Page 149 of Deep End

“I haven’t—”

“How many times have you two met since Amsterdam?”

I lower my eyes. Too few, and only because of me. In fact, myexcuses have been so laughable, IknowLukas doesn’t believe them.Study group. Paper due tomorrow. Exhausted.

LUKAS:Just come over to spend the night. I sleep better when you’re around.

SCARLETT:Why?

LUKAS:Because I know you’re safe.

LUKAS:And you smell good.

LUKAS:And you’re soft.

I should change his name in my contacts. I know how to spell Blomqvist, and it hurts to see what he wrote—sharp kitten claws digging into the squishiest parts of my chest. But.

“I caught Pen sobbing in the locker room, this morning,” I simply say.

“That is sad. But as we discussed, her relationship with Lukas is unlikely to productively resume, whileyourrelationship with Lukas—”

“Iknow. But it’s temporary. She feels so alone, and the possibility of getting back with Lukas is . . . an illusion she clings to. I can’t shatter it by spending time with him under her nose.”

“Is a lie this big really kinder than the truth?”

I sigh and rub my face. This won’t last long. Pen will feel better soon. I just need to wait it out. Curl into myself like a pill bug. Focus on training—exclusively ten meters.

Coach was initially reluctant, but begrudgingly came around on the condition that I keep on practicing three-meter synchro with Pen.

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” I told him. “But Mei said that—”

“Why do I feel like a cheated husband?”

I try to keep a straight face. “Because Mrs. Sima has taken up with the landscaper?”

“Because my diver came home smelling like another coach!”

“That’s not true.”

“Mei is your favorite. Youstanher.”

I wince. “Did your son teach you that word?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

But if Coach Sima knows what I used to be capable of before my injury, Mei has a better idea of what I’m capable ofnow. And it works: endless repetition, constant corrections, infinite fine-tuning. I become, if not better, more confident, and the focus helps drown out the noise in my head.

“He’s back,” Maryam says into my room on the following Saturday night.

I look up from my neurobiology homework. “Who?”

“TheLove Islandcontestant.”

“What?”

“The heartthrob with the accent.”

I blink. “Lukas?”

---