“You seem disappointed,” he says. Looking at him, I finally understand the expression His eyes were laughing. I never thought much about eyes before, but Harry’s really are expressive. You can see his thoughts swimming in them, like fish flashing silver beneath the clear surface of a pond.
Right now, I’m pretty sure he’s thinking I’m ridiculous.
“Sometimes I think I’d be happier if I didn’t want things,” I tell him. I keep forgetting we’re strangers. It feels nice, right now, to have someone to say this stuff to, though I might regret it later.
Harry shrugs. “Probably.”
“And I don’t see what’s so great about being human. We’re ruining our planet. Do you know how many species go extinct a day? Two hundred! With all our technology and resources, people don’t have potable water, children are going hungry, polar ice caps are melting, refugees are being turned away at our border and—”
I cut myself off. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear any of this. I chance a look at him. His eyes aren’t laughing anymore, but he does seem to be listening.
“And?”
“Forget it,” I say. “All I’m saying is, humanity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “No arguments here. But I still think it’s better than being a flawless, unfeeling automaton, which is what Dave wants us to be. Don’t you think?”
I shrug.
“The trade-off is that sometimes you don’t get the gold star.”
“At this point, I’d settle for not getting DQ-ed,” I tell him.
He laughs, and then so do I. Harry nudges me with his elbow as if to say: See? It’s not so bad.
“But you’re a great swimmer,” he says.
“What makes you so sure?”
He smirks. “Um, aren’t you a world champion?”
“How do you know that?”
“I told you, I read up,” Harry says. “You’re on the list of team accomplishments in the website’s About Us section. That’s another reason I decided GAC was worth it. Dave might be a jerk, but his swimmers win medals.”
“I tell myself the same thing,” I admit. “But I’m not a world champion anymore.”
“You’ll always be a world champion. That’s how it works. Can’t fool me.”
I smile. When I arrived at the pool for early practice this morning, I didn’t think anything could make me feel better, but somehow Harry has. Maybe the fact that we’re strangers helps him see what I need more clearly than my friends or family or even I can.
“Some people, when things don’t come easy, they give up. But you clearly don’t. You could be licking your wounds at home, but you’re here doing something about it. I respect that. I think it’s cool.”
Am I imagining things, or is he blushing? It’s probably just the heat. It’s like a sauna in here.
“Anyway, that is why I came in here,” he says. “To tell you that.”
He’s looking across the wide blue ribbon of the pool, deliberately avoiding my gaze. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was nervous. But that would be silly.
I stare at my feet. The nail polish on my toes is chipped. “Tell that to Dave.”
“You know the saying that nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent?”
I nod. “Honestly, I think it’s kind of bullshit.”
“Same. I mean, no offense to Eleanor Roosevelt, but of course people can make you feel inferior without your consent. Nobody wants to be treated like garbage. And if you’re not a total narcissist, self-doubt always manages to creep in. I guess the trick is to not let it stop you.”
“How?”
“If I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know. But you’re going to be all right,” he says. “I promise. That’s the nice thing about swimming: the water is new every day.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. He frowns, looking confused. I gesture between the two of us. “This. Saying these things? You don’t even know me.”
He rubs the back of his neck and turns away from me. I feel bad. I think I’ve embarrassed him.
“I thought you could use some cheering up,” he says, standing. “Sorry if I bothered you.”
“You’re not bothering me,” I insist. “I appreciate what you said.”
Harry relaxes. “We’re teammates now. I’ve got your back.” He offers me his hand to shake. “Harry Matthews.”
“Susannah Ramos.”
“Nice to meet you, Susie.”
“Actually, it’s—” I stop myself. Nobody’s ever called me Susie. I think I like it. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Harry grins. “And now I know you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
313 days until US Olympic Team Trials
HARRY’S NOT THE only person who’s ever warned me not to be so hard on myself. My parents do it all the time. But they don’t know, like Harry does, the pressures of the clock.
It’s such a relief to be told that failure isn’t a permanent state. Our conversation plays on repeat in my head all night. We’re not machines. You’re human. I carry it with me like a lucky penny. But the more removed from it I get, the less real it feels, like a vivid dream that fades before you fully wake.
By the time Dad and I hop into the car at five a.m., it’s hard to be sure what happened. I spend the whole ride trying to figure out how to act around him. One pep talk doesn’t mean we’re friends. The potential for awkwardness is high.
In the locker room, there’s more laughter and chatter than normal for predawn practice. Amber blows past me on the way to her locker and starts rifling through her stuff.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“My phone. I want a picture before Dave makes us clean it all up.” She brandishes her phone in triumph. “You’ve got to see this. It’ll make your day.”
I trail after her, tucking my swim cap and goggles under the strap of my suit. “What’s going on?”
Amber opens her arms in a flourish as we step out of the locker room. “Ta-da!”
It takes me a second to realize what she’s talking about: someone has filled the pool with soapsuds and rubber ducks.
At first, I just stare. Then the sight of those little yellow ducks bobbing around like deranged buoys triggers something inside of me, and suddenly I’m laughing so hard my ab muscles start to ache. The pool that for so many years has represented both promise and misery has been transformed into a giant bathtub. For some dumb reason, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.