Page 135 of Deep End

“There’s one for each country,” a volunteer tells me before glancing at the badge hanging from my neck. “US is over there.”

I glance at our table, where Carissa and Natalie are eating yogurt. No, thank you.

“What about Sweden?”

It’s in the opposite corner. I walk, taking in the different languages around me, till I find it. There appears to be no strife among the Swedish team: they stand around their table, playing ball with something that looks like a protein bar.

I instantly spot Lukas, even though everyone in the delegation is as tall as him. His hair is a little shorter than when I walked out of his house a week ago, but he’s still himself. Still handsome. Still mi—

“Scarlett?”

A second later he’s in front of me. He reaches out to touch me, but I feel myself inch back a little, even through the flutter in my chest, the prickling heat in my throat.

I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just too overwhelming and too soon, having him near me after the gaping void of his absence.

He gets the memo. Of course he does, dialed in as he is. “I thought you’d rest at the hotel.” His blue and yellow compression shirt does great things for his eyes.

“Our coach doesn’t believe in rest. She’s probably wondering why I’m not running laps.”

He smiles, wider and so much more boyish than usual. Sohappyto see me, I’m a little floored. “How’s your pool?” I ask, to distract both of us.

“Only used the warm-up one, but fine. The diving tower?”

“A problem, actually.”

“How so?”

“I’ve been looking for something to complain about. Lay the groundwork for what I’ll blame my future failed dives on. Can’t find anything, though.”

“A tragedy.”

“See, you get it.”

He stares, smiling. I stare, smiling. Maybe no one would catch a single, tiny hug. A small kiss. My hand in his.

“Hi.” A man appears at Lukas’s side—wearing the same shirt, built like him, dark skinned. His smile is warm. “Wasn’t your hair red last time we met?”

My heart capsizes.

“Different person, Ebbe.”

“Oh,shit.”

“This is Scarlett Vandermeer. Scarlett, Ebbe Nilsson.”

Ebbe shakes his head. “Andan idiot.”

“Don’t worry about it. Pen and I don’t look too different.”

“That’s probably a lie, but thank you. USA, right?”

“Yeah. Lukas and I are in school together. We . . .” We? Lukas watches me, entertained, like he’d be fine if I said,Responsibly practice BDSM together. “Collaborate on a biology project,” I end weakly. Big middle school science fair vibes. “I was looking for food, actually. Where did you get your, um . . .”

“Ball?” Ebbe asks.

“Precisely.”

“Come with me.” Lukas’s fingers wrap around my upper arm. “I’ll walk you to one of the stations.” We’re on our way out when someone yells something at him, which starts a quick back-and-forth in Swedish that ends with laughter and “Vi ses.” It was on my app, but I can’t recall the meaning.

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