“That is not what I sound like,” Hunter protests.
Shelby, laughing so hard tears are rolling down her cheeks, elbows him. “It kind of is.”
I cover my mouth, barely able to contain my laughter. Georgia and Levi, however, are acting weird.
Georgia is so mad at Levi she didn’t even sit at our table. She’s over with David and all the Quiz Bowl guys, who are busy reading questions to each other from index cards. At least Georgia will be great at playing Jeopardy! after this.
I spy Levi out of the corner of my eye, giving me nervous glances. He’s reading a worn copy of Divergent. Even though lunch is half an hour long, I never see him turning a page.
“Why’s Georgia not sitting with us?” Hunter asks as he plays with Shelby’s hair.
“She’s pissed at me,” Levi pipes up.
“What’d you do?” Shelby asks.
“Something really stupid.” His eyes find mine. “I regret it.”
“Fix it,” Hunter tells Levi, who nods. He bites on his lip. Then he shuts his paperback and leaves the cafeteria before the bell rings. This is all my fault. If I’d never propositioned him, everything would be okay. My group would be okay. We would be okay, and stress wouldn’t be pouring out of my eyeballs.
Levi gives me space on Monday, but on Tuesday he’s back swimming in our regular lane. “Morning,” he grunts, seeming more like himself. “I can’t share a lane with those assholes.”
“Totally understand… Levi, I’m sorry if I messed things up between you and Georgia.”
He shakes his head. “It’s my fault, not yours. Don’t worry about anything, okay?”
I tell myself that when I see Georgia I’m going to encourage her to make up with Levi. He’s nothing like Kevin, who acted blameless after he cheated on her.
We go through our workout, which is a real ballbuster. Now that we’re gearing up for Junior Nationals in Huntsville in three weeks, Coach has us swimming 7,500 yards to give us the endurance we’ll need to swim prelims and races in several events. Between sets we’re breathing heavily and barely have energy to goof off. Jason doesn’t even have the strength to slap my butt with a kickboard.
Coach paces the length of the pool, calling out pointers on technique during pull drills. “Nice, Maggie. Get your elbows higher.”
For a second my mind flits to Roxy. Are my elbows as high as hers? But then I remember what Dad said on Sunday—if I keep focusing on my rival, it’ll be a self-fulfilling prophesy. The only one I should be paying attention to is myself.
The workout is hella exhausting. After my shower, I muster the energy to put on my school clothes and pull my hair back into a bushy, wet bun. At least it’s warmer outside than it had been; the water droplets in my hair aren’t going to freeze. I walk out of the locker room at the same time Levi does. He nods at me, jingling his keys on the way to the lot.
I climb into my dad’s Honda Accord and start the ignition, taking a deep breath. I can do this. I can drive to school. I did fine yesterday. Before pulling out of the lot, I put on my seat belt. Those crash test dummies on insurance commercials wear them, so I should too. I begin the trip back to Franklin, leaning forward in my seat, driving like an old lady. If I ever become a rich, famous swimmer with loads of endorsement deals, the first thing I will invest in is a driver.
I make it off I-40 and onto the back roads, but when I hit the four-lane road in Franklin a car totally cuts me off. Shit!
I swerve to the right.
My car runs off the road.
It flies into a ditch.
My teeth crash together, rattling my head, and I lunge forward, hitting the steering wheel, my seat belt pulling me back. Ow. Oh my God, oh my God.
I lift my head. Spots swim in front of my eyes as I pat down my body. Wiggle my arms and feet. I’m okay. But I’m shaking, my lips trembling. The airbag didn’t open, probably because I didn’t hit anything. I unbuckle my seat belt.
Someone knocks on the window. It’s Levi. He opens my door, crouches down, and carefully surrounds me with his arms. I lean against his chest. It’s heaving up and down.
“You okay, Magpie?”
“I’m fine. Some jerk cut me off.”
He sweeps a hand up and down my spine to calm me. “You’re gonna be okay.” His voice is calm, but his arms are trembling.
“I’m never driving again.”
“You did the right thing. You got out of the way of the bad driver and didn’t crash into any other cars. I’m proud of you. You’re a great driver.”
“How do you know?”
“I was behind you. I saw the whole thing happen. I can’t believe that asshole didn’t even stop to make sure you’re okay.” His hand cradles the side of my head as he checks my eyes. “You feel all right? Does anything hurt?”
My forehead hurt a little at first and my arms feel like they were jarred, but I’m okay. “Can you drive me home?”
“Of course.”
He collects my bag out of the car and leads me to his truck, where he opens the passenger side door and helps me inside. He even calls my dad to tell him we left the car on the other side of Franklin. Dad panics, of course, and says he’ll meet me at home, but he’s over in the next town, and it’ll take a little while for him to drive back.
Once Levi and I are on the road, he lets out a long breath and reaches over to squeeze my hand. “You scared me, Magpie.”
“I’m okay.”
“If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be.” At the next stoplight, he rubs his eyes, then looks over at me. “You sure you’re okay? Should we go to the hospital?”
I pat my body again. “I’m fine, I think, but I’ll let you know.”
Back at my house, he leads me to my room. He doesn’t even complain about the mess as he tucks me in under the covers. He makes me take Tylenol and sip some water, and after calling the school, he lies down next to me, breathing deeply. Staring at my face, he rests a hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry, Mags. For everything.”
“I know.”
The air is thick with silence.
“The Rock, the pope, and Queen Elizabeth,” Levi finally says. “Who’s going overboard?”
Our relationship doesn’t feel normal again, but this at least gives me hope we can figure out a way to be friends.
• • •
Coach Woods asks me to stay after health class one day.
I’m sure she wants to question me about my homework. Our class had to develop individual meal plans for a week, focusing on calories and grams of fat and carbs. Basically my menu consisted of protein bars, pasta, chocolate milk, and really anything I can get my hands on in Chef’s kitchen. If I come into contact with a food, I generally will eat it unless it’s something like frog legs. That’s what I wrote on my report: I will eat anything but frog legs.
“Is this about my meal plan? I’m sorry I didn’t follow the instructions to stay within specific fat grams but—”
“Your plan looked a lot like mine when I was your age,” Coach Woods replies. “I ate all the time. Especially at Joe’s All-You-Can-Eat Pasta Shack.”
“Oooh. I love that place.”
“I still love it, even though I shouldn’t be eating like that since I don’t practice every day anymore,” she admits. Then she asks, “Your parents run a catering company, right?” I nod. “My fiancé and I are getting married this summer, and he’s dead set on our friend Carter catering the wedding out of his taco restaurant.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“Right? But we can’t only have tacos and tortilla chips.”
“You can’t?” I joke.
“Well, I need to find a groom’s cake, for one. And I want to do some different appetizers. Like chicken fingers and pigs in a blanket.”
“My dad loves catering ‘Americana,’” I say, making finger quotes. “He’s all about the classics.”
“Me too,” she says. “But we haven’t done a very good job of planning for a tent…or silverware or plates… Really all we have planned are Carter’s tacos, and Sam’s sister is going to play guitar when we walk down the aisle.”