Sid looks at her phone, which is encased in the plastic bag that’s looped to the neck of our swan. I want to laugh at how much she hates talking to me about this stuff, but at least she said something.
“Do you think it’s normal that we’re going this slowly?” she asks.
“You know it’s called alazyriver, right?”
“More like a deadbeat river,” Sidney mutters and I laugh. “I don’t understand how we can be movingthisslowly. We’ll never make it to the beach in time.” Sidney hasn’t said what lies at the end of this trip, but I assume it’s the sunset.
“It’s taking exactly how long the brochuresaidit would take.”
“Hm.” It’s really cute how annoyed she is right now.
I don’t blame her for being anxious, it’s hard to be so close to the water andnotbe in it.
We’ve missed a few morning swims since game night and our date.Our date.Even in my head, where no one else can hear them, the words sound crazy. But Sidney says if we’re going todo thisthen we can’t get all soft about training. The girl has laser focus. I don’t want her to have any excuse to call this off, so now I put extra effort into our morning swims.Extra effortsounds like I’m putting myself out somehow, but there’s nothing punishing about watching Sidney while she swims. I just have to be sure to focus on her form, while I’m focusing on herform.Which is currently just inches away from me, wearing much less than on our morning swims. I need a distraction. “You should hang off of the back and paddle.” I’m trying not to smile but it’s not working at all, I’m already laughing. “That would be good conditioning.”
Sidney leans forward and pushes my shoulder. It’s not rough but it’s hard enough that it throws our weight all off, and my side of the swan dips under me. I grab for her to stop myself, but the moment has me crashing into the water with Sidney trailing after me, headfirst. We hit the water in a flail of arms and legs.
We surface to snickering from a kayak passing by, the older man pointing his paddle at us. “You all right?”
Sidney’s hair is a tangle around her face, and she sweeps it back with her hand. “No worries, we’re swimmers. That’s why we’re so graceful in the water.”
The man doesn’t seem to know whether she’s being serious or not, and just paddles away. I try to stand and can’t touch, so Iswim downstream to catch our float, which has drifted quickly without our weight. Sidney grabs hold of it just as I do, and I wonder if she was secretly racing me. Probably.
We tread water alongside our raft, contemplating how to get back onto it. I pull on the edge, and it flips over. I try to hoist Sidney up with one hand, but every time her weight hits the edge, it flips. We can’t even hang on the same side of it without it flipping over. So she hangs on one side, and I hang on the other, our arms crossed in front of us on the raft.
“I noticed something during your swim this morning.” My voice trails off, because I’m nervous to bring this up. Is it rude to critique her stroke while we’re on a date? Technically wearein the water.
Sidney rests her head on her hands. “I’m listening.”
I tell her about her rotation and how she can fix it. She listens and nods, and she doesn’t look annoyed with me at all.
“You’re good,” she says.
“At watching you?”
She squints her eyes and shakes her head, like I’m ridiculous. “Atcoaching.” She smiles. “Which happens to requirewatching me”—she rolls her eyes—“which you’re also good at.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you going to?”
“Watch you?” I can’t help but grin. “Probably.” She splashes water over the raft, and I run a hand down my wet face.
“Stop it. Are you going to coach?”
I think about it for a few seconds, unsure of how much I want to share with her. “Isn’t that what all washed-up swimmers eventually do?”
She laughs and gives me a judgmental glare. “People coach. Professionally. That’s not unheard of.”
I shrug and think about that stupid letter still sitting in my notes. What would happen if I just didn’t send it? If Mr. Ockler found someone else, and my grand four-year plan was completely derailed? Has Dad already secured that position for me? Is the letter really just a formality, something to make me feel like I got it on my own? Sidney is looking at me like she can read my thoughts.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t know, that’s just all I can picture you doing.” She shrugs. “If I think of you in ten years, it’s by a pool.”
“You think about me a lot?”
She buries her head into her arm and mumbles. “Whatever.”
