I write down Dad’s phone number on a piece of paper and give it to her. “You can call my dad if you want. He’s really into creating themes, so if you want something special for your wedding, he can pull it off. Last summer he did a Disney-themed wedding. This summer he’s doing a Harry Potter one. They’re serving butterbeer.”
Her eyes grow wide with excitement. “I could do a football-themed wedding?!”
“Sure, yeah, I guess,” I say. “The table names could be football teams. And the signature cocktail could be an Old Fashioned Football.”
“Ooh. How’d you come up with that?”
“I grew up with my parents,” I say, and she laughs.
“By the way, congrats on winning at state,” she says. “The principal was telling me we’ve never had anyone win a state swim meet until you and Levi.”
“Thank you.” I adjust my backpack on my shoulder.
I must sound a little deflated because she asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Did you ever have a rival?”
Coach Woods laughs into her fist. “You won’t believe it. My senior year, when I was quarterback of Hundred Oaks, this new guy, Ty, showed up wanting to join the team, and he played quarterback too.”
“Oh my god.”
“And he was better than me.”
I gasp. “What did you do?”
“I played harder than I ever had in my life and showed him who was boss. I let him get some playing time too because I was captain and needed to give other kids opportunities, but I made sure he knew it was my team.”
“That worked?”
She picks up the football from her desk and tosses it to herself. “I wanted to play. I wouldn’t let anyone stand in my way.”
“That guy, Ty, what happened with him? Was he upset he didn’t get to play much?”
Coach Woods smirks a little. “We dated for a while. So, yeah, he was mad, but not that mad. And now he plays quarterback for the Arizona Cardinals. I’d say he’s doing okay.”
“Uh, wow.”
“Why’d you ask about a rival?”
“This one girl always gets in my head. I lose to her more often than I should.”
“You need to be racing yourself, not her.”
“That’s what Coach Josh says.”
“So what’s the issue?”
“I dunno…she humiliates me. She flirted with Levi—my best friend—right in front of me. She brags online that she’s better than I am. She says mean things to me in person.”
“Sounds like she’s trying to prove she’s better than you…but she’s not doing it in the pool.”
“She beat me at state, though.”
“Were you at your best during that race?”
I shake my head. I’d been crying over a boy. I was nowhere near my best.
Coach Woods sets her football down on her desk. “Are you one of the best swimmers in Tennessee?”
I don’t hesitate to say “Yes.”
“You have a coach who gets up early every morning before dawn to practice with you, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He believes in me.”
“And he believes in you because you’re good. You wouldn’t have won that race at state if you weren’t an excellent swimmer. Your strength has nothing to do with your rival. It’s all about you. When you’re in the pool, you have to block out everything except your hard work.
“When I first met Ty, I was scared when I saw how far he could throw and that he was taller and buffer than me. But I had put in the time. My coach and team believed in me. So I believed in myself and kept playing hard and working to get better. It was all about me.”
I smile at her. “I get that. I try to stay focused on improving, on my times, but sometimes I mess up and forget.”
“There’s only one way to fix that.”
“What?”
She tosses me her football. “Practice.”
Ariel and Tarzan
Coach Josh is all about keeping us lean.
He has us do a lot of high rep, low intensity weight lifting. When we were younger, we only swam and did cardio, but once we turned fourteen, Coach made us start working out with trainers twice a week at a Nashville gym.
At first, I hated it. I worried lifting would make my shoulders huge and that cute dresses wouldn’t fit right anymore. But once I saw how much it toned my body and slimmed me down, I fell in love with it. On top of that, it stripped away the body issues I had in middle school. My butt looks great in a suit, and I know it.
During training, Jason is spotting me on squats. With both hands I balance a bar holding two weights across my shoulder blades. Up I go. Down. Up I go. Down.
I can see Levi in the mirror. He is lying on a weight bench, doing chest press with two big barbells. I try to avoid noticing how great his chest looks in that snug T-shirt.
Coach worries about swimcest because we’re often in the water wearing little more than a scrap of bathing suit. But to me, the weight room—where guys act like cavemen, throwing weights around and grunting, is a lot sexier than Speedos.
“Roxy was bragging online again,” Jason tells me. He still follows her on Snapchat and Twitter. “She posted a picture of you at state. Do you want to know what it said?”
Part of me does, part of me doesn’t.
Levi sits up on the bench, resting two free weights on his thighs. “Maggie doesn’t want to know, idiot.”
“I can answer for myself.” I finish my twelfth squat and place the bar back on the rack. “And no, I don’t want to know.”
“Are you going to tweet or compete?” Coach Josh asks from across the weight room. He hates social media almost as much as swimcest, so we have to suffer through his corny catchphrase lectures.
“Don’t mention Roxy again,” Levi tells Jason.
“Levi, seriously,” I say.
“Less talk, more reps,” Coach Josh calls.
Keeping our mouths shut is the hardest part about lifting weights. You can’t talk under water. It’s easy to get lost in conversation on dry land. But you should always focus in the weight room; someone could seriously get hurt if you aren’t paying careful attention.
Jason adds more weight to the squat bar and moves into position. I spot him from behind. He makes it through six reps, then puts the bar down with a loud grunting sigh.
“You okay?” I ask. He was supposed to do twelve reps. “Dehydrated?”
“My heart’s not in it today.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.
“Dad got pissed I came in second at state to Levi and didn’t place in my other events. He said I’m a fuckup.”
“But you beat Levi at regionals. Your dad was happy about that. I saw him slapping your back and celebrating.”
“He was happy, and now he’s not.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jason does the same workouts we do every single day but has never seemed as focused as Levi and me. Sometimes I wonder if his heart is in it at all. It has to be, to compete at this level. But I’ve often thought it was his father who was invested, not Jason. I mean, I’d never tweet something like, “God I hate swim practice!” which Jason has been known to do.
Nobody’s forcing me to swim. I love it. I want to keep doing it in college and maybe even professionally—if I’m good enough.
“Jason,” Coach Josh calls. “Quit dogging it. Get back to work.”
With blank eyes, Jason finishes the other six reps.
After removing the extra weights he used, I step back up to the squat bar. Through the mirror, I can see Levi still sitting on a weight bench staring my way.
He watches me as I go up and down.
I tell myself he’s probably watching my form, making sure I don’t hurt myself.
Secretly I wish he was staring at me for more romantic reasons. It’s been two weeks since we last kissed. I miss it. I miss him. But I care more about Junior Nationals in Huntsville next weekend than romance.
I’d been willing to figure out how to balance swimming and a relationship, but Levi wasn’t brave enough to even have that conversation. I’m not putting myself out there again for someone who wasn’t willing to simply talk.