by Ali Dean
I was the favorite in the 100 and 200 fly, but the 200 I.M. will be a closer race.
“Swimmers, step up.” Unlike in the medley relay, which is also four strokes, the I.M. starts with butterfly. With the relay, backstrokers have to go first because they start in the water.
Kick and Tori are also in the finals, each taking an end lane in one and eight. It’s pretty unusual to have three swimmers from one team in the finals, but we need a stacked race to pull back into first.
“Take your marks.”
I lean down, preparing to spring.
BEEP.
My body bursts forward, slipping smoothly into the water. With the first stroke my strongest, the goal is always to get a healthy lead without burning up. My arms swing over my head as my legs kick steadily, allowing me to float over the surface efficiently with minimal exertion. After two laps, I push off the wall on my back, holding the underwater kick for as long as possible, because I know it’s my strongest weapon in backstroke. By the time I break the surface, I only have to take a few strokes before I see the flags and spin onto my front for a flip turn, repeating a drawn-out underwater dolphin kick. It’s hard to tell if anyone has gained on me. There’s not much visibility in backstroke.
The next stroke is breaststroke, arguably my worst, but I’m not terrible. If I was really bad at breast, or any stroke really, I wouldn’t do the I.M. Actually, the best I.M.-ers are breaststrokers, although everyone has a different theory about that. I figure breast is the stroke with the greatest range of speeds – fast breaststrokers can be insanely fast, and people with strokes that are inefficient can be like turtles. Aside from breaststroke itself, I.M. is the one event Kick occasionally beats me at. She hasn’t this year, and won’t, since I’m having the best season of my life and she is having her worst, but still, she might catch up to me, like some of the top breaststrokers do. And then I leave them in my wake with freestyle.
I try to work my legs the hardest, keeping my strokes tight and efficient through the two laps of breaststroke. I can see swimmers in my peripheral vision gaining on me, with lane five nearly catching up. It’s no surprise. She won the 100 breast yesterday. But I keep my focus, even as my body fatigues. We’re all exhausted, I remind myself. No one has an advantage here.
As soon as I turn into the final two laps of freestyle, and just as my body starts to fight it, I push off the wall with all my strength, shooting forward. I’m determined to get ahead, and as I sense I’ve pulled back into the lead, it gives me the boost to dig deeper and ignore the burn radiating from my shoulders through my arms and down my torso.
I don’t let up, motoring forward and remembering Jett is here, watching and cheering, and wanting to make it worth his while. Roars from the crowd can be heard under the surface of the water as my lead grows into the final lap. I finish strong, powering into the wall with an intensity I didn’t realize I had in me at this point in the meet.
When I look both ways, confirming I’ve won, I see that lanes one and eight are right behind me, and we’ve taken the top three spots. I’ve won by nearly three seconds, which is totally unexpected in a race usually decided by hundredths of a second, and it takes me a second to realize my name is flashing like it did when I broke the conference record in the 100 fly. I don’t know if my time is a new record because it wasn’t even on my radar. I’d been so focused on the record in the 100 fly, but was really just going for the win in the I.M.
I hear the announcer confirm I’ve set a new conference record, with Lydia Spark in second place. She’s set a PR and qualified for Nationals. A twinge of something uncomfortable, maybe regret, overshadows my accomplishment as I think about our conversation in the car. She sees all this so differently from me. From my viewpoint, it’s infuriating and incredible she’s so fast and right behind me, when I know she’s only been giving 70%, at best, in training. I give my all, always, and she’s right there with me, even if she thinks I’m setting an impossible standard.
If Kick has any resentment toward me, she hides it well. She seems thrilled with her race, and she should be. It’s the only PR she’s set this season, and she didn’t even qualify for Nationals in the 100 or 200 breaststroke. She was going to go for the 200 and 400 medley relays only, and qualified individually in breast last year, but now she’ll have an individual event this year too.
It’s a long bus ride back to campus. We’ve taken first place, but the celebrations will have to wait until after Nationals. A few people on the team didn’t qualify individually and won’t be on a relay, so their season is over, but they’ll keep focus with us, even if they take a break from the pool.
By the time we get back on campus, it’s two in the morning, but I still go straight to Jett’s place. Even though he was there watching me, I haven’t really seen him or spent time with him in a few days, and I just want to be with him. Okay, that’s a lie. I want his body too.
He’s waiting for me in his room when I get there, lying in bed, but his side lamp is on. We had to cool down, shower, and change, and the bus was slower than his truck, so he’s been back for longer, maybe even fell asleep already and woke when I texted.
“Hey, baby.” His voice is gruff and sleepy.
“Hey,” I say softly, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. His hand immediately goes to my hip, urging me to take off the sweats I wore on the bus ride home.
As I strip down, his eyes follow my movements. “Shay, watching you swim this weekend, seeing you dominate like that, hearing the awe in everyone’s voice when they talk about Shay Spark…” He drifts off, shaking his head. “You’re incredible. Honestly, I’m trying to figure out why you would have any doubt about swimming professionally.”
“It’s not like track, Jett. Well, maybe it is. I don’t know. But it’s so hard to make any real money swimming. And I still don’t have any really big wins under my belt.”
“What do you mean?” He reaches for me as he asks, pulling me to him and kissing my stomach.
“I’ve won on relay teams twice at NCAAs, and been second or third a few times, but I’ve never won an individual event at NCAAs, and I was sixth at the Olympic trials in my best event last summer.”
“You just destroyed everyone in your conference in every event you swam, Shay. You might not have everything you want yet or everything you think you need, but you’re the best swimmer by a long shot in one of the most competitive college conferences in the country. I don’t know as much about swimming as you do, but I know enough. You have what it takes to go pro. You might not make a lot, not at first, but it’s definitely not a question of whether you’re good enough.”
And even though I thought my mom was right when she said swimming should just be a side thing, and it’s not something I can do instead of a real job, I know Jett is right too. Somehow, they both have valid points. It’s not that I’m not good enough. I’ve set these bars for myself, that I have to accomplish certain titles before I can justify going pro, but I know they’re artificial.
“If I’m good enough, then it’s just a matter of if I want it enough, right?” There’s hesitation in my voice because it can’t be that simple.
“You want it though, you told me that, and I can see it.”
“So why isn’t it an easy decision? Why do I feel like I have to do something more, win Nationals or break another record or something before it’s okay for me to go for it?”
“Because you don’t want to let down your mom, maybe? Because you need more assurance that you won’t fail? Are you scared of failing?” His brown eyes bore into mine, and at first, his question surprises me.
“I don’t feel scared. But I guess in my mind if I’m deemed an NCAA champion who goes pro and doesn’t make the Olympics, it’s somehow okay if I fail, like it’s understandable and in the world of real jobs and real life, it will be accepted as a good effort for someone who already succeeded. If I’m just a girl who did well in college and tried to go pro and didn’t make the Olympics, I’m a loser.”
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“You know that makes no sense, right?” He’s not teasing, just pointing out the obvious.
“It really doesn’t, does it? Can I pretend that it’s all really logical though, and that really the NCAA championships is important for something practical, like getting sponsorships, and not just for my own weird internal justification purposes?”
“If it works for you, baby, I won’t fight it.”
I’m relieved at this. I know my logic is twisted, or nonexistent. But somehow, I need this equation where if I win NCAAs, my reward is following my dream. Somehow, it comforts me to have this formula in front of me. I won’t focus on what it means if I don’t win NCAAs, if that means I have to do a summer internship or what.
Jett starts kissing my stomach again, washing out all thoughts about the future and bringing me back to the moment. “I wanted you so bad, watching you all weekend,” he confesses as he tugs me onto the bed. “That was agonizing watching you doing your thing in that tiny bathing suit.” He groans before peeling off my final layer.
Competing and watching each other race seem to make us both want each other with some serious ferocity, because I know exactly how he feels. Being in bed with him is a sweet relief, even after one of the best races of my life.
I’m starting to get responses about my internship applications. A couple of in-person interview requests in the southern California area, a Skype interview request from a New York investment bank, and two flat-out offers – one in the Bay Area and one in Chicago. I haven’t told anyone. Mom would be thrilled, but I’m not ready. I think I already know what I’m going to do, no matter what happens at NCAA in a couple of weeks, but I need an individual title before I officially break the news. Or maybe NCAA will be a disaster and I’ll change my mind. Whatever, I just need to stay focused on my swimming goals and the rest will fall into place.
I’m always antsy the last couple of weeks before the final meet of the season, during taper. Most swimmers love taper, the point when you back down on yardage and let your body rest so it’s ready to race. Even though I know I’ve trained hard and that the work should pay off, the inability to actually push myself the way I want to physically every day and not feel trashed when I go to bed at night, it’s tough to relax and enjoy it. We back off on weights and dryland training too, so my muscles start to feel light and airy. It’s exciting, the knowledge of what it means that my body is rested and ready to show what it’s got. If I’ve done everything right, NCAA could be a breakthrough for me, given how fast I’ve raced throughout the season without rest. But nothing is certain, and I can’t make any assumptions.
I’m on my way to my last class before afternoon practice, crossing the quad, when I recognize a few girls from the track team walking on the path in my direction. A couple of them smile; one waves. They must know who I am from the track meets and the few times I’ve met Jett after practice, eaten with him at the cafeteria with his teammates. Tabitha says something to her friends and breaks off from them as we pass. She turns around and starts walking next to me instead.
“Shay,” she says in greeting.
“Tabitha.”
“You can call me Tabby.”
I turn to look at her, letting her see my surprise and she just shrugs back at me, acknowledging that she remembers her not-so-friendly attitude toward me the first time we met.
“Okay. What’s up, Tabby?”
“Jett’s happy. I was wrong about you.”
“Uh, okay. We’ve never talked. How did you decide on this? And why didn’t you like me at first anyway?” I’m hesitant to ask, in case it’s got to do with me being white, but I want to hear what she has to say.
“Because you were Julian Reed’s girl.”
“I wasn’t his girl,” I say, probably more sharply than necessary.
“You kind of were. But I get it. I asked around. I know he’s still into you and tried to mess with you and Jett, but you told him how it is. I like that.”
“I don’t get it.” Because I really don’t. “Why did you have a problem with me because of my history with Julian? Did you guys hook up or something?”
Tabby laughs. “Uh, no. He’d love to get with this, but that boy will never get a taste.” She gestures to her figure and I smile. “It’s because of what happened in high school.”
A cold chill runs through me. We’re at my building and I stop in front of it. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”
Tabby’s brow creases and she looks as confused as I feel. “Wait, you don’t know? Seriously?”
“Know what?” I’m frustrated, but I’m also scared because I have a weird feeling I do know, I just haven’t let myself make the connection.
“Oh, shit. Never mind. I guess I figured, you know, I don’t know. Shit. Never mind.” She starts to turn around and I grab her arm.
“Is this about Sara?” I know I’ve asked the right question by the way she looks. Relieved and uncertain. Relieved that she’s not telling me something I don’t know but uncertain how much I know.
“So you do know?”
“I know Sara cheated on him with a swimmer. Was it Julian?”
She nods, her voice low when she explains, “I thought Jett was getting with you as revenge against Julian. I was pissed. I thought he was way over that.”
My stomach drops and I try not to show Tabby how hard her words are hitting me. “Does Julian know?” My question’s barely above a whisper. It’s all I can get out over the pounding in my heart.
“Know that he broke up Jett and Sara like four years ago? Doubt it. I mean, he probably doesn’t even remember Sara. And Jett didn’t drive upstate to beat him up or anything. Jett’s not stupid, he was going places and wasn’t going to fuck it up over a girl. Besides, I didn’t even think Jett had any real problem with Julian because it was Sara’s fault, not Julian’s. Julian probably didn’t even know Sara had a boyfriend. It was at some random swim meet and Julian lived on the other side of the state.”
“I have to go to class.”
“I’m sorry, Shay. Jett’s going to kill me if he finds out I told you. Don’t tell him. Or just, tell him I didn’t do it to like, cause a rift between you guys. He’s my friend. I don’t want him pissed at me.”
That’s the least of my worries right now but I nod anyway and go up the stairs.
I don’t process anything that happens in class. Instead, I’m running everything through my head with this new information and feeling sicker with each passing minute.
That first time we met. When he walked right to me like he wanted me so bad. Like he’d picked me over every other girl at Mirage. Danced with me and I lost myself to him. He must have known. Of course he did. It wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t anywhere close to love at first sight. I must be making weird noises or something because Fran, my teammate who sits next to me in this class, looks over at me and mouths “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, shove my books in my bag, and rush out of the class, not caring how crazy I look. I’m almost out the door when Fran calls out to me. “Shay, wait up.”
She jogs to catch up to me, asking me what’s up, if I need to go to the infirmary, but all I can do is shake my head and clutch my chest, my heart beating so fast I feel like I might pass out.
She takes my arm and leads me out the building, down the stairs. “I’ll walk you back to your place. Want me to text Kick?”
“No.” Kick and I haven’t been good since the drive back from winter break. And I really want to be alone in my misery. I’ve got an hour until afternoon practice to myself, and I need it so bad.
I know I’m not going to skip practice; swimming is probably the only thing that will make me feel better, so I don’t tell Fran I’m sick. Just that I’m having a moment, and I really want to be alone. She looks worried but finally leaves the condo.
I lie on my bed, face buried in my pillow, and let out a combination of a growl, scream, and sob. It’s not pretty. That night at Mirage
was so special, and now I see it wasn’t what I thought at all. It was fake.
How could I be so dumb? That very first “date” at Margie’s Diner, I thought it was cool and sexy how direct he was, asking about Julian and my relationship with him. But no, he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to cheat on him like his ex did. Every time I thought Jett was confident and wanted me, and really he was just trying to get revenge against Julian. Anger is replaced by humiliation. Why am I attracted to these guys? What is wrong with me? Both Julian and Jett turned out to be shady and I had no idea.
I’ve been tempted to do it a million times before, but finally, I let myself look for Sara on Facebook. It’s not hard to find her. She went to the same high school as Jett and his track teammates. Sara Glover. Wait. Sara Glover.
I click on her profile. There are only a few photos accessible to the public without friending her, but sure enough, it’s the Sara Glover I roomed with my junior year at Zones. Each region has qualifiers at their championship meets and we come together to compete against each other as a region, or Zone, against the other Zones. California is one Zone. It’s the only meet where our teammates are the top people in our region instead of other swimmers from our club. It was my favorite meet every year because we went without parents, rooming with new people who we usually raced against, but got to know as friends instead. Shit always went down. People hooked up. Someone snuck in alcohol. There were all kinds of rumored scandals that came out of Zones each year. Kick was often at the center of them.
Junior year, Sara Glover was assigned as my roommate. She never mentioned she had a boyfriend, I would have remembered because of what happened. We got along okay, but I didn’t really click with her. She was kind of gossipy, and most of that gossip revolved around Julian Reed. She seemed to have a crush on him, which I could relate to. Basically, every high school swimmer in California had a crush on Julian Reed. One night she left our room and said she was going over to Julian’s room to watch a movie. I knew what that really meant, and I guess I was right.