Page 155 of Deep End

LUKAS:No idea what that means. Not flattered, though.

I feel almost drunk. Remarkable, the energy that sparks from two texts after such a long stretch of nothing. Tech bros should harness it for their cryptocurrency-mining endeavors.

SCARLETT:Want company?

LUKAS:Not particularly.

LUKAS:Would love to see you, though.

The power requirements of the world’s water desalination plants aremet.

SCARLETT:Where?

LUKAS:Maples.

I think of Maples as the basketball stadium, but an informal volleyball game is going on. Both teams are mixed, three men and three women, with no referee. A handful of spectators scatter on the bleachers. Lukas sits next to Johan, talking with a tall, blond girl in a Stanford volleyball jersey.

Johan notices me first, and waves. The others turn, too—the girl with a curious expression, and Lukas . ..

Lukas.

I stop right next to him, trying not to stare like he’s a piece of avant-garde performance art. “Practice game?”

“More for fun, really.” The girl’s accent is as faint as Lukas’s.

“Scarlett,” he says, “this is Dora.”

We shake hands. She smiles. “You’re the diver, right? Premed?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh.” I dip my hands in the back pockets of my shorts. “Same,” I say, just to be polite.

Both she and Johan laugh. “That’s nice of you,” she says, “but I doubt Lukas talks about me that much.”

“Dora, maybe Lukas was secretly in love with you all along,” Johan offers, which has her laughing even harder, and Lukas giving an amused reply in Swedish, a short back-and-forth. By the time Dora returns to the bench area, I’m wondering if I’ve been summoned here to be the butt of a joke I can’t even understand.

“Hi,” Lukas says, moving his water bottle to make room for me.

“Hey.” I take a seat, leaving a few inches between us. His arm, though, snakes behind my back, loops around my waist, and pulls my flank flush against his. Then he lets go.

“You seem—” I break off. Clear my throat. “Less inconsolable than I was led to believe.”

“Inconsolable?”

“Pen mentioned that tapering messes with you.”

He gives me an odd look. “How so?”

“Increasingly intense handwashing. Lots of early mornings.”

“I wash my hands a lot to avoid getting sick—standard guidelines before big meets. And I wake up early because the championship will be on the East Coast.”

“Oh. What about the rumored yearning glances at the pool?”

“I don’t know. Were you in it?”

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