Page 109 of Deep End

I tilt my head. “Did you ask if you could force us to dive in these conditions?”

“Yes, and you know what I was told. No practice today.”

“Oh, no,” Pen deadpans.

Coach Sima glares. “Strength training’s still on, smarty-pants.”

We glance up at the platform, which appears to have become the vacation home of a family of seagulls. A quiverfull one.

“The heroes we need,” I say.

Pen nods. “But not the heroes we deserve.”

Pilates indoors feels like a decadent step up from freezing my ass in the air. I’m jackknifing my way into oblivion when I overhear Pen chatting with Monroe, one of the swimmers.

“Where the hell is Lukas?” he asks. “I thought he’d be back by now. I owe him ten dollars.”

Pen laughs. Clearly, the rest of the team still doesn’t know that they broke up. “He got back a few days ago, but immediately left for Seattle. Med school interview.”

“No shit?”

“He should be back tomorrow.”

I force myself not to wonder whysheknows, and I don’t.

It’s because they’re still friends. Best friends. Or becausePendidn’t chicken out of texting him every night for the past two weeks, typing and deleting and retyping until she fell asleep. The problem is, his list covered stuff like orgies and pony play, but offered no insight on whether I should contact Lukas if I simplymisshim. I don’t want to overstep and ruin our arrangement. And Lukas . . . I have no clue whathewants. All I know is that he hasn’t been texting, either.

“Jesus,” Monroe says. “And then he’s heading straight back out to UCLA for the quadrangular meet?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Ballsy. Can’t believe he’s applying for med school during an Olympic year.”

“Kinda pointless, honestly. Even if he gets accepted, he’s going to defer. He might as well have waited, but hey. He loves to torture himself.”

He does, doesn’t he? And yet later, in the locker room, I find myself asking her, “Is he really going to defer?”

“What?”

“Lukas, I mean.” He never mentioned it to me. Then again, when would he? In between bouts of helping my therapist fix my post-traumatic issues? Or while defiling poor Dr. Smith’s pristine cancer research lab?

What about while you two were getting busy on top of me?The bench in front of my locker asks. It’s been calling me a slut for two weeks.

You know what you did.

I turn away.

First you disgrace me, then you ignore me.

Jesus.

“Yeah,” Pen says. “He physically can’t go to med schoolandstill pursue swimming at the elite level.”

She’s right. I’m not sure why it never occurred to me. Maybe it’sbecausemyintention has always been to quit diving after senior year, but . . . he’s a much more successful athlete.

“Don’t you miss Lukas?” Bree asks Pen. “He’s been gone for a while. I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with Dale spending Thanksgiving in Iowa.”

“I’m used to it. We were long-distance for so long. And we text.” Pen shrugs, then grins at me. “What about you, Vandy? Do you miss Lukas?”

---