At the end of my final lap, I touch the wall with both hands and pop up to check my time on the scoreboard. Oh my god. I had a personal best today! 1:43.15! It’s not Olympic-level, but it’s great for me in free. I climb out of the pool and throw myself at Coach for a hug.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Coach Josh says.
I leave his arms and rush to Levi. He embraces me, then we jump around a little, celebrating.
“Let’s hope your time rubs off on mine,” he says.
I wave a hand. “You got this.”
But his prelims for 100 and 200 breast don’t go so well; his times are second to Jason’s, which is pretty much unheard of for him. It’s not the end of the world. He’ll still be placed in the A finals, and a second or third place win later today would guarantee him a spot at state.
When he climbs out of the pool after his second prelim, though, he’s pissed. He grabs his sweats and tennis shoes, and stalks away, dripping water across the deck. I give him a minute in case he needs to be alone, then join him in a hallway, which is lined with pictures of champion swimmers. He’s still having difficulties breathing. His goggles dangle from his hand.
“You okay?” I whisper. “Are you hurt? Are your glutes tight again?”
He rubs his forehead. “I’m just not doing my best today.”
“You tired? Need a protein bar?”
“I’m a little antsy. I can’t get relaxed.”
“Why?”
He shakes out his shoulders. “I guess I’m a little horny.”
I blanch at his bluntness. “You mean…?”
“I haven’t done it in a while.”
“Oh yeah? Why not?”
He shrugs a little. “You and I have been fooling around. I guess it didn’t feel right to do that to you.”
I never said he couldn’t hook up with someone else. I open my mouth to say this, but it doesn’t quite feel true. The idea of him with another girl deflates me like a balloon.
Levi and I have time before our finals. It’s not like my parents are here. I glance up into the stands. Oma and Opa are squinting at a crossword puzzle together. Coach Josh is talking with my club teammate, Susannah, who I competed against in free earlier. No one’s paying attention to us right now. It would be easy to steer him under the bleachers and stroke him with my hands. I could sink to my knees, free him from his swimsuit, and go down on him. The naughty vision makes my skin feel electric and prickly hot. I suddenly need to fan myself.
I turn back to Levi. “I can help you. You know, if you want.”
He leans against the wall. “I don’t want to use you like that, Magpie.”
He’s teaching me how to hook up. If that’s not me using him, I don’t know what is.
I chew on my fingernail, worried I’m taking advantage of my friend. But I mean, he gets something out of it too, right? We’ve been having a great time together.
But it was just supposed to be a good time. Me learning some stuff. It wasn’t supposed to be me affecting his swim routine. I wasn’t supposed to be jealous of him doing other girls. This is messed up.
“If you need to hook up with somebody to take the edge off,” I tell him quietly, “I wish you would.”
He gives me a long look. Then he rubs the back of his neck. “I can take care of it myself,” he says, and leaves me standing there in the empty hallway. Alone.
Why does our relationship suddenly feel like a multiple-choice test where none of the answers are right?
• • •
Mom keeps a grocery list on the fridge.
If I need something, I add it to the list and she gets it for me. Toothpaste, body wash, mascara, lotion.
Somehow, though, I think she’d give me the third degree if I were to write condoms.
So one afternoon after weight lifting, I walk down the street to King’s Royal Engagements to borrow Mom’s car. I tell her I’m going to the public library for a book they don’t have at school.
She stops typing on her computer and turns to stare at me. “You’re driving yourself to the library?”
“Yeah,” I croak.
“I’m surprised you didn’t have Levi take you before he went home.”
“I forgot. So can I borrow the car?”
Mom fishes her keys out of her purse, passing them to me. “What book do you need from the library that they don’t have at the school?”
“Oh, um, it’s for a paper on snapping turtles,” I lie.
“Snapping turtles?”
I cough. “Yeah.”
“And you can’t look it up on the Internet?”
“Mr. Robinson says we can’t use any online sources.”
Mom doesn’t believe one word I’m saying. God, why did I think this would be a good idea?
She passes her keys to me. “Be careful, Tadpole.”
I call “Thanks!” over my shoulder and hustle through the front door to the parking lot.
Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I buckle up and adjust my mirrors, and with a deep breath, I start the ignition. Driving to the grocery store seems like a big risk in order to buy condoms, especially since there’s no guarantee I’ll be having sex. But safe sex is important. Coach Woods said it’s crucial to always be prepared. I’m sure Levi has condoms, but girls should have their own supply too.
Before we first kissed, Levi asked how far I wanted to go. I wasn’t sure at the time, and if we’re being honest, I’m still unsure. But when we kiss, my thoughts disappear along with my clothes. It’s just me and him, our bodies, and passion.
I understand why Coach Woods says it’s important to be prepared for anything.
I put the car in reverse.
Which grocery store should I go to? Food Lion and Walmart are generally very busy, and several of my classmates work there. With my luck I’d run into everybody under the sun if I chose either of those stores. The Quick Pick is small. But would they have a good variety of condoms? It’s the kind of place you go if you need to pick up staples like milk, orange juice, toilet paper, and lottery tickets. I’m sure plenty of people consider condoms a staple.
After debating whether to travel to another town, I decide that is not worth the risk of me crashing the car, and head to the Quick Pick.
When I arrive, only five cars are in the lot, and none look familiar. Whew. I can do this.
With a deep breath, I unbuckle my seat belt and head inside. I beeline for the toiletry area, searching the shelves, discovering a condom selection in the “family planning” aisle. Why is it called that? Shouldn’t it be the anti-family planning aisle?
I look left and right to make sure I’m alone before I start shopping. The Quick Pick has plenty of latex condoms to choose from. There are also nonlatex condoms available for people who have a latex allergy. In class, Coach Woods said that a latex allergy is no excuse not to use a condom.
The store also has lambskin condoms, which I find creepy; plus, according to Coach Woods they don’t protect against STDs. Not that I think Levi has an STD, but again—you always want to be prepared. Then there are condoms called “Ribbed for her pleasure.” Just reading those words makes me blush. I blush even more furiously when I find a forty-condom variety box called the “Ecstasy Package.”
They even have condoms with designs—there’s plaid, polka dot, glow-in-the-dark, and more. I guess some women like decorated penises?
I snort at the idea of asking Levi, “Could you wear this camouflage condom please?”
Levi says he’s normal-sized, but what if I insult him by getting the regular ones? I decide on a ten-pack of extra-large condoms that cost $7.20 because it seems like a better deal than only getting three for $2.50.
I grab some deodorant and a new toothbrush so I won’t only be buying the condoms and head to the front of the store. A man is in line ahead of
me, buying a bunch of lottery tickets. I check the time on my phone. It’s taking longer than I’d like. Is he buying tickets for all his friends and family? I tap my toes on the floor.
“Tadpole?”
Oh. My. God.
I slowly turn around. It’s Dad.
I should make a break for it. But that would be shoplifting and the last thing I need is to get arrested for stealing condoms. That kind of stuff stays on the Internet forever. USA Swimming probably wouldn’t care to have a condom thief on the national team.
“Maggie? Are you okay?” Dad asks. “What are you doing here?”
Oh my god, oh my god. Most embarrassing moment ever.
I improvise, shaking the box of condoms. “Um, I had to pick these up for health class.”
Dad sees what I’m holding. His face turns white, and his eyes balloon.
“We’re using them on bananas,” I add.
Dad’s Adam’s apple shifts as he swallows. “Uh, I figured the school would supply them…?” He scrubs a hand through his hair, eyes darting around the store. Is he scoping out the exits?
“Coach Woods said I need extra practice,” I ramble. “I kept busting them in class.”
“Well, good. Your mother and I have always been pleased at how seriously you take your schoolwork.”
I hold up the box. “Do you think I got enough?”
Dad coughs into a fist. “Ten. Hm. Seems like you’ll get plenty of practice. Extra-large, huh?”
I might die.
“Bananas are pretty big, you know.” I clear my throat. “What are you doing here, Dad?”
He stares blankly. “Oh! We had a toothpick emergency.”
“A toothpick emergency?”
“Yeah, we ran out of toothpicks for the hors d’oeuvres at the nursing home reception. So you came to buy the condoms yourself? Why didn’t you put them on your mother’s shopping list?”
“I couldn’t put something like that on the list, Dad.”
“Why not? It’s just like any other school supply. You need pencils and paper, you put ’em on the list.”
“Oh my god,” I mumble.
“Next,” the teller says, and I place my deodorant, toothbrush, and condoms on the counter.
Dad steps forward and adds his items to mine. “I’ll pay for hers. My treat.”
And that’s when I die of mortification.
• • •
After swim practice at school one day, Levi gives me a ride. “Want to hang out at my house tonight?”
“I don’t know why you’re even asking,” I reply. “We always go to your place.”
“We can start going to your house when you start cleaning your room.”
“Ugh, okay, Mom.”
He chuckles.
“You’re my best friend. That means you should love me, messes and all.”
“I do love you, just not your messy room. I can’t walk in there without stepping on something. I could twist an ankle.” He points at me. “Coach would say going in your room is an unsanctioned activity.”
“Levi,” I warn, making him laugh again. “You really don’t want to come over because of my room?”
“No, it’s not that. Oma said she was making a Bundt cake today.”
I grin widely at him. He is so cute. He’s desperate to get home for a slice of his grandmother’s cake.
At his place, however, he says we can’t have cake until his laundry is in the wash. He’s completely out of clean swimsuits and sweats, and unless I want him to wear dirty clothes tomorrow, he needs to start a load before doing anything else.
We go downstairs to the laundry room, where Levi unzips his athletic bag and shakes his swimsuits and sweats into the washing machine. He scoops detergent to pour on top of the clothes.
“Wait!” I cry as he dumps the detergent. “You’re supposed to put the soap in first, then add the water, and then the clothes.”
“Oh yeah?” Levi pulls out the nozzle to start the water, disregarding what I said.
“Levi! That’s not how you do laundry.”
He dips his mouth to my ear. “I’ll show you how to do laundry.”
With surprising ease he lifts me onto the washing machine and slips between my legs. Our faces at the same height, he begins to kiss my lips.
“What about your Bundt cake?” I whisper between kisses.
“Later. You taste sweeter.” His hips grind against mine, totally turning me on. “You are so hot,” he murmurs.
“Your lessons are paying off.”
“You can’t learn this,” he says. His bangs fall into his eyes, and I brush them away, catching his blue gaze. Intense moments like this make me glad I picked up those condoms at the Quick Pick.
Footsteps clomp down the stairs. With a gasp, Levi pulls back from me right as Opa appears. I scramble down off the washer. When he sees us, his grandfather stops in his tracks.
“What are you doing in here, boy? Smooching?”
“No-no,” Levi stutters. “Laundry.”
Opa squints at us. “You got some mail.”
“Where is it?” Levi asks.
Opa looks down at his empty hands and frowns. “I just had it. Oma! Where’s the UPS package?”
Oma yells back down the stairs, “You left it in the kitchen! And it’s a FedEx.”
“That’s what I said!” he hollers back.
“It doesn’t matter,” Levi groans.
Oma appears in the suddenly-crowded laundry room with a white box. “What are you kids doing in here?”
“Laundry,” Levi and I say together.
His grandmother pats his cheek. “Come up for some cake when you’re finished.”
Oma disappears back upstairs with Opa at her heels, arguing over FedEx and UPS. Levi, meanwhile, lets out a long breath and rubs his eyes.
“Shit,” I whisper. “Is Opa gonna tell anybody what we were doing?”
“Nah. By the time he gets upstairs he won’t even remember because there’s a hockey game on he wants to watch. But yeah, I hope he doesn’t say anything.”
My face heats. “Are you embarrassed by me?”
His eyes pop open. “Of course not. It would just complicate things. People wouldn’t understand. They’d think I’m taking advantage of you.”
“But you’re not…” It’s the other way around. “So what’s in the box?”
Levi rips open the tab. Inside he finds a T-shirt and a crisp white envelope. He hands the shirt to me, freeing up both hands to open the envelope. I unfold the shirt. It says: USA Junior National Team.
“Holy crap!” I say. “Congrats!”
Levi reads aloud from the letter, “USA Swimming is pleased to inform you that you have been selected as a member of the United States Junior National Team.”
I jump into his arms, crushing the letter to his chest, and he spins me around. I kiss him hard.
Abandoning the laundry and his box, Levi tugs me up the stairs. “What are we doing?”
“Going to your house to see if you got a box too,” he replies. First we stop in the den to tell Oma and Opa. They smash Levi in a hug sandwich. Oma wipes tears from her eyes, proud that he’s becoming a swim champion just like her.
“We’ll have to celebrate,” Opa says, patting Levi’s back.
“Let’s throw a party at the pizza place,” Oma replies. She still looks at Levi as a little boy, but it’s sweet.
Levi slips his hand into mine. “A joint party. Let’s go see if you got a box.”
On the drive to my house, Levi massages my thigh with a big smile on his face. But when we arrive and rush up to the front porch, there are no packages on the stoop. I check the mailbox to find a few catalogs and some bills, but nothing from USA Swimming.
“Maybe it came earlier and it’s inside,” Levi says,
charging into the kitchen like he owns the place. But there’s nothing there. Nothing except a note from Mom, telling me a pork chop is in the fridge. If a package came for me, Mom would’ve mentioned it or left it with the note about dinner.
“Your box’ll come tomorrow,” Levi says.
I shake my head. There’s no way I got one. My times aren’t there. I drag my feet on my starts. “Sometimes I feel like I am never going to be good enough.”
He squeezes my shoulders. “Don’t talk like that. You’re great.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re already going to the trials.”
“But you know that’s not everything. I’m still nowhere near as good as I want to be—or need to be. I’m praying I don’t bomb out in college.”
“Why would that happen?”
“I’m fast, but not that fast.”
“Levi.”
“I think about it every night when I check the standings on the USA Swimming site. Yeah, I got a trial cut, but there are still fifty guys faster than me. Fifty! A few of them are three seconds faster than I am. Three seconds! I’m fast, but how the hell am I gonna make up three seconds? Will I ever be able to do it?”
I don’t know, but at this point, I worry he has a much better chance than me.
• • •
It’s the weekend between regionals and state, so Levi and I have two practices on Saturday. During the time between them, we decide to check out Georgia’s cheerleading competition in Nashville along with Hunter.
We enter the Vanderbilt gymnasium, where music is pounding and people are clapping, and it’s like every cheerleader in the world has converged on this one spot. It’s a pom-pom supernova.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Levi says.
“Why aren’t there cheerleaders in baseball?” Hunter whines. That’s always been his only complaint about his sport. I personally can’t wait to see the routines. I love seeing roundoff back handsprings and flips, not to mention when the guy cheerleaders throw the girls in the air.
Coming Up for Air Page 11
