Page 159 of Deep End

Lukas nods. “When was the previous time you got tested?”

“Five, six months ago? Diving nationals.”

“And your diet hasn’t changed? No new prescription medications? Drug use, vitamins, supplements?”

Pen gasps. “Lukas, you know me.”

“I know very little about your daily life, by now.” He says it without inflection, but it ticks her off enough to twist her hand out of mine. She leans forward, gripping the headrest of his seat.

“My brain hasn’t turned into clam chowder in the past year. I know how easy it is to get a positive doping test. I would not take unregulated substances without running them by the team physician.”

He nods, unfazed by her defensiveness. “What are you positive for?”

“I didn’t—” She slumps back, bare arm brushing against mine. “Anabolic steroids? Where the fuck would I even getthose? Do they think I’m cooking meth in my laundry room?”

“And this was the A sample?”

“Yeah. Jesus. I don’t even—what’s going to happen now, Luk?”

“Back when they tested you, they took a B sample, right?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a process all DI athletes are intimately familiar with. Chugging down gallons of water to pee in front of some lady who needs an unobstructed view of me filling a plastic beaker has been part of my life for years, and I barely register the unpleasantness. Every time, we’re asked to fill two bottles. The A sample is used for testing. B is frozen. If the A sample comes back positive, B is used for retesting when the athlete contests the results.

I’ve heard of a few people having to go through that, but they were always grapevine stories. Some cross-country junior. A diver who graduated before I joined the team. Friends of acquaintances. Famous athletes in the news. This just feels . . . odd.

“The first step is asking for a retest,” Lukas says calmly. “And maybe a lawyer—”

“Alawyer?”

“I’ll ask around. What did your coach say?”

“He hasn’t replied. Even if we ask for a retest, the NCAA championship is coming up. Will it get done on time? Or I could be disqualified, and—” She breaks off, fat tears sliding down her face, and I pull her into me.

“You have a window of twenty-four hours to ask for a retest, right?” Lukas asks.

“Yeah.”

“Is Stanford taking care of that, or should we?”

“They will.”

“Okay.” Lukas nods, and the knot of tension in my chest slowly loosens. It’s the way he lays it all out—plans, timeline, to-do list. “For now, don’t worry about it. You have not taken steroids, there’s something else going on, and we’ll get to the bottom of it. Focus on sobering up. Sleep on it.”

“I’m not going to be able to sleep until this mess is over.” Pen wipes her eyes. “How am I supposed to function while I wait? What am I even going todoif I can’t dive?”

“I’ll take you home and—” He stops when I catch his eyes through the mirror and shake my head. I can only imagine how scared Pen must be. We athletes build our whole identities around competing, and I know firsthand how destabilizing having it ripped away can be. It’s clearly already messing with Pen’s head, and I definitely don’t want her to have to deal with it on her own.

“I don’t think you should be alone,” I say. “Why don’t you stay with me for a few days?”

Her eyes are wide. “Really?”

“Of course. We can watch TV. Hang out.”

“But don’t you have a twin bed?”

“You can sleep in it, I’ll take the couch.”

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