“Oh, mija.” Mom hugs me, jostling the dozing cats, who glare at her resentfully. “It’s not silly. It’s a beautiful dream. And we’re not giving everything up. It’s our pleasure as your parents to be able to provide you with what you need. It’s all worth it, a million times over, as long as you’re happy.”
“Thanks for not asking me if I’m happy right now.” If she did, I don’t know what I’d say.
“I know sometimes it can be hard to tell. There are nights I sit down to my homework at the end of a miserable day and I think: Why am I doing this? Is this really what I want? But the next day, the sun rises, I go to work and I remember how much I want to be a lawyer—so much I was willing to return to school at my age and take weekend classes for the next eight years and go into debt that will take eight hundred more years to pay back.” Mom kisses the top of my head. “I know you think we can’t understand, but I imagine that’s kind of how you feel.”
“Pretty much.” Except my debt isn’t just financial, and it’ll take my whole life to pay back. But there is one way I can start to make a dent in everything I owe them.
I shift so that I can look at Mom. “You know it’s not just about the Olympics. If I can swim well enough over the next few years, I’ll get a scholarship. Swimming could pay for college.”
After all the money my parents have spent on my swimming, I can’t bear the thought of them taking out loans to finance my education. I’m not their only child.
“I wish you didn’t have to worry about that,” Mom says, but she doesn’t tell me not to worry.
Mom gives my shoulder one last squeeze. It hurts a bit actually; I never warmed down my muscles after my last race, and I’m feeling sore.
“Time for me to go back to work,” she says. “And you need to go to bed. Did you eat?”
I nod.
“Then get some sleep,” she says. “Tomorrow the sun will rise, and you need to be ready for it.”
CHAPTER THREE
314 days until US Olympic Team Trials
DAVE BANGS HIS clipboard with the heel of his hand to get our attention.
“Hey! Quiet down!” he shouts. “I have an announcement to make.”
I’m sitting in the pool mezzanine, surrounded by my teammates. The mezzanine is a huge balcony with carpeted bleachers that are as wide as couches, and it stretches the entire length of the natatorium, but we’re all clumped together in our usual spot overlooking the diving well, which is as still as a millpond. It’s the first GAC meeting of the fall; school started today, and everyone is amped for the new season. We’re supposed to be stretching, but most people are gathered in small groups, chatting animatedly and pretty much ignoring Dave.
Jessa and Amber are beside me, talking in low voices. I think they’re debating the relative attractiveness level of the handful of swimmers who just joined GAC, but I’m not really listening—unlike everyone else on the team, I’m watching Dave.
It’s been two weeks since the invitational, since Dave dressed me down on the pool deck over my false start—two weeks since Dad called and yelled at him for berating me in front of the entire Chicagoland swimming community.
Dad and I haven’t discussed it since—his vain attempt to protect me, I guess—and I didn’t hear anything from my coach over the break. The suspense is killing me. I half expected Dave to tell me not to return to GAC.
That didn’t happen, but I’m afraid it still could. I keep trying to catch his eye, but every time it seems like I might, his gaze slides over me like I’m not even here.
When people don’t pipe down, Dave grabs a bullhorn from the floor near his feet. There’s an unfamiliar white woman standing next to him. She’s tall and slender, with long mousy brown hair tied back into a severe ponytail and a pair of glasses in electric blue frames sitting on the bridge of her nose. They’re too big for her face, but somehow, they suit her.
She stands with her hip resting against the glass railing and her back to the aqua expanse of the pool below. I barely have time to wonder who she is and why she’s here before Dave starts shouting into the bullhorn.
“Everybody settle down and SHUT. UP!”
I cover my ears—that bullhorn packs a wallop. It does the job, though. We all shut up.
“Finally.” He sets the bullhorn on the ground and tucks his clipboard under his arm. “Okay, so first of all, welcome to the first GAC practice of the season.”
A cheer goes up and someone lets out a sharp whistle. Dave smiles.
“I hope you guys got some rest during the break, because today’s sets are going to crush you. But before we get to the good stuff, I’ve got an important announcement to make.”
Dave points to the woman standing next to him. “This is Beth Ramsay. As most of you know, Mills accepted a job as head coach of the Beaumont Bruins—”
People boo at the mention of our local rivals, but Mike Mills was a Dave clone, just ten years younger—a fratty-looking white bro who strutted around the pool deck in Vineyard Vines polos and Sperrys like he was God’s gift to swimming, barking orders and treating us like babies. Jessa thinks I’m being sensitive, but I swear he was especially dismissive of people who didn’t look like him—i.e., the team’s small handful of swimmers of color, and the girls. I’m not sorry to see him go.
“—and Beth will be taking over his spot as assistant head coach,” Dave continues. “I expect you to treat her with respect and listen to everything she tells you. You monsters go easy on her. Got it?”
He turns to her. “Beth, any last words?”
She laughs. “Nothing special. I’m happy to be here, and excited to work with you guys. I hope you’ll enjoy working with me, too.”
Dave nods and dismisses us with a wave of his hand. “Hit the deck, and don’t let me catch any of you slacking. Break’s over, time to get back to work. See you down there.”
I try once more to catch Dave’s eye, but he turns to talk to Beth. I make my way up the bleachers behind Jessa and Amber, swept up in the flood of swimmers streaming through the door at the top of the mezzanine. A tall guy I don’t know waits patiently as people push past. Even though it’s his turn, he holds the door open for my friends and me.
I don’t recognize him at first, but when I do I almost trip right out of my flip-flops. It’s the boy I ran into at the GAC Invitational. The one who asked if I was okay as I was fleeing the scene.
My face gets hot. He’s the last person I ever wanted to see again, and now here he is, at my club. We’re teammates. The thought of having to swim every day with the stranger who witnessed one of the lowest moments of my year makes my stomach drop.