“Because she’s nicer than me? She wasn’t horrible to you for years?” I slam my hands onto my hips. “I watched you puke, I’m not theworstperson in the world.”
Asher’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What? No, you’re not the worst. And I never thought you were horrible.” He shakes his head and the words shouldn’t light me up as much as they do. How low are my expectations when I’m excited to hear he doesn’t think I’m horrible? “But me and Jordan weren’t… I mean… it’s just different.”
I nod, but I can’t see how it is. I’ve never been mean to any of my exes. Maybe I avoided them for a few days while the weirdness settled, but after that, I just treated them like people again. I get that lots of exes treat each other like crap, or avoid each other, or whatever, I just didn’t think Asher would be one of them. I want to tell him how much worse this is than the pranks or the jabs, but classes start in thirty minutes and the walkway is starting to fill with people scurrying toward food and academic buildings.
“Okay.” My tightening throat and the stinging in my eyes won’t let me say more.
I’m three steps away when he grabs my wrist, stopping me. The tears have spilled free so I don’t turn around. And maybe Asher senses it, maybe he can smell tears—which is a theory Ihave about boys—because he stays behind me. “I’m sorry, Sid. I’ll try, okay?”
I nod, and then my wrist is free, and I don’t look, but I know Asher is gone.
49 DAYS AFTER
Asher
Five weeks into classes starting, we finally have our first coach-led practices. And today is our first stroke clinic. Both of our coaches plus all three of our grad assistants are on deck, each one of them positioned at the end of a lane. While we swim pool lengths, they watch our form and bark out corrections. We swim each drill until everyone has it right. It’s exactly what I do for my club team, except I have to sound way nicer when I’m yelling out corrections, because they’re twelve.
Two lanes down from me, Sidney is swimming her third lap of this drill, struggling to correct her rotation. She’s hanging off of the deck looking frustrated as David, one of our grad assistants, crouches in front of her, tapping her shoulder as he tells her whatever it is she needs to correct. She plunges down into the water and takes off with a push again, but David doesn’t seem to be pleased. The entire practice, it seems to be nothing but David yelling, Sidney listening, and shoulders being tapped.Tap tap tap.By the end of practice I don’t know who I’m frustrated with, but I am.
Sidney wants to be friends. I’ve had a really hard time picturing what that looks like in my head, so mostly I’ve still been avoiding her. But maybe being friends with Sidney looks a lotlike being teammates. And if it had been Ryan struggling today, I know what I’d do. After practice I stand outside my locker room door, waiting for Sidney to come through. After what feels like an eternity, she emerges, her hair twisted into a damp mess of curls on top of her head. For how long she was in there, I didn’t expect her to emerge looking like she’d just jumped out of the pool. She sighs when she sees me, running a hand over her hair, like she’s smoothing it back.
“What’s the deal with your arm?” I say, falling into step with her as she passes.
“Didn’t you hear?” She raises her eyebrows at me in annoyance. “It has a mind of its own.”
“That’s never been a problem for you before. That’s your strongest stroke.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I feel like I was picked up and dropped in a new land.” I look at her sideways and she shakes her head like I’m an idiot. “New school, new teammates, new pool. I don’t know, I’m just a ball of nerves in the water right now.”
I don’t say anything, because I don’t know what to tell her. Does that make me the worst future sports psychologist ever? I haven’t even taken a class yet, I doubt I’m supposed to be doling out psychological advice, but still. I smile at the thought of telling my dad that I’m throwing in the towel and it’s all Sidney’s fault for wrecking my confidence. We walk together through the double doors and out onto the sidewalk, still in silence. When she turns to the left and I turn to the right, she gives me a tiny wave, and walks away so fast she’s practically jogging.
Maybe I reallydon’tknow how to be friends with her.
59 DAYS AFTER
Sidney
I’ve started to dread my time in the pool. Whatever it is that’s in my head, I just can’t seem to shake it. Looking into the glassy water is like staring down into my failure. And my future failure. Today is the official start of the season—our very first meet—and for all of the work I did this summer, all of the time I’ve put in at the gym, I don’t feel like I’ve improved nearly as much as I should have. I shove my bag into my locker and adjust my suit straps.
“Can someone send Sidney out?” A male voice rings out in the locker room, and several girls gasp or jump before realizing the voice is coming from the doorway that leads out into the pool area.
I don’t jump, I freeze. Because it isn’t just anyone’s voice. It’s Asher’s. Several girls look at me, but it’s not in a curious or suspicious way, as much as a get-out-of-here-before-he-comes-in-for-you way. It feels like everyone should know about the history between us, but why would they? We’ve hardly spoken at practices—no one has any reason to suspect there’s any sort of messy past between us. I’m not sure if I like it that way or not.
I slam my locker door shut and snap a hair tie around my wrist as I grab my swim cap. I bypass the showers, becausewhatever Asher wants certainly can’t take long. I’ll be back before I get in the pool. A sudden wave of panic trills through me when it occurs to me that there aren’t many reasons for Asher to see me. What if something’s happened with my parents, and they couldn’t get ahold of me, so they went through him? Do I have my phone on me? I think about turning around to pluck it out of my bag, but I can see him just beyond the door, standing alongside the tiled beige wall.
He’s in his suit, his hip leaning against the wall, arms crossed. So much skin. I will never be immune to Asher like this. I can almost smell the lake, hear the waves in my ears.
“What’s wrong?”
He turns, his face confused. “Wrong?”
“I just… I wasn’t sure what you wanted. I thought maybe it was something with my parents or…”
His face turns apologetic. “No, it’s not anything bad. It’s just…” He bites his lip and shifts his shoulders, and six summers of studying Asher tells me he’s nervous. “Come with me, I’ll show you.” He has something clutched in his hand—I can see a thin strip of blue peeking through his fingers. The pool area is almost empty. There are a few people milling around, but mostly everyone is still in the locker rooms. We pass another guy from the team as we walk toward the diving blocks, and Asher nods his head in greeting.
Asher sits on the edge of the pool and smacks his hand down on the tiles next to him. I should sit, but I’m in shock. Asher has only spoken to me once since our run together. And even then, it was a few sentences about swimming. He looks up at me impatiently, and I know if I don’t sit down he won’t stay. I’m on borrowed time. Borrowed patience, probably. I lower myself next to him, leaving half a foot between us. I don’t know if it’s him or me that can’t be trusted to touch, but I’m not risking it either way.
“Are you nervous?” He says it casually, like we’re two normalpeople, and not us. And I know without him saying anything that he’s talking about the meet, not us.
