How to Breathe Underwater

by Vicky Skinner

  “Actually, I had this kind of ridiculous idea,” I said, “but I wouldn’t even know how to make it.”

  Marisol made a face. “M’kay. What is it?”

  “What if we made a blanket?”

  They both sat in silence for a minute, and I thought I would die. They thought the idea was stupid. It was something that came to me between the parking garage and the aquatics center that afternoon, and it seemed like a good idea at the time, but obviously I was completely and totally out of my mind because Marisol and Patrice still hadn’t said anything when Ben finally came and took a seat at my feet on the blue carpet.

  “What are we making a blanket for?” he asked, sipping on a glass of water.

  Patrice and Marisol looked at each other, and then, as if they were communicating telepathically, they both wiggled their brows, frowned exaggeratedly, and then nodded their heads, all without speaking.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Marisol finally said to me. “My mom’s been keeping my big brother’s old jerseys in the garage since he went off to college. It would be totally cool to rip those up and use the letters and stuff.”

  “Yeah, we could use the numbers from them. That would be perfect,” Patrice added. She looked excited now, like their hesitancy had never happened. In the dimness of the living room, her eyes shone like stars.

  “You know, Michael’s mom is really good with her hands.” Ben ran a quick hand through his hair. “Remember I had that wardrobe malfunction before homecoming sophomore year, and she sewed it right up for me.”

  “What a touching story,” Marisol said, “but I’m not asking Michael’s mother to help us with our chem project.”

  “Why not?” Michael had grabbed a slice of pizza on his way into the room and was dipping his head back to take a bite. He spoke with his mouth full of stringy cheese. “She needs something to distract her. Give her something to do, please.” I watched him scoot in close to Patrice, his arm going around her shoulders easily. He gobbled down the rest of his slice of pizza. “Kate, there’s pizza in the kitchen. Want me to get you some?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I can get it myself.”

  Patrice and Marisol went back to discussing the details of our project while Jesse watched with zero interest, and I went into the kitchen to scout out the pizza. There was still some cheese left, and I snatched up a slice.

  “Want to help me ice the cupcakes?”

  I jumped and spun around to find Ben leaning against the stove, his glass in his hand. I hadn’t even heard him come into the kitchen, and I hadn’t noticed the cupcakes that sat in the pan on top of the stove burners. “You made those?”

  He nodded. “Baking is kind of my thing. They should be cool by now if you want to ice them with me.”

  “Sure.”

  He set his glass down, and I put my slice of pizza down. He handed me a knife and a container of icing. He took out another knife for himself as I popped open the lid. He handed me a chocolate cupcake. There was something about his proximity that I found unnerving. But I didn’t move away. I dipped my knife into the icing and spread it in swirls on top of one cupcake.

  “So baking, huh?” I asked him.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Please do not tell me you believe in adherence to gender roles. That’s just uncool. Coming from a female athlete, I would find that very disappointing.”

  I laughed. “I didn’t say anything about gender roles.” I swirled frosting onto a cupcake with my knife, not nearly as gracefully as he did.

  He finished with one cupcake, set it back in the pan, and pulled out another one. “Some of the most famous pastry chefs in the world are men. Maybe those old gender roles were mixed up to begin with. Maybe the guys were meant to bake the pies while the girls went down into the coal mines.”

  I nodded. “I’d be much more successful as a coal miner than as a baker.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about. You’d be hot covered in coal soot.”

  He smiled at me, and I felt myself blush. Ben was just the kind of guy who could make anyone blush, even if they were currently much more interested in the very not single guy one room over.

  “I just didn’t really see you as the baking type, that’s all.” I wasn’t exactly sure what the baking type was. Martha Stewart, I guess. “How did you get into it?”

  He shrugged. “I have seven aunts, and all of them make pies good enough to make your toes curl. I grew up watching them bake, and it’s a little addictive. It’s like free therapy.” He smiled and licked icing off his finger.

  “My mom was never really into baking, and I’m not much of a cook. Spent all my extra time in the pool.” The sugary icing and the chocolate in the cupcake in my hand smelled so good. “Guess that doesn’t really matter now.”

  A crease appeared between his eyebrows, but he only glanced at me for a second before focusing again on his cupcake. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing. I just, uh, decided not to join the swim team.”

  He pursed his lips. “Oh. Well, now you’ll definitely have time for me to teach you how to bake.”

  He smiled, and I focused on the cupcake in my hand so that he wouldn’t see my face flush. It was so strange to have someone show no reaction to me not being on the swim team. To him, it wasn’t some grand revelation.

  “Speaking of swimming, Michael told me you were teaching him.”

  I almost dropped my knife. I managed to hide my fumble. “He did?” To be honest, I was pretty surprised that he’d told Ben and hadn’t told Patrice, but I guess guys tell each other things they don’t tell their girlfriends.

  “Yeah, and he also told me he was teaching you how to dance. To be honest, I’m a little offended you didn’t ask me. I’m almost as good a dancer as I am a baker.”

  And before I even had a chance to put down my frosting-covered knife, Ben had spun me into his arms and we were slow dancing across the small kitchen, Ben holding me and me still holding the knife. We slid past the stove and Ben stopped long enough to take the knife out of my hand and set it on the cupcake pan.

  When he looked down at me, his face had lost its flirtatiousness. His brown eyes traveled over my face, and I felt that look in my stomach. He smelled like sugar and expensive cologne. His eyes flitted into the living room, and I knew before I looked that Michael was watching us. I could feel it the whole time, the heat of that acute gaze that was always impossible to ignore.

  We stopped moving abruptly, and I could hear the voices of everyone chattering on as Ben reached over to pick up an iced cupcake. “Your cupcake, madam,” he said, and I pried my eyes away from the couch. He smiled, so I took the cupcake as his arm fell away from my waist. I took a bite and licked the icing from my lips.

  When I turned back to the living room, it was just in time to see Michael lean forward and kiss Patrice quickly and softly on the mouth.

  *   *   *

  At two in the morning, I was still staring up at my ceiling. I could hear Lily snoring softly in the living room through my open door, but I wasn’t even close to falling asleep.

  I got out of bed and walked silently into the living room. In the light from the TV, I could see Lily on the couch, her blanket halfway to the floor and her mouth hanging open.

  I wasn’t even sure what I was doing. I couldn’t go up on the roof, like I normally would have in the middle of the night. I wasn’t sure what was going on between the pool and me anymore, and I definitely couldn’t see Michael. If anything, I needed to put some distance between us. It was getting too easy to let him be the person I went to when I was lonely, when I needed someone to lean on, and that wasn’t fair to him or to Patrice.

  I went to the door and pressed my head to it. This was about the time that he would get up for a cigarette. Would he get up in the middle of the night for fresh air and a peppermint? The door was cold, and I pressed my cheek to it to cool my burning skin.

  Then I heard the door across the hall open. Wit
hout hesitation, I pressed my eye to the peephole and watched Michael step into the hallway. It was hard to tell through the distortion of the peephole, but I didn’t see a cigarette in his hand.

  He closed his door behind him, and then he just stood there. He looked one way down the hall and then the other way, and then he looked right at my door. It took all my effort not to flinch from the peephole. He couldn’t see me, and I knew it, but with his gaze turned on me like that, it was hard not to react.

  He ran his hand over his face and leaned back against his door, like we were about to start a conversation.

  “Kate?”

  I spun around at the sound of Lily’s voice. She was sitting up, looking at me over the back of the couch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” I walked back to the living room. “Nothing. You can go back to sleep.”

  She stretched out against the cushions, but she didn’t go back to sleep. Her eyes were wide open. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, sent her a hopefully convincing smile. “Yeah,” I lied. “I’m doing great.” I knew I didn’t have to lie to Lily, but it was two in the morning and I’d just been spying on the boy across the hall, so I didn’t want to tell her the truth.

  She watched me for a second, and when her eyes fell closed, I went back to bed.

  Twelve

  “You look tired.”

  I did my best not to glare at my mother for her comment. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” After I’d gotten back in bed, I’d stared at my ceiling for another hour and a half before falling asleep.

  Lily watched me over the rim of her coffee cup. She didn’t know what I’d been doing the night before, but she’d obviously been aware enough to remember our exchange. She stayed quiet.

  “How was practice on Thursday?” my mother asked, entwining her fingers under her chin and looking at me, waiting for an answer.

  I opened my mouth, preparing a lie, but a knock at the door kept me from having to answer.

  “I’ll get it.” I scrambled out of my chair and rushed to the door. Because he was the only person to ever knock on our door, I expected it to be Michael, but when I opened it, Patrice and Marisol were on the other side.

  “Hi, Kate!” Marisol’s smile was so bright, I felt a little blinded.

  “Hey, guys.” It was an odd thing to have people to whom you’d never given your address show up on your doorstep. Of course, you didn’t have to give people your address when you lived one door from their boyfriend/friend.

  “We’re going to O’Dell’s,” Patrice said. “We thought you might want to come.”

  I was already reaching for my jacket. “Mom, I’m going out.” I closed the door behind me and waited, expecting Michael to join us any second, but Patrice and Marisol went for the stairs. Apparently, it was girls only.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” Marisol said to me over her shoulder as she headed down the hall. “We’re trying to get more exercise.”

  “Not at all,” I said, relieved. “What’s O’Dell’s?”

  “O’Dell’s is the best coffee shop in Portland,” Patrice informed me. “It’s completely necessary if you live here. Cozy and delicious.”

  “Including Leo, the gorgeous barista.” Marisol nudged Patrice, who rolled her eyes.

  We walked seven blocks to O’Dell’s, a tiny coffeehouse with red walls and twinkle lights, and Marisol bought me a cappuccino despite my insistence that I could pay for it myself.

  “So, do you want to work on the project this week?” Marisol asked once we were settled around a tall table on stools that Patrice had struggled to get onto. She was kind enough not to complain about our table choice. “You guys could come to my house and we could go through my brother’s jerseys.”

  “This week works,” I said, and as we sat there, I wished more than ever that everything else in my world would disappear. I wished I hadn’t lied to my mom about quitting the team, I wished things weren’t weird between Harris and me, and I wished that I didn’t have a crush on someone else’s boyfriend. Because if everything else in my life wasn’t so screwed up, this moment would have been perfect: a chilly Sunday morning at a beautiful coffee shop with two people who’d been so kind to me and whom I really liked.

  It could have almost been perfect, but then I saw a familiar face over Marisol’s shoulder.

  “Oh my God.”

  Patrice’s eyes went wide. “What is it?” She and Marisol whipped around in their chairs.

  It took Tom a second to notice the three teenage girls staring at him. He was ordering his coffee, and the three of us watched as he handed the cashier his credit card. He finally spotted us. His face went from relaxed to surprised to tense in a single moment, and then he raised one hand and waved in our direction.

  I slid off my stool and went to him without excusing myself. “Hi,” I said when I was close enough.

  “Hey, Kate. You’re here with your friends?” He nodded in the direction of Marisol and Patrice. They were watching us with rapt attention.

  “Uh. Yeah.” Friends. I liked the sound of that, but when I glanced back at them, I thought maybe I didn’t deserve the title.

  He smiled, but there was something sad in his eyes. “Glad to see you’re doing well.” He had no idea the mess I’d gotten myself into. “So, um…”

  I blurted it out. “Lily isn’t doing so great.” Maybe on another day, I would have had more discretion. But I’d just ditched a conversation with my mother, I was having coffee with a girl whose boyfriend I had a huge crush on, and Lily’s face moments before she asked me to get her out of that church was burned on my brain.

  His eyebrows furrowed in a sad expression. He looked like a puppy after it had been smacked on the nose. “She’s not?”

  I shook my head. Lily might not have said it out loud, but I could tell that she wasn’t okay. And maybe that meant she regretted what she did, or maybe it just meant she was lonely, but either way, she wasn’t happy. “She misses you. She doesn’t say so, but she’s been skipping classes and sleeping a lot when she’s home. She seems really sad. I shouldn’t even be telling you this.” I wasn’t so sure Lily would approve.

  He watched me fiddle with a cup full of sugar packets. “Then why are you?”

  I shrugged. Because Lily was always looking out for me, and just for once, I wanted to be able to look out for her. Because I felt terrible about helping her ditch her wedding instead of talking her into staying. Because I was screwing up my own relationships so royally that the least I could do was try to fix someone else’s. “Because I don’t think you should give up on her.”

  His mouth turned down thoughtfully, but he didn’t say anything, and I wondered if I’d overstepped my boundaries. It wasn’t really my place to convince Tom to fight for Lily. I didn’t even know for certain that Lily wanted Tom to fight for her. But I wanted her to know what it felt like for someone to care enough not to give up.

  “Anyway, I should get back to my friends.”

  Tom nodded silently, but I saw something in his eyes, maybe something hopeful.

  “Who’s that?” Marisol asked when I made it back to the table. We watched Tom walk out the door with his coffee in his hand.

  I settled back into my seat and found that my cappuccino had gone cold. “That’s Tom, my sister’s ex.”

  I saw Marisol bite her lip and glance at the door where Tom had disappeared. “He seems sad.”

  Patrice nodded and took a sip of her coffee before saying, “Was it a bad breakup?”

  I hesitated, tapping my fingers on the table. Hadn’t I passed Lily’s business around enough? I looked up at them, their eyes focused on me.

  “You don’t have to tell us,” Patrice said quickly, pressing her palm flat to the table between us. “It’s okay. We just want you to know it’s okay to talk to us about stuff. You know, if you need to.”

  I looked at her, and she didn’t look away. The corners of her mouth curved up slightly, almost a smile. She had
such an affectionate face, the kind of face that made you feel safe, the kind that made you feel like she’d never judge you.

  “She kind of left him at the altar, and I kind of helped her.”

  Their eyes went wide.

  “Wow,” Patrice whispered. “That’s, um…”

  “It’s been kind of awful,” I said when she didn’t seem able to finish her sentence. Once I started talking, it wasn’t so easy to stop. “She’s been sleeping on our couch, and I can tell she misses him, but she’s scared that they’ll end up like my parents, who are getting a divorce and are at each other’s throats any time they’re in the same room.”

  Their eyes got wider.

  “We had no idea.” Marisol was looking at me like I was a child who’d lost her favorite toy. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” It was the first time that I thought maybe it was true, that maybe I could be okay here as long as I had friends like Patrice and Marisol and Michael, people I could open up to without feeling guilty. Maybe here, with them, I didn’t have to hide. But even as I opened up to them about these things, I bit back my secrets.

  *   *   *

  “I’ll walk you up,” Patrice said when we got back to my building. Marisol had gone home, but Patrice had walked with me back to my place. “I think I’ll see if Michael wants to hang out. Do you think your sister is going to be okay?” she asked as we went back up the stairs.

  “I honestly don’t know,” I told her. “She’s always been so put together, you know? And now, she’s just falling apart.”

  We stopped in the hallway outside my door. “People need to fall apart sometimes.” She lifted her hand to knock on Michael’s door, and I tried to make myself turn around and go inside, but I was desperate, desperate for these people who seemed to care about me even though they had no real reason to.

  When Michael opened the door, his eyes went to me first, probably because I was at his eye level while Patrice, almost a foot shorter, stood between us. Then he noticed her.

  “Hey,” he said to both of us. “What’s up?”

  Patrice motioned over her shoulder at me. “Me and Marisol took Kate to O’Dell’s.”