After a while I get a stiff neck so I turn my head towards the door. There’s a little plastic bag sitting in the doorway like a visitor. I get up to investigate but Nurse Juliet notices and runs in, hissing, “Bedrest!” so I clamber back into bed. She hands me the bag, and when I root through it I find ten new pairs of pants. I did need new pants tbh, but not mysterious ones.
Hm. Either:
(1) I have a secret admirer who’s weird but helpful,
(2) I’ve had a visit from the Pants Fairy, or
(3) they’re magic and I’ve actually got a place at Hogwarts.
Gabe returns a few hours later with Pete (broken fingers), Roman (bruised ribs, cut legs) and Lav (absolutely fine). The boys aren’t on bed rest, so they’ve been more active than me and have been picking up all the news that we missed after we destroyed Britain’s Hidden Talent.
Pete is very excited. “So apparently, while there’s no chance we’ll make it on to the show because the studio cameras got water damage, loads of people filmed us on their phones and put the videos on YouTube, where the views have already overtaken our first video!”
Ro is adamant that this is way better than being on the show because we get all the fame but also a kind of underground edgy vibe.
“Good, I’m glad,” I say vaguely. “That’s exactly the sort of vibe I’ve always wanted.”
I’m distracted – Lav is sitting a little too close to Roman on my bed. I give her a narrow look.
Later, when the boys have gone, she pre-empts me: “But he’s so lovely!”
“I know!” I say. “That’s why you’d better be nice to him.”
“He was so worried about you, he wouldn’t get in the ambulance until he saw you were OK.”
That is very sweet. And I’m happy for the two of them. I wonder if Ro does the tongue worm thing? I smirk to myself. It’d be funny if Lav got the bad kisser in the family and I got the good one. Rude to brag, though.
Lav hops off the bed to leave. “Did you get the bag of pants I left you?” she asks.
The smirk droops on my face. “Uh. Yes, thank you,” I reply, smoothing my duvet and avoiding eye contact. “When did you leave it there, out of interest?”
Lav checks her watch. “I’m not sure. What time did you start snogging Gabe? I got here about a second before that.”
I stare at the duvet feeling the blood rush to my ears.
“Thank you for stopping by, Lavender.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“Please go, I’m very ill, I need my rest.”
“This is adorable. Gabe!!”
I put my head under the pillow until my ears cool down.
EPILOGUE
I race towards an unfamiliar sports centre, taking the steps two at a time.
“Come on!” I yell over my shoulder. I run inside and look frantically around. Ah, that way! I look back and point. “This way, come on!”
Gabe staggers through the door after me, panting. “Yelling come on doesn’t make my legs longer. If it did, I’d shout at them too.”
I feel a stab of guilt and maybe love. (Or a stitch.) I grab his bag from him to lighten his load.
“I can carry you if you’re tired.”
“Shut up and keep moving.”
We had to take three buses to get here, we’ve been rushing for about two hours and we’re still late. The chlorine smell is getting stronger as we power-walk along the corridor, and I push through a set of heavy doors to find myself in the viewing gallery of a huge glass-roofed space with four swimming pools in it.
I flop down on a bench and start scanning the swimmers for a familiar face. A second later Gabe lands beside me with a thud. We both glow with sweaty heat. Gabe pulls off his jumper. I don’t, not yet.
“I’m glad your dad’s got a job,” he grumbles, his jumper halfway over his head, “but I miss the free taxi service.”
“The food’s gone downhill too,” I tell him. “Mum fried pasta leftovers the other day. Oh!” I spot her and pinch Gabe accidentally hard.
“Ow! Good!” He rubs his arm and we both wave.
Hannah is standing by the blocks getting ready for her race. I’m so glad we made it in time. I wave frantically to get her attention. The family behind me tut but I don’t care. She spots me and gives me an aggressive thumbs-ups in return.
I unzip my hoodie to reveal my T-shirt.
It’s bespoke. (Up yours, Debs.) It’s got a giant photo of Hannah’s sleeping face on it – I stand up and point at it.
She looks subtly delighted – although to the untrained eye her expression could be mistaken for annoyed and embarrassed.
I settle down next to Gabe and we lean forward watching intently, no more joking around. Hannah’s competing to get into the High Performance Training Camp again. I know she can make the times, and she’ll deal better with the pressure this time. Especially since she had a Firm Word with her parents.
I see Debs talking to her. She’s coaching her again. Hannah nods, listening. Debs’ synchronized swimming team, Pretty in Sync, made the semi-finals of Britain’s Hidden Talent. When they were eliminated before the finals, Debs stormed the stage and had to be dragged off the judges’ table by security. She became briefly notorious.
I think public shame has been good for her.Character-building, or something. All I know is, I loved it. I watched that video a lot online. Along with thousands of other people.
Hannah gets up on her block. The room calms down. She is not looking at the other swimmers now but straight ahead. You swim no one’s race but your own.
I hope she knows that if she hates the camp this time round, I’m still available for prison breaks.
She bends and wrap her fingers round the edge of the block. There’s a pause, then the starting pistol bangs and she dives, hard.
I watch Hannah and Gabe watches me. I feel his eyes on me, and I smile and grab his hand. I’m swimming my own race.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks, Mum and Dad! Top billing for long service.
Thanks to my tenacious and brilliant agent, Hellie Ogden at Janklow and Nesbit – for finding me in the aftermath of disaster and insisting that NOW was the perfect time to write this book. You were right, you’re always right!
The original Lou – Lu Corfield, for letting me live and write in your house when I suddenly had nowhere to go. (This happens to me far too often. Must concentrate.)
My wonderful UK editor, Emma Lidbury at Walker, for her support, encouragement and – most importantly – great notes. Thanks for your patience with my chronology, somehow in Lou’s world it’s always Tuesday and then we lose a month. No one knows why.
Love and thanks to Walker Books, which is exactly the sort of place you imagine that books get made. And where everyone is always welcoming even when I’m stealing books. Special thanks to Ed Ripley and the sales and marketing team; and, in the fiction team, Jack Noel, David McDougall, Jane Winterbotham, Gill Evans and Lucy Earley.
I’m very grateful to Jessica Fullalove, an awesome British swimmer who patiently answered all my divvy questions about her job.
I’m very excited to be published by Pan Macmillan in America, thank you so much Jean Feiwel for making that happen and Anna Roberto for ensuring that Lou makes sense when she travels! (The whole pants/pants thing was a minefield.)
Thank you to my European publishers – Gallimard Jeunesse in France, cbt Verlag in Germany and Piemme in Italy – I’m delighted that Lou is becoming more well-travelled than me! And to Rebecca Folland and Kirsty Gordon at Janklow and Nesbit for all their skill and patience. International tax is a world of pain that I won’t ever understand – but hey, at least we TRIED? (If HMRC is reading this … I swear, I paid.)
Girl Out of Water is Nat’s first book for teens, and she says Lou is a less mopey, spotty, migrainey version of her as a teenager. Nat lives in South London with her kitten, Margot/Stinkbox. By the time you read this she might be a cat.
Nat was a stand-up comedian and s
ketch performer for seven years, which means she went to bed late and had crisps for dinner for ALMOST A DECADE. She is now a BAFTA-nominated screenwriter, director, actor and author. Her first book, Cuckoo in the Nest, is a comic memoir for adults that was a Sunday Times Book of the Year.
If you are interested in what Nat is thinking RIGHT NOW, check out @natluurtsema.
#girloutofwater www.girloutofwater.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated, as they may result in injury.
First published 2016 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
Text © 2016 Nat Luurtsema
Cover images: goggles © 2016 LWA/Larry Williams/Getty Images;
hair © 2016 moodboard/Getty Images;
face © 2016 Hill Street Studios/Getty Images
The right of Nat Luurtsema to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data: a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-7140-6 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk
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