“What do you think?” I flutter my feet nervously in the water. “I feel like a tiny bomb, like once I get in the water I’ll explode—maybe in a good way, maybe not.”
He smiles. “That’s what I figured.” He opens his hand and reveals a small glass bottle. It’s pretty, like something I could see his mom having on a shelf somewhere, and it has a little black rubber stopper. He shakes it in the air in front of him.
“I’m sort of afraid to ask what’s in there.”
“We’re christening the pool. Turning it into your happy place.” He pulls the black stopper from the tiny bottle and holds it in front of me.
“Is that…” I swallow back the lump forming in my throat and take the bottle. “Why do you have this?”
He shrugs. “Sentimental pack rat, remember?”
I take a quick look around the pool to see if anyone is watching us, and hold the little bottle of lake water in front of my knees. Slowly, I pour it into the pool. “Are there magic words we’re supposed to say?”
Asher laughs, and the sound unwinds something I didn’t even realize was coiling in my chest. “This is my first pool christening, but just imagine I’m in the boat next to you. You always swam like a beast across the lake.”
“That’s because you were chasing me. I was sure you were going to hit me with the boat.”
“Hm.”
I look down at my bare toes under the water, at the dark pink polish I put on last night. “This is really nice.” I don’t deserve it. I never deserved him—sweet, perfect, hopeful Asher—and I certainly don’t now.
“I’m just being a decent human who doesn’t want to see another person die.” It’s exactly what I said to him that night at the lake, when he was drunk.
“How am I going to die?”
“Well, you could drown.” His voice is deadpan, his face serious. “You’re not that great of a swimmer.” He smiles and I poke him in the side with my elbow. We haven’t been this close in what feels like centuries. That old feeling is back, the buzzing nervousness of him being close to me, able to touch me at any moment. But he’s not going to touch me at any moment, I remind myself. He’s trying to be a friend. Because I asked him to.
“I thought I was a beast.”
“You could get so nervous that you take the angle all wrong on your dive and crack your head open.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Wow, that’s dark. I thought you were supposed to be helping me with my nerves.”
He shakes his head like I’m being ridiculous. “You’re not scared you’re going to crack your head on the bottom of the pool.”
Of course I’m not.Nowall I can think of is the fact that Asher and I are sitting here, talking and teasing, just like we used to. That we’re only inches away from touching. That for these few minutes, it’s felt—for the first time—like we might make it through this unscathed. He must register our proximity, too, because in one smooth move his arms cross over his chest. He angles away from me and back to the pool.
“Why did you get so drunk that night? Why’d you kiss me?” The words pour out of me like the lake water now in the pool. I’ve always wanted to know, but was too scared to ask. I don’t know what has changed now. I suppose I have nothing left to lose. Except for this race. And this moment with him.
“Sid… I’m not doing this.”
Asher looks around us nervously, and I remember we’re surrounded by our teammates. We both have races to think about. Of course he doesn’t want to be bothered with this. “Right. I’m sorry.”
“I had the water. I knew you’d be nervous. It was just—whenI decide I’m going to do something, I follow through.” He pushes himself up and towers over me. “Good luck.” He says it to me the way he would to any other teammate. The same way he’ll say it to ten more people before the afternoon is over.
There’s already five feet between us when I say, barely over a whisper, “You, too.”
60 DAYS AFTER
Asher
On Wednesdays I have classes from eight-fifteen straight through until two o’clock, so by the time I get back to my room I’m ready to eat my World History textbook, and I only have forty-five minutes until I need to be at the pool for practice. I make a quick stop at my room for my practice bag and as many protein bars as I can grab. Ryan usually walks over with me, but when I open my door I don’t find my roommate.
I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking at. The first thing I see is the web of string, densely crisscrossing from every wall. Then I see the tiny little hooks secured to the wall… the little peel-and-stick kind. And while I really wish I could think this was Ryan, I know it wasn’t. Luckily, my practice bag is in my little closet, which is just next to the door. My protein bars, on the other hand, are clear across the room in my desk drawer. Getting to them would mean dismantling this web, and I’m going to leave that to the person who let this happen.
When I get to the locker room, Ryan is standing by the bench, and it’s clear he’s waiting for me. A giant grin spreads across his face when he sees me.
“So? Tell me what happened.”
