At this, Dad is once again his cheery self. “You finally get it squared away?”
“I don’t want to do it.” I stop him before he can interrupt me. Before I lose my nerve to tell him everything. “Not just the apprenticeship. Everything. I don’t want to study finance, and I don’t want to manage anyone’s retirement fund. It’s not what I want to do.”
“Since when?”
“Since… forever?” I push a hand through my hair. “And Iknow it’s easy money, and I can have this whole business just waiting for me when I graduate, but I know I’ll regret it. I want to coach. I’ve always wanted to coach. And I get that it’s a long shot maybe, but”—god, I’m rambling like Sidney now—“I’d rather try for that and fail than go for a sure thing that I’m never going to care about.”
Dad looks to the house again, and I finally realize what he’s looking for. Mom. His other half, the person he wants to face this hurdle with. I thought I’d face this hurdle—telling my dad—with Sidney. That I’d finally work up the nerve to tell him, and I’d get to tell her, and we’d celebrate. I had imagined pancakes would be involved. Or a late-night make-out session. Maybe both.
But at least she left me with something. “I want to study sports psychology. And I have a plan.” I pull out the list I made this morning in my bedroom when I was too afraid to run into Sidney in the kitchen, and I set it on the table. “Do you want to hear it?”
DAY 56
Asher
We take this picture every year on the last day of vacation, after our cars are loaded and we’re ready to drive back home. Each family out on the end of the dock. And if someone manages to remember a tripod,bothfamilies out on the dock. And then it’s always me and Sidney at the end of the dock.The kids.If photos had names, like famous paintings, that’s what our parents would call this one. Usually, we do something funny. Sidney pretends to strangle me, or we pose as if she’s about to push me off of the dock. But I know we never actually hated each other before, because those pictures were fun, and now I can’t even figure out how to stand next to her. So I walk down the dock and stand behind her.
She’s still wearing the necklace—the one I bought her two years ago—the one I probably never should have given to her. Maybe she was right all along, maybe we were doomed from the start, and I ruined everything trying to take us to that place. All the summers to come. But something about seeing that silver chain around her neck just makes me feel worse. That she wants the necklace, but not me. It seems unfair, cruel, and I understand why people want engagement rings back. Sure, it’sher necklace, but why does she evenwantit, when she doesn’t want me?
I should just stand here and smile, but it seems more appropriate to do something antagonistic. Something that’s a throwback to the pictures of summers past. But I don’t mock-strangle her, or push her into the lake; I do something that will actually annoy her. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and I smile. Now our photo is just like the others… a total lie.
14 DAYS AFTER
Sidney
On the desk in my dorm room, there’s a small envelope of photos. They arrived this morning, marking exactly two weeks since the world’s most awkward end-of-summer photo. And the last time I saw Asher. While the package says they’re from an online printer, I know they’re actually from my mom. The combined photographic efforts of my mother and Sylvie. Our summer, distilled into one little cardboard packet of memories. But the memories seared intomymind weren’t captured on anyone’s phone—definitely not by our mothers. It’s hard to believe any of them could be in that envelope, but I still can’t open it. I’m scared to see what’s inside.
The last week of vacation was nothing short of awful. The house had never felt so small, and I had never felt so directionless. Without pranks to play or dates to plan, something was missing. And as much as I didn’t want to think it, I knew that thing was Asher. Asherwassummer vacation. He was my favorite lake, and the best two months of the year. I wanted to be mad at him, to stay angry, but he was right; once a few days had passed, and the shock of my almost-arrest wore off, things didn’t seem so dire. It didn’t seem so plausible that he had fabricated an entire summer of magical moments just to one-upme. But I also knew it was too late. To fix what I’d broken with him, but also, to forget everything that night reminded me of—that our relationship was a disaster waiting to happen, and that eventually, it would ruin everything with our families. It would ruinus.
I painted more rocks that last week than all of summer, trying my best not to paint anything that reminded me of him. Dinners were a throwback to ignoring one another, and it was hard to miss the concerned looks on our parents’ faces as they poked and prodded us with questions, trying to draw us into a conversation. By the end of the week I felt invisible. The most words I got from him were forced—hellos and good nights if I was near our parents. An answer if I asked him something casual at the dinner table, just to try to be normal. But all of it was without an ounce of the light I was used to.
And by the time I packed up my room, I wasn’t sure what was worse—Asher mad at me, or just being ignored. Treated like I was nothing special. Which I wasn’t. I knew that—knew thatIwas the one that ruined it all. But I was sure we still had time to turn things around. I had sparked a controlled burn. Something small and manageable and early—we would overcome it. Eventually. Hopefully. But right now, I still can’t open that envelope. I tuck it into a pile of books on the shelf over my desk, and run out of my room.
I was paired with one of my teammates as a roommate. Apparently, it’s freshman tradition for all of the swimmers to be paired up together. Every morning, my roommate Ellie and I walk to the main cafeteria, to meet up with other girls from the team. Our dorm is directly across from one of the campus’s three dining spots, and it’s weird but also comforting to have a built-in group of friends here, who all share something in common. Not that we sit around talking about swimming twenty-four/seven,but it’s this strange thread of familiarity that connects us all. In every class but one, I have at least one teammate I can gravitate toward.
After breakfast on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we do core training and weights. While they’re preseason captain-led practices that aren’ttechnicallymandatory, we all know we better have a really good reason for missing one. I haven’t yet, even though it’s a lot harder to drag myself out of bed now than it was during the summer. I don’t like to think about why that is. But today, as I wander through the conditioning room in the college field house, I can’t help but notice that Asher isn’t here.
When it comes to team activities, I feel like my eyes have a special inventory system that requires me to verify whether Asher and I are in the same room. And currently we are not. I finish my core workout and move to a machine. Ellie spots me at the free weights, and I spot her, and when we’re finally leaving for the locker room—hot and sweaty but somehow more energized than when I arrived—Asher finally walks in.
Perfect timing.
24 DAYS AFTER
Sidney
Two weeks into classes, Asher and I have barely spent any time together in the weight room. We are a perfectly choreographed performance of coming and going. But when he’s missing altogether, I finally lose my cool. He can’t spendfive minutesin the same room with me? I shouldn’t. I really know I shouldn’t, but I still stop next to Ryan, Asher’s roommate.
“Where’s Asher?”
Ryan holds his weight in a curl and smiles at me. “Room.”
“Is he coming today?”
“Not likely.”
I let out a disgruntled grunt and Ryan laughs. “Chill. He’s sick.”
A prickle of something goes up my arms. “How sick?”
