Page 81 of Deep End

I turn around.

Close my eyes.

Bend my knees. Lift my arms up. Press my back into the shape I learned as a kid.

Take a single deep breath, andgo.

Divers are in the air for less than a second, but sometimes the process of twisting our muscles and angling our body is so arduous, it seems to stretch for years. Today, that’s not the case. My waist bends easily into a pike that’s as much second nature as photosynthesis is for plants. And the rest . . . it just works. I’m not sure how, or why, but it does. I’m in the water sooner than I can worry aboutfailing, and before I reemerge, I take a moment.

Squeeze my eyes shut.

Savor the relief.

Then I burst out, barely holding back a grin, wipe the water from my eyes, and—

I don’t even need to see the scoreboard. Pen’s frown tells me everything I need to know.

I may have done a pike. And maybe it was a good one. But I didnotmanage an inward dive.

CHAPTER 34

I’M ON WATERED-DOWN DRINK NUMBER TWO, OR THREE, ORwhatever the fuck imaginary complex real rational integer, when it occurs to me that I should probably let the UT guy who’s been trying to pick me up for the last twenty minutes know that I’m not going to consent to making out, having sex, or exchanging physical contact of any kind with him.

Trevor (Travis?) is nice, and as far as men go, I don’t find him particularly threatening. But that might be the most positive thing I can say about him. His square, handsome face does nothing for me, and his monologue on his silver at the Pan Am games needs some serious workshopping.

“You don’t live in this house, do you?” he asks.

I have a headache. Or maybehe’s a headache. “Nope.” In fact, I have no idea where we are. Some swimmer’s living room, probably. There’s always some kind of celebration after a dual, to show our guests that Stanford has a fantastic party scene.

It might be true. I wouldn’t know.

“Too bad. Would be nice if your bed was nearby.”

I want to leave. I want to no longer have his muzzle this close to mine. But Pen left a while ago to go meet with Teacher, and upon acursory glance around the crowded room, I cannot spot any friendly faces. It means that if I leave Trevor and this couch, I’ll be all alone. And if I’m alone, I’ll think about the things everyone said to me after my dive, the pitying looks, the slimy layers of disappointments coating my stomach.

Next time. (Barb)

Vandy, you placed third out of seven, even with a failed dive. You’re fucking amazing. (Pen)

Omg, it sucks. It happened to me, too, once. Got the twisties, did the wrong dive. It’s just a brain glitch. (Sunny)

It’s okay, kid. (An upsettingly conciliatory Coach Sima, whose uncharacteristic kindness made me feel even worse)

A silent hug. (Bree and Bella)

What I need is more alcohol. Once I’m drunk, my neurons will be too drenched in ethanol to process their own firing. The ouroboros of defeat that is my life will fade into the great unknown.

“You know,” Trevor says, “my ex was a diver.”

“Were they?” I look around, hoping to locate a primary source of rum and Coke.

“She only kind of was my ex. She was more into me than I was into her.”

Upon further consideration, alone with my thoughtsisbetter than with this guy.Anywherewould be, including the back of a refuse collection vehicle or a falling Sumerian city-state. “Poor girl,” I say flatly.

“Yeah, it was sad. I’m sensitive, hate saying no to people.”

“I bet.”

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