Page 118 of Deep End

Her tears spill over. “Are you sure?”

I nod just as Lukas’s name flashes on my phone. I quickly accept the video call.

“Scarlett?” He must have dialed me back the second he got out of the pool, because he’s still dripping. He looks, at once, surprised, pleased, and worried. “You okay?”

I remember what he said about his mom.The phone call came. “Yeah, everything’s okay.” I angle the camera to include Pen. “Just, Carissa—”

“Nothing,” Pen says from beside me. Her cheeks are still shiny, but she turns to me. I do the same, and notice her smile. “I had an . . . issue. And wanted to talk to you. But as it turns out, Vandy helped me through it, because she’s an amazing friend. And I don’t deserve her.”

My heart swells. I feel . . . chosen. Worthy. “That’s nice of you to say, because I live in fear of you seeing through my daily charades and realizing that I’m so numbingly boring, dentists inject me into gums before root canals.”

“What? You’re not boring at all,” she says. And there’s an echo—because Lukas said the same thing, at the same time. He looks confused by the whole thing. Might still be panting from his race.

“Did you win?” I ask.

He shrugs, becauseof coursehe did. And doesn’t even look smug about it. “Is everything okay? Do you need me?”

I get the impression that the question is for me, but it’s Pen who shakes her head and says solemnly, “It appears that your presence will not be required, after all.”

He lifts an eyebrow, puzzled but not displeased. “Okay?”

“Basically, I’m the new and improved version of you,” I tell him with my most self-satisfied smile, which makes his own lips quirk.

“And here I was, thinking you were a troll.”

Pen looks confused, so I squeeze her hand again, and we change the subject.

CHAPTER 47

THE WINTER NATIONALS LAST FIVE MORE DAYS, EACH WITHhighs and lows.

During the springboard final, neither Pen nor I qualify for the world championship—but neither does Carissa, who’s on track for the gold until she flunks an entry so bad, chestnut-backed chickadees in the Pacific Northwest must have felt the spray. I’ve produced way worse dives, and when it comes to enjoying someone else’s screwups, I don’t have a single toe to stand on, but just this once I allow myself some gloating room.

“We should celebrate,” I whisper at Pen during the award ceremony. Coach Sima turns back with a worried look, like maybe I forgot thatnotbeing on the podium is a bad thing, but Pen leans her forehead against my shoulder and wheezes for five minutes.

Everything okay? Lukas texts me that day.

SCARLETT:Yes. Pen’s doing much better! We’re about to start some synchro prelim.

LUKAS:And?

And?

SCARLETT:Would you like a picture of the dive sheet?

LUKAS:How areyou, Scarlett?

There is no reason for this simple question to make me blush. Must be the heat of the pool. I’m no longer used to diving indoors.

SCARLETT:Fine?

LUKAS:Is that a question or an answer?

SCARLETT:Not sure.

LUKAS:Think it through, then.

The second day, I wake up to an email from my favorite German insomniac, Herr Karl-Heinz.

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