Page 71 of Deep End

“Itell you what to do next,” Coach grunts. “Go try that backward pike again.”

Pen and I exchange a grin. It’s fun, bearing together the brunt of Coach Sima’s grumpiness. “I’m going to try to get my hurdle a bit higher,” I tell her, walking by her side.

“Can you?”

“Honestly, changing the fulcrum—”

“Actually,” Coach yells after us. “Since your dives are hopeless, you may as well come back here.”

We turn, and my heart trips in my chest.

Coach is pointing at Victoria, who stands next to him and glances around wide-eyed, as though while she was gone the pool went through a full remodeling.

On her foot, I spot a cast.

My first instinct is to run to her for a hug, but I stop myself because I’m wet—and because we never really did that before her injury. Do I even have the right?

I quickly glance at Pen. I know they’ve been in contact the entire time, but she seems surprised to see her here. “Vic!” She smiles, dragging me back. She forces Victoria into something that looks like a choke hold, clearly aiming for maximum dripping on her dry clothes. When she pulls away, Victoria is staring at me, a small smile on her lips.

“So, you stole my spot.”

My heart sinks, but I point at Coach. “Please, direct your complaints to HR.”

She motions me closer like she really, truly wants a hug, and . . .

“I’m so happy you’re here,” I whisper in her ear. I wish to go back to before she got hurt. A simpler, more balanced time.

“Me, too, Vandy.” We move back at the same time. She glances between Pen and me, sighs dramatically, and says, “You two really suck at synchro.”

I flinch.

“Ouch,” Pen says.

“Here’s the deal. I’m never going to dive competitively again, synchroorindividual. And it’s fucking horrible. And I’ve spent the last two weeks sobbing into theGet Well Soonhedgehog stuffie my cousin Cece sent me.But.”

I cock my head.

“The magnitude of which you both suck is larger than I ever suspected, and it’s my civic duty to reduce it. And there is an open volunteer coach position . . .”

I’m nodding desperately.

Next to me, Pen seems to be tearing up. “God, please. Save us from ourselves.”

“Then it’s settled. I mean—” She shrugs. “It’s not like you couldhave said no after a fucking three-centimeter gap between crash mats ravaged my lifelong hopes and dreams.” Victoria widens her arms, and Pen and I walk into what could very well be the first three-way hug of my life. “And hey,” she mumbles into my hair—or Pen’s. “Maybe I’ll get a Nobel Prize or something, if I help create the world in which you two suck a bit less.”

CHAPTER 30

OUR FIRST DUAL MEET OF THE SEASON IS AT HOME, AGAINST UTAustin.

It’s a huge relief: traveling is fun in theory but exhausting in practice, and usually requires us to skip classes. I’m “too much of type A dictator freak” (Maryam’s words; probably the truth) to rely on other people’s notes, and “too much of an antisocial turd monkey” (also Maryam’s words; certainly the truth) to have made reliable friends within my major, which makes every absence a huge hassle.

In preparation for the meet, practice has been ramping up, and I’m pleased with how much my body has recuperated and its ability to produce clean dives and controlled entries. Still, it’s hard to be optimistic when I know that an inward dive will be required, and that my failures will reflect on Pen during synchro.

“Did you discuss it with her directly?” Barb asks me when we FaceTime.

“Yeah. Well, kind of.” Pen has been nothing but great, and I feel even more guilty for dragging her down like a giant anvil wrapped around her neck.

It’s just preseason, Vandy.

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