by Suzanne Weyn
“No! This is how,” Zack insists. Even though Zack is often mystified by humor, he knows this is a game.
We circle the kitchen, still waving our arms and bobbing our heads, yelling.
“This way!”
“No, this way!”
Mom arrives home and walks in on this scene. She sinks into a chair, smiling. All three of us are smiling—and it feels so good to be happy.
Later that night, Jason and I have our usual FaceTime conversation. “I can’t believe you joined swim team!” he cries, indignant.
“What’s the problem?” I ask. “Who would think I’d even be able to swim, forget competitive swimming? I’d think you’d be happy for me. I can’t believe this makes you mad,” I say. Which is true. I assumed he’d be all, “Good for you, Mira!”
“All this time I’ve waited for you to get better. Now that you’re better—or better than better—super, or whatever you are—you’re too busy for me again. It’s going to be the same old thing, just like before the accident.”
“I have a right to a life! The doctors want me swimming, to help support my prosthetics. And I need to be able to hang out with friends—you see the guys on your team all the time! Do you think you should be the only thing in my life? It’s not just me. All summer you were caddying and now you have football. I don’t give you a hard time about it.”
His face gets red and he rolls his eyes as frustration overpowers his language skills. I don’t regret my words, though. I’ve finally expressed the thing that has bothered me about Jason the whole time we’ve been together. No matter what I do, if it doesn’t involve him, it hurts his feelings.
“You totally don’t get it!” Jason says.
He’s right about that!
Are we breaking up or just having a fight?
“Do you want to get out of this … this … relationship?” I ask. There. I’ve released the dreaded question. I imagine it hanging in a puff of small black clouds. Unrecoverable.
“Do you?” he asks. Did I hear a trace of hopefulness in the question? I think I did.
The reality crashes in on me all at once. He’s glad we have a reason to argue. He wants an excuse to break up.
“I asked you first,” I say, even though I know it’s about the most childish thing in the world.
Jason sighs. “I just wish you had thought of me before you went and joined swim team.”
I can’t believe that after all I’ve been through, how changed I am in every way, I’m still going round and round with Jason on this same old issue. It just seems too ridiculous.
“Do you want me to quit the team?” I ask.
His face suddenly becomes softer. “We’d have more time to be together.” He’s sulking but congenial.
He thinks he’s gotten his way.
Has he?
Would I rather swim or spend more time with Jason?
“I think it’s time for us to …” My voice breaks. I can’t! “Let’s just think about it.”
My first swim meet is an invitational at River Crest High School. I’m not sure if I should wear my swim leg. I’ve been wearing it at practice. “Go ahead,” Mrs. Patrick says. “Let’s see if anyone objects.”
Wearing my tank suit at my own school didn’t bother me much. Over the course of more than three years there, the school has come to be like a second home, and I know pretty much all the seniors and juniors. Here at River Crest, though, I feel uncomfortably exposed. I catch lots of people staring. Am I some kind of freak show to them? The coach of the other team listens to her team captain, who keeps glancing at me.
The pool shimmers like a crystal blue oasis of calm amidst the chaos of chatting friends and parents in the bleachers, coaches giving last-minute instructions, and assistants scurrying around with towels, caps, timers, and whistles. The swimmers stretch, limbering their muscles. Bending, I grasp my fake swimmer’s foot with my good hand and real toes with my prosthetic hand. Slowly, I inhale as deeply as I can in an effort to expand my lungs before blowing out the air.
The first event is freestyle, and I’m competing. With my cap and goggles on, I line up with the other swimmers. I take my place on the dive boards in front of our designated lane. The chlorine smell is nearly overwhelming.
When the buzzer sounds, I do my best race dive into the pool. The cheering of our teammates and of those in the bleachers is muffled by the water. I come to the surface and realize that I’m ahead of the other swimmers.
I am nothing but speed and motion in the water. When I make it to the other side, I tap the ledge, feeling its cool smoothness with my bionic hand. I curl into an underwater flip turn and shoot back. I’m now side by side with one of the River Crest swimmers who has sped up suddenly. We seem to slap the pool’s edge at the same moment, but the timers say she beats me by a second.
“Nice job, Mira!” Elana says, throwing me a towel as I return to my teammates.
“Way to go!” cries another. The other girls clap and cheer.
Wrapped in a towel, I sit on the bench with my teammates watching the next bunch of competitions, clapping along and shouting encouragement. I’d forgotten how much I like being part of a team, training together, supporting each other. It feels like old times on the lacrosse team.
The next time I’m up is for the butterfly. I think the butterfly stroke is more difficult than freestyle, but Mrs. Patrick says I’m better at it than most, probably because of all the PT. My arm, though it’s so strong, is heavier than a natural arm. In practice, I’ve been working hard not to let it steer me into the lane ropes.
I wait on my dive board, bending to touch the edge, getting ready to dive. I’m determined to do my best, even though I don’t expect much. When the buzzer sounds, I blast off from the side, arms circling. I can’t tell if I’m first, last, or somewhere in the middle. I’m just swimming with all I’ve got. I get to one side, shoot back, and slap the side of the pool when I arrive. The timer clicks her stopwatch. Standing in front of my lane, she holds it in the air.
I’ve won first place in butterfly!
My teammates go crazy, cheering and thumping my back. “Great work!” Mrs. Patrick says.
“You were ahead the whole time,” Elana tells me.
I notice that the River Crest coach is talking to Mrs. Patrick, but I don’t think much of it until they approach me. They look serious. Mrs. Patrick beckons for me to join them. “There’s been a complaint, Mira. About you.”
“None of the other girls have the advantage of flippers,” the River Crest coach says.
“They have the advantage of fully functional limbs,” Mrs. Patrick points out.
“Even so,” the River Crest coach insists. “There are handicapped teams for persons with special needs.” She turns to me, speaking as if I’m five. “Would you prefer something like that, dear?”
I force a smile. “No. I’d like to stay with this team.”
I’d like to push her into the pool, is what I’d like to do.
“Next time I’ll wear my walking foot. Okay if I lock it into pointed-toe position for swimming?”
Her face looks stiff. This is clearly making her very uncomfortable. “Of course. That would be fine.”
I want to call Jason to tell him about my first competition, but I don’t feel I can, since he hates the swim team. Just like he hated Electric Storm. Just like he hates me doing anything that means I’m not at his beck and call, really.
Mom takes me out for ice cream with Zack. “Now you’re a butterfly!” Zack states as he licks his vanilla cone. (Vanilla is the only flavor he’ll eat.) “I wonder if the doctors will give you wings next? You should ask them.”
“She should ask for fins,” Mom says.
“No,” Zack disagrees. “She’s already got fins.”
“Yes, but I’m not allowed to wear them. They think it makes me better than all the other swimmers.”
“You are better than all the others,” Zack says. “They’re just going to have to get used to it.”
>
Invitational swim meet number two is here at our school. I use my walking foot, taking it out of walking position and locking it into a pointed toe at the edge of the pool.
At the end I place first in butterfly and freestyle. Second in backstroke.
Today, I’m called to the office. The local news station wants to interview me. They’re in the gym because the school secretary has made them wait until I have a study period.
When I walk in, there’s a young woman reporter, who’s pretty with dark hair, and an older man with a video camera. We sit on some folding chairs to the side of the basketball court.
“How does it feel to make such a comeback after your terrible accident?” the reporter asks. She wears that fake sincere expression a lot of TV reporters use.
“Great, of course.” No, it feels terrible. I wish I were still immobilized in a hospital bed. Is this the best question she can come up with?
“Who are your heroes?
I speak before I even think. “The people who took care of me in the hospital, the doctors, the nurses, the therapists. The researchers and scientists who come up with all this cool stuff.” As I speak, I raise my bionic arm and hand. “My mom, too.”
“Your mother?” the reporter questions.
I nod. “Definitely! She keeps me going.”
“What advice do you have for young people struggling with handicaps?”
“It’s hard. Don’t give up. Science is getting better every day.”
“What have you learned from this experience?”
What have I learned? I don’t know.
So I don’t answer. “Swim team is a great experience,” I say. “I’m grateful to have it in my life.” This much is true.
The reporter seems not to notice that I haven’t answered, and nods with a smile.
I smile back—with equal sincerity.
After the interview, I head to Jason’s locker. It’s the end of my study hall and his lunch. Since the interview finished up before end of period, I figure I’ll wait there to surprise him. When I turn the corner, I stop. Taylor is at his locker. They’re laughing and smiling at each other.
The body language is all there. This is a thing. They’re so obviously into each other.
I duck back into the corner so they can’t see me.
How do I feel? What does this mean to me?
But then he kisses her.
And all my calm evaporates as tears run down my face. Everything I’ve suspected is true. I feel so betrayed and I miss him already.
Should I go out there and make a scene?
I can’t! It’s just not me. Instead, head down, I hurry back toward the nearest girl’s room, my face swollen with tears.
LOCAL TEEN SWIM STAR TURNS TRAGEDY TO TRIUMPH.
I’m front-page news—at least in my local paper. They’ve taken the TV interview and printed it with my photo from last week’s swim meet. Tonight I’ll be on the Channel 12 news.
Mom reads the paper at the kitchen table, beaming with pride. She hugs me and I hug back, making a special effort to be gentle, not to leave her struggling for air.
Easing away I see her eyes sparkle with tears. “We’ve been so blessed, so lucky,” she says. “And you deserve all of it. You’ve worked so hard.”
It’s the first time anyone has acknowledged all the hours I’ve spent doing my PT exercises and exercising on my own. It’s so nice to be acknowledged as a person who’s trying, and not just a patient or an experiment. “Thanks, Mom,” I say as she leaves.
It’s too cold now to keep kayaking at the lake in the mornings, but I’m running instead, doing everything I can think of to master this new body. Even though the cable yarn muscles and the chip in my head have amplified my strength incredibly, it all requires a new kind of balance and coordination I have to work at.
Dr. Hector says it’s the chip that gives me so much energy.
I feel it most when I swim. For the first time in my life, I’m not struggling to be good enough, like I did with lacrosse, not worrying about slipping into the number two or even three position, not anxious about losing all that I’ve worked for at any moment.
Everything is coming naturally to me. I’m not sweating it.
It dawns on me that up until now I’ve lived my life in a constant state of low-level anxiety. How sad is that? It’s so pathetic to constantly believe I’m not good enough, that the positive occurrences in my life are no more than patches of random luck. I didn’t even realize I was feeling that way, but it’s clear to me now that I was.
Jason calls. “Hi, babe,” he begins. Babe! How can he call me that after what I saw in the school hall yesterday? He must know something’s wrong. I didn’t pick up his FaceTime call last night. I’ve ignored all his texts. Shouldn’t that throw up a few warning signals for him? Judging from his cheery tone, it doesn’t seem to have.
“Saw the story in the paper. Cool. Congratulations,” he says.
“Saw you in the hall with Taylor. Cool. Congratulations,” I say, feeling very superior and clever.
“What?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
“Do you think I’m stupid? How long has it been going on?”
He clears his throat.
I decide not to be so mean. “It’s all right, Jason,” I say more kindly. “I know she likes you, and I haven’t exactly been around.”
“I didn’t want to tell you right now. I mean, you’ve been through so much already.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “Really. I’ll see you sometime, I guess.”
I hang up and sit down, trying to absorb what’s just happened. Jason and I are no longer together. Panic rises as I consider this: I’m not the same girl I used to be. That girl was pretty likely to find a new boyfriend after a while. But who will want to date this new me—Bionic Girl?
Zack comes in holding a new book. He sprawls on the floor and proceeds to page through it, pausing to study the color photos. “No butterflies?” I ask.
“I’ll always love butterflies,” he says, looking up from his book, “but I’ve moved on to beetles. You look weird. Is something wrong?”
“Jason and I just broke up.”
“Good,” he says evenly. “I never liked him.”
Later that day I get another call on the home main line. I don’t recognize the number, but I pick up.
“I’m looking for Mira Rains.” It’s a network TV news show. They saw me on Channel 12 and want to do a quick human-interest piece on me and Dr. Hector to show at the end of the news. Will I do it? They’ll need Mom’s permission. I tell them I’ll have Mom call them back.
Network news! Me!
Joy melts into panic. Me … on TV. Not the local station … network TV!
“Mira, what’s wrong?” Mom asks, coming into the living room. “You’re trembling.”
I tell her what just happened and show her the contact name and phone number I’ve typed into the notes app on my phone. “This is exciting,” she says, though her voice is more cautious than excited. “Are you interested in doing this?”
“Yes. Just nervous.”
“Are you sure? When I walked in you looked like you were about to faint.”
“Nervous, like I said.” An upsetting thought comes to me. “You don’t think it could be a prank, do you?” I ask nervously.
“I’ll know when I call back,” she says. Putting the phone on speaker so I can hear, she calls. I’m relieved of worry when the call goes directly to a voice menu greeting the caller and going directly to a list of extensions. She talks to someone who wants to see us the next day at seven o’clock in the morning in their office in Manhattan.
“Can I skip school?” I ask, hoping she’ll agree.
“For something this big … yes,” she says.
That night I can’t fall asleep. I’m so nervous. At least my anxiety takes my mind off Jason.
When we get to the TV studio, Dr. Hector is already in the office with the reporter Jane Evans. I’ve seen her a million tim
es on TV and am surprised that she’s so much shorter and thinner than she appears on screen.
“You look great, kiddo.” Dr. Hector greets me with a hug. Shaking Mom’s hand, he asks if I’ve been doing my PT and she assures him that I have. “I know you’re swimming. I saw it on the news. Good stuff!”
Jane Evans tells us that our piece will be only three minutes long, but they’ll shoot for about a half hour to make sure they have the best footage. “Can you stay for about two hours?” she asks. “You need to go through makeup and hair, and we’ll take some press photos as well.”
I feel like I’m in a dream—a great dream.
“You have a great look,” the studio hairdresser says as she scrunches my curls, making them even curlier, while blow-drying my hair. “You should model.”
“With this arm?” I say with a laugh.
“Why not? It makes you stand out from the rest. It’s like your trademark.”
Modeling almost seems possible after the hair and makeup people are done with me. I barely recognize myself, but in a good way. My curls are wildly thick. They give me a short denim dress and ankle booties. Jane Evans pops her head into the room. “Adorable!” she says. “Can you roll up the sleeves on that cute dress? We want to see your amazing arm. Is that okay?”
“Fine,” I agree, pushing up my sleeves.
Like Jane Evans, the set is way smaller than it appears on TV. It’s absolutely tiny! But there’s room for three chairs and even a narrow coffee table. Jane and Dr. Hector are already seated when I arrive. Mom is on a couch off to the side. She gives a thumbs-up when she sees me. I smile and take a deep breath to steady my nerves.
“Just be natural,” Jane instructs us as the camerapeople position themselves. “We can always reshoot anything you want to change, so don’t worry.”
Dr. Hector smiles at me. “Ready, kiddo? This is our big TV debut.”
“I’m ready if you are,” I reply.
