“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m sick of Jason. He had that girl over again last night.”
“Didn’t you have somebody over too?”
He gives me a look of surprise. “No. I didn’t. Why’d you think that?”
“I saw you in the hall with that girl from the Atlanta Bullets.”
From his bag, he passes over a carton of chocolate milk he picked up for me. “Oh. Yeah. We were just talking.”
“Oh. It took you forever to answer my text last night.”
“I was exhausted because of my foot and passed out early without meaning to. I answered your text when Jason woke me up.”
My face flushes. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”
“I haven’t been with anybody, Maggie.”
I’m so relieved, I let out a big sigh, and he totally notices.
Levi’s eyebrows pinch together as he studies my face. “You were scared I was with her?”
I nod, muttering, “This is weird.”
He hasn’t slept with another girl. Yet. But it will happen. He won’t stay celibate forever. Leaning my head back against the couch, I stare at the ceiling.
Levi scooches closer and pats my hand. “We’ll figure it out. You’re my best friend, okay?”
Susannah comes and flops down in a chair across from us. “You two doing it yet?”
Levi starts coughing into his fist.
“I told you,” I reply. “We’re not doing it.”
Coach Josh appears behind us. “Nobody is doing anybody—it’s time to go. Get in the van.”
As we’re carrying our bags outside, Susannah elbows me. “If I were you, I’d be hitting that.”
“Seriously, stop,” I say, and she nods, hopefully understanding that she’s hurting me.
At the pool, I take a shower and start stretching. I have my prelims for back this morning at nine, and if I qualify for any finals, they start tonight at five. This is what I’ve been working toward my whole life. All that matters is how I swim today.
Levi and I cheer for Jason and Susannah during their prelims, and then it’s my turn to warm up. I splash into the practice lane. Coach Josh walks along the side, watching my form. I’m feeling good, especially since this is long course, and I have room to stretch out and increase my speed in the middle of the race when other swimmers start to fade. This is my favorite.
For 200 back prelims, I’m put into a very fast group thanks to my seed time. I hop into the water and reach up to grab the bars so I can launch myself into the race.
I’m in lane seven. Three lanes down in lane four is Katarina Ericson, who is only nineteen but already had a spot on the Olympic team four years ago. I can’t believe I’m swimming against her. This race is simply a warm up for her, as she prepares for the Olympics in August. I’m sure she’ll get a spot on the team again. It’s humbling that I’m simply working to get a tryout for a tryout for the US Olympic team.
Don’t drag your feet, don’t drag your feet, I chant to myself.
The buzzer sounds, I launch backward—toes pointed, and swim my heart out. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Katarina pulling ahead. Nothing’s worse than seeing people go by you when you can’t make your legs go any faster.
After four lengths of the pool, I finish the race and swirl around to check my times on the scoreboard. I come in third behind Katarina and Roxy. My time is 2:17.30. Seven-tenths of a second behind what I need to qualify for the trials. I groan under my breath. It’s not terrible, but not good enough either. I need to shave off almost an entire second if I want to be competitive. And the swimmers at this level are insanely competitive. At these elite long course meets, you’ll often see three or four swimmers get their cuts in a single race.
Later that day at the A final, it’s basically a repeat of that morning’s heat. I manage to get a 2:17:25, which is slightly better, but I come in third place again. In addition to winning the race, Katarina’s time qualifies her for Omaha, even though she already probably qualified in an earlier race. I lean my head against the wall, panting hard, pissed at myself. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person not getting my cuts. That’s not true, but still.
“Wooo, Maggie!”
I look up to find Coach, Levi, and the rest of my team cheering me on. I beam up at them.
I climb out of the pool, and Levi sweeps me into his arms. “Third place!”
“You’re getting better and better,” Coach says. “We’ll shave that time off.”
Eventually, I think. But will it be in time to qualify?
Outside the locker room after a shower, I meet up with Levi so we can grab the van back to the hotel. That’s when someone touches my shoulder. Katarina Ericson. “You’re good. Great race.”
I beam at her, and Levi goes all wide-eyed as she walks off.
“Wow, none of the big guys have ever said something like that to me,” he says. “We should celebrate.”
“With a pizza party?” I tease, mimicking his grandparents.
Levi smiles easily. “If that’s what you want.”
“What I really need is a nap and a smoothie.”
“You got it, boss.” Levi picks up my bag to carry it for me.
It’s not until I’m back at the hotel, changing into jeans and a long-sleeved tee, that I realize I haven’t thought about Roxy once.
I smile at myself in the mirror and dry my hair.
Making Waves
I didn’t qualify in Huntsville.
The next day at the meet, I swam 200 free and did even better than I had in back the day before. I missed the qualifying time by two-tenths of a second, which is a lot more manageable than seven-tenths. I came in third place overall. The good news? I beat Roxy! She came in eighth in 200 free. I didn’t do so well in 50 or 100—but that’s okay. Coach says the shorter races aren’t my forte.
Deep down, though, I worry I will never qualify.
With two more chances, the Atlanta Classic in April and the Spring Spotlight in May, swimming is all I can think about. To be honest, I’m barely thinking about graduation, which is less than two months away. It’s just swim, swim, swim, swim, swim.
Okay, okay, I admit I have been thinking a little bit about prom.
When I think back to the ridiculous bucket list Hunter made for me, part of me wishes I had more hours in the day to obsess about a dance or get excited about graduation and college. I’m lucky I have a few good friends and great parents. Without them, my life would basically be water and that’s it. Hell, I spent my entire spring break in Huntsville at Junior Nationals with no beach in sight.
At least I have off the night of the pajama party at the end of the month. I decide I could pretend that’s prom. I’m sure in some alternate universe people wear pajamas to elegant events.
One Friday night when I’m driving myself to Jiffy Burger, I realize it’s April 1. And yes, that means it’s only two weeks until the Atlantic Classic, but it’s an important date for another reason.
At the diner, I slide into the booth next to Hunter. Georgia sandwiches him in on his other side.
“It’s only two months until you leave!” I say, hugging him. “Waahhh.”
He puts an arm around my shoulder and the other around Georgia. “I promise to call you.”
“Do they even let you have cell phones at boot camp?” Georgia asks.
“They do, but you can only make calls if you’re being supervised.”
Levi arrives in time to say, “Guess that means no phone sex.”
“Shut up, man.”
Levi sits down on the other side of the booth away from the three of us. “I feel so left out,” he jokes. “Why am I sitting alone?”
Hunter chimes in, “We’ve staged an intervention. You need to stop whacking off all the time.”
“Ugh!” Georgia and I say.
Our usual waitress comes to take our order. I get up and move to my spot by Levi. I elbow his arm and smile at him sideways. One side of his mouth quirks up as we dive into our usual conversation.
Georgia and David are seeing each other now, so our Jiffy Burger chats aren’t only about Hunter and Shelby’s sexcapades.