Page 94 of Deep End

They were instrumental in me getting on the team, which means that I should have known that this would be a possibility—and yet.

Stupid, stupid,stupid.

I’m still wearing my warm-ups when I see them enter the unusually crowded diving well. They pause to shake a few hands, then head straight toward me.

It’s been two years since we last met in person. Coach Kumar’s hair is grayer than I remember. Mrs. Katz’s, blonder. They have always believed in me. So much.

And I . . .

“Vandy!”

I hug them one after the other, exchanging pleasantries, barely aware of my mouth and arms moving. Did I know they were going to be here? Did Coach Sima say anything about it? So glad it could be a surprise. Do I like Stanford? Am I recovered? Has the preseason been treating me well? Did my stepmom relay their well-wishes? Do I miss Missouri? It’s okay if I don’t, we all become California girls when we’re in college, don’t we?

“I cannot wait to see you dive, Scarlett,” Mrs. Katz says, both hands cupping my shoulders. “You remind me so much of myself.”

“I’m so glad your surgery was successful,” Coach Kumar adds. “We kept saying how a talent like yours would have been a catastrophic loss.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Katz interrupts, glancing behind my shoulder, “I know you! Penelope Ross, right? You dove beautifully at the NCAA last year. That gold medal wasearned.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” Pen comes closer, giving me a curious look, expecting to be told who her fan is, but I’m too sluggish with surprise, and panic, and something that feels too much like shame.

Mrs. Katz picks up the slack and introduces herself, and then Bree and Bella join, and the more people are around us, the easier it becomes to make myself small.

A drop of water, lost in the chlorine.

And that’s when I murmur a low “Excuse me,” even though everyone around me is too busy laughing and joking and commemorating to hear, and march to the chair where Coach Sima sits with a couple of assistants, cross-referencing diving sheets and lists of names.

It’s the most cowardly thing I’ve ever done; I know it even before opening my mouth.

But I cannot, trulycannotgo through with this.

“Coach?”

“Yeah, Vandy?”

“I . . . don’t feel well,” I say, not meeting his gaze. I should have planned my excuse. Come up with an ailment that’s equally sudden and debilitating. I’m not ready to field any kind of question, but it turns out that I don’t need to.

Because Coach Sima gives me a single glance, a glance that feels like his voice sounded a few days ago, in his office. All he tells me is “Then you should go home, kid.”

My heart is full of thanks, but I cannot bear to say even one before I leave.

CHAPTER 40

IWISH I COULD SAY I’M DOING MY HOMEWORK, OR EVENsquinting at my puzzling app. The pathetic truth is that when Maryam’s voice reaches into my room, I’m lying face down on my bed, slowly breathing into the damp cotton of my duvet.

“A male underwear model is here to see you,” she yells.

I make the managerial decision to ignore her.

A minute later, my door opens. “Dude. Do I need to uncork your earwax?”

I lift my head. “What do you want?”

“There’s a guy here to see you.”

I blink at her. “Who?”

“Tall. Wearing Stanford Athletics gear. Looks like he’d be a good source of protein.”

---