths, curses, and I think she’s decided against saying it.

  “Just say it, Kick. I know there’s something and we can keep ignoring it and letting it fester or put it out there and deal with it.”

  “Fine. Being your sister sucks sometimes, Shay, that’s the truth. I’ll never be as good as you. I’ll always be the sister who doesn’t quite meet anyone’s expectations, who lets everyone down.” She rushes into the next words, spilling out of her. “And don’t even try to fucking deny it,” she adds. I flinch as if her cursing actually lashed out at me. “You know it’s true. I’ve always been a good swimmer, and it should be enough. But you’re always better. I was pretty good at school, but I’ll never be like you. I’m not perfect. I know I let that ship sail a while ago. You were with the swim team captain, and yeah, he’s turned out not to be such a golden boy after all, but now your boyfriend’s a freaking Olympian. I mean, really.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s ridiculous. Can you fail at something? Please. Just fuck up once. For me.”

  Her anger rises as she speaks, and with it, my own builds.

  “Have you ever thought about what it’s like for me? You don’t know how good you can be at school or swimming or whatever because you’ve never let yourself try to be the best. It’s like you gave up years ago and decided music, guys, and drinking were more fun. You put it all on me to be the good kid for Mom and Dad. I didn’t choose it. You didn’t give me a choice!”

  “Oh please, Shay. You have a choice. You’ve always had a choice.”

  “Do I?” I’m shouting now. “What would you do if I quit swimming today and dropped out of college? Is that what you want?” She doesn’t answer and I push it. “Is it? No. It’s not. Because then you would have to fill my shoes. You’d have to start really trying. Really caring about your grades, your future, your role on the team.”

  “So, why don’t you then?” she challenges.

  “Because that’s not what I want, Kick! What I want is to screw the finance career, screw the internship applications, and go all in with swimming.” I’m breathing hard as I confess this, and once it’s out there, my voice finally goes down to a normal talking level. “I want to coach the Cali Sharks club team and train with them after graduation. I want to go to the Olympics.” Saying it aloud sounds so dumb.

  “You don’t want to go into finance?” Kick doesn’t believe me.

  “No. Maybe someday, I don’t know. I mean, business classes are all right, and I’d probably be fine with it if I didn’t want something else more, but really, I’m not sure. It’s what Mom and Dad want for me, so I hadn’t really questioned it. It made sense.”

  “If it doesn’t make sense anymore, then don’t do it.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, what are you going to do after we graduate?”

  “It shouldn’t make any difference to your decision.”

  But it does. If Kick was going to get a real job and have a career doing something Mom and Dad could be proud of, then it’d take the pressure off me. It would make it okay if I failed at swimming. It would somehow mean I had permission to follow my dream and see what happened.

  “Well, it does,” I say simply.

  “That’s dumb,” she retorts.

  “You don’t understand,” I say, the bitterness returning full force.

  “No, I really don’t. And you don’t understand me, either.”

  There’s not much to say after that that won’t do more damage. I want to tell her I do understand, that she’s selfish and scared and it’s not my fault she doesn’t feel like she’s living up to her potential, it’s because she’s not living up to her potential. She wouldn’t feel like a fuck-up if she was really giving everything. But what do I know?

  Winter break training is usually my favorite few weeks of the year. The only thing on the agenda is swimming, dryland training, weightlifting, and resting and eating in between. The mostly blissful thr
ee weeks alone on campus with the other athletes are tainted by my unease about Julian. He’s not keeping his distance like he did for the two months before winter break, before the conversation that Saturday night in the empty stands overlooking the pool. Now, he’s trying a new approach. Friendly, I guess, is the best way to describe it. Seeing him every day at the pool and swimming in his lane regularly now for butterfly sets, it’s not hard for him to play the “oh hey, I’m just a really nice guy” game. He’s careful not to insinuate anything and pretends it’s all platonic. But I know better.

  I’ve left Jett in the dark about Julian, and as much as I hate having that between us, I know it’s for the best. I’m able to watch another of Jett’s home meets, this time prepared for the onslaught of uncertainty that will hit when I’m an onlooker in his world. It’s not as bad this time. We don’t have any more home meets that Jett can make it to, but he’s off from competing the weekend of the conference championships in late February, and he makes the four-hour drive to New Mexico to watch. Daryl and Beatrice finally got together during winter break, and Daryl comes with Jett to the conference meet. They share a hotel together since we’re staying with the team.

  Knowing Jett is there watching when I step up to the block sends a thrill through me. With classes on Friday, he didn’t make it on time to see me win the 100 fly, when I set a new conference record. He watched me in the 200 fly and the final leg of the free relay yesterday, and he’s here now for the 200 I.M., or individual medley. I’m in lane four, having swum the fastest time in the prelims this morning. Everyone’s exhausted going into the last session of a three-day meet, but our team is neck and neck with Texas for first place, and the instinctual competitiveness kicks in, giving us a bout of energy to get through the final races.