One time she’d even told Annabelle what a rough time Jeremy had had in fifth grade, with some other kids picking on him, and how happy she was that he’d found a friend as nice as Annabelle, who appreciated how fun and smart and interesting he was.
But then as the year went on, Kayla had stopped going out of her way to talk to them quite so much, and she’d gotten thinner and thinner and started wearing big, thick sweaters even when it wasn’t that cold. And last year, she’d missed the whole summer swim season to go to a program on the mainland for teens with eating disorders. Everything was a lot better now, but Annabelle was never sure whether she was supposed to say anything about being glad Kayla was okay now or act like she didn’t know anything had happened or what.
“Hey, so I wasn’t the only one you impressed the other day when you were swimming like there was a shark after you,” Elisa said.
Kayla gave Annabelle a little inside-joke smile. They both knew that if Jeremy had heard that, he’d launch into a tirade about how unlikely it was that a shark would ever be “after Annabelle,” unless she was on a surfboard and the shark mistook her for a turtle.
“Coach Colette asked me about you,” Elisa went on. “She was practically salivating about how she’ll get to coach you once you’re fourteen, because she thinks your technique’s so good.”
Connor finished his other conversation and turned back, slinging one arm around Elisa’s shoulders and the other arm around Kayla’s.
“What’s that now? Who’s salivating?”
Elisa shook her head. “You’re like a dog that perks up when someone says the word food. If anybody says anything that could in any way be twisted around to sound inappropriate, there you are.”
Connor let out a puppy-like yip. “But a cute dog, right?”
Then he swung his long, muscly arms off the girls’ shoulders.
“Gotta run. See ya, ladies,” he said. “Have a good practice, HB.”
Annabelle’s heart swelled. A nickname for her nickname!
He gave all three of them a little salute and started to go. Annabelle waved at him like a little kid, closing her hand and then opening it, before she caught herself and pinned her arm behind her back.
That was definitely a super-excited-open-mouth-catemoji kind of interaction she and Connor had just had. She hoped Mia had seen some of it so they could talk later about what it had meant.
Elisa and Kayla said goodbye, and Jeremy came out of the guys’ locker room all ready for practice. He stopped when he saw that Annabelle was still holding her bag and wearing her clothes over her suit.
“What, did you get lost?” he joked.
Connor turned his head before he reached his friends and saluted Annabelle again. Just in time, she remembered to straighten her posture and bend one leg a tiny bit, because Mia said that’s what models do, to make their legs look thinner.
“Annabelle?” Jeremy said. “Hello?”
It took her a second to realize he was still there, waiting for her to respond.
When practice ended, Mitch was sitting at one of the tables, still wearing his collared shirt and dress pants from work. He always got to practice before it ended if he could. He wanted to make sure he and Coach Eric were on the same page with Annabelle’s training.
But today, Coach Colette was with him, her clipboard balanced on the edge of the table.
Annabelle dried off with her purple towel and wrapped it around her, twisting it so nobody could see her name, which was stitched into one end in babyish, sea-green letters thanks to Mom, who would monogram Annabelle’s underwear if she could.
“Meet you back out here after we change?” Jeremy asked.
He had just rubbed his towel over his hair, so it stuck up in spikes. Mia would probably come over to smooth them down any second, and then Jeremy would yank on her ponytail to get her back.
“Hey, Bananabelle!” Mitch called. “Come on over! Coach Colette wants to talk to you.”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows, and the red indents from his goggles went up with them.
“Sorry,” Annabelle said. “I guess I might be a little while.”
Jeremy was really only on the swim team because Kayla swam and his mom wanted him to do something other than read and mess around on his computer in the summer. He was always the first person to congratulate Annabelle when she won a race, but sometimes, if he’d finished last in his own race, his smile didn’t latch into place when he told her good job. And when a coach wanted to talk to him after practice, it was to tell him what he was doing wrong on his flip turns.
But he smoothed down his own hair spikes and shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll wait for you and Mitch in the parking lot.”
“You owe me a talking-animal video,” she reminded him. At least that might give him something to look for while he waited.
She’d sent one to cheer him up a few weeks ago, when he’d gotten sick and missed the end-of-year school trip to Boston to see a show. They’d been sending them back and forth ever since, because who didn’t need adorable animals with funny voiceovers in their lives? Their favorites were the ones that had actors’ really serious, deep voices dubbed in as animals swatted each other or chased each other around.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, and Annabelle went to join Mitch and Colette.
“Hear you had a great practice today, kiddo,” Mitch said.
“She sure did,” Colette agreed. “You’ve got a lot of potential, Annabelle. Your power is impressive for your size. Especially on the butterfly.”
Annabelle glanced at Colette’s toned arms and shoulders. Maybe that’s what her shoulders would look like someday. She already had long arms and legs that propelled her across the pool, but her limbs hadn’t filled out with obvious muscle yet.
Mitch always said it was a good thing that Annabelle hadn’t peaked yet, physically, because she’d be even faster when she did. Annabelle hoped that when she did peak, her body would look a lot like Colette’s. People talked about how hot Colette was: pretty and strong. Annabelle wanted people to talk about her like that, too.
“I’m wondering what you think about the possibility of swimming up with us this summer,” Colette said. “We could use some extra speed, especially on the relay teams. We have a chance at making it to the Labor Day Invitational, and you could really help make that happen.”
Annabelle’s heart jumped around in her chest as if she’d just beaten her fastest time in the 100-meter fly. Last year was the closest the North Shore Sands fourteen-and-up team had ever come to making the Labor Day Invitational, but they’d only finished fourth in the league, behind one other team from the island and two from the Cape. Only the top two teams in the league got to go.
Colette wanted her to be on the older team with all those high school swimmers, even though she was only thirteen?
“What do you think?” Colette asked again.
Annabelle imagined swimming the fly leg on a medley relay team with Elisa on freestyle. All the older girls high-fiving her after they won a big race—the race that got them into the Invitational. Connor Madison reaching down to hug her. Picking her up and spinning her around in the air, even, with everybody watching.
“I . . . I think that could be good.” Annabelle’s voice came out little-girl soft, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I’d like that.”
“We have to run the idea past Annabelle’s mom, of course. But this sounds like a terrific opportunity!” Mitch said.
He sounded even happier than when he’d finally fixed up his little sailboat enough to get it out on the bay last summer, and it felt so good to be the one who could make him that happy.
Colette nodded. “Of course.”
Annabelle practically skipped to the car, where Jeremy was waiting. Because if she could help the high school team get to the Labor Day Invitational? Then Jeremy wouldn’t look at her with his forehead crinkled up with pity, and Mia wouldn’t say, “Aww, Annabelle,” and even Mom might see that doing we
ll at swimming could be as important as doing well at school. And if Connor Madison kept looking at her the way he’d been looking at her?
Then it wouldn’t matter if Reagan visited Mia and Jeremy left in July and this summer wasn’t like last summer. Then this summer would be better than last summer. Than any summer.
Chapter 5
The good thing was, Mom said yes right away when Annabelle asked about swimming up on the high school team. “As long as you stick to the summer reading schedule and don’t miss tutoring.”
Annabelle didn’t see her regular tutor during the summer, but as soon as Mom had seen her report card, she’d lined up Janine, who had graduated from the Academy two years ago and was home from college. Janine was supposed to help Annabelle get through her summer reading books and get a head start on the history textbook for next year, since Mr. Derrickson was going to be her teacher again.
“School comes first, even in the summer,” Mom added, her voice way too loud for how close together they were sitting.
They were eating dinner out on the deck, Annabelle’s favorite part of the house. Before they’d moved in, they’d had to replace half of the wood because it was rotting. At first, the new parts weren’t weathered yet, so the new cedar planks and shingles were smooth and light brown instead of rough and dark gray like everything else. Mom had hated the way the new parts didn’t match. But Annabelle had liked looking at the floor of the deck, where a new piece of wood lay right smack next to an old one. Same length, same width, and from the same kind of tree, but a completely different color and texture.
Slowly, the new ones were getting closer and closer to matching the old, and there was something comforting about watching them change a little bit at a time and knowing that she’d been there for all the windy winter days and sunny summer ones that had weathered them.
“You know that’s the deal, right?” Mom asked, and Annabelle sighed.
“I already told you I’d do the work.”
Mom took a bite of salad and dabbed the corner of her mouth with her red cloth napkin, which matched the red gingham place mats she’d set out and the red jar for the citronella candle that burned in the middle of the table, keeping mosquitoes away.
“Then I think this will be a really good thing for you, Belle.”
“It’ll be good for the rest of the team, too,” Mitch said, reaching over to ruffle Annabelle’s hair. “I’ve watched them, Kim. None of them can swim the fly as fast as our powerhouse here.”
Mom squeezed Annabelle’s hand. “You’ve always been our little fish. Ever since those first lessons your dad took you to, back at the Y in New Jersey when you were so tiny. And I know you’ve worked hard, too. It’s wonderful, honey.”
At the edge of the deck, a firefly lit up—the very first one Annabelle had seen this season. For a moment, Annabelle felt herself light up inside, too. Mom was proud of her for swimming, even if she couldn’t rattle off her best time for the 100-meter fly like Mitch could.
But then Mom’s eyes got all twinkly as if she were about to say something really great, except what she said was “So in other news, I talked to Mrs. Sloane today! I set up an appointment for us to meet on July 10.”
A minute.
That’s how long they spent talking about the best thing to happen to Annabelle for as long as she could remember. Maybe not even.
“Why?” Annabelle asked.
Mrs. Sloane was the head of the middle school at Gray Island Academy. When Annabelle had first interviewed there, she’d closed her office door and told Annabelle how hard she’d have to work. “To stay afloat.” That’s how she’d put it, and Annabelle had pictured the little kids at the pool, paddling their arms and legs as they learned to tread water.
“It’s just . . . You did your part, Belle, that whole last quarter,” Mom said. “You worked as hard as anybody could.”
“And I still did badly,” Annabelle finished.
Mom winced, but she didn’t correct her.
Next door, the two little Bennett girls, Julia and Kelsey, burst outside. Julia was blowing bubbles and Kelsey carried a blue plastic bucket that rattled as she ran after her big sister. Mrs. Bennett followed them out and closed the screen door.
“Hi there!” she called. “Nice night, isn’t it?” “Beautiful,” Mom agreed.
Annabelle waved at the girls, and Kelsey ran over. She stared down into her bucket, picked out a ridged white shell, and handed it to Annabelle. “Here.”
“Thanks, Kelsey,” Annabelle said, but Kelsey was off, running back down the deck steps and into her yard, where her sister had stopped blowing bubbles and started spinning in circles.
Annabelle turned the shell over in her hand and put it down next to her plate. Faint pink lines striped the inside, and it was almost whole except for a chip at the top.
Mom took a sip of her water, then set the glass down and rubbed her fingertips against her temples. “I don’t want you to have to go through it all again—what you went through this spring. All that work and then all that disappointment.”
But what was the alternative? Not working as hard so the disappointment wouldn’t be so big?
In the Bennetts’ yard, Kelsey squealed as Julia chased her. Mitch’s knife creaked against his plate as he cut himself a bite of grilled chicken.
“Mrs. Sloane said she’d look back at your learning plan to make sure the school is following through on all your accommodations,” Mom said. “Maybe you could use your notes for some of your tests so you wouldn’t have to memorize so much. And maybe you should be getting extra time for little quizzes, too. Not just the bigger assessments.”
Annabelle cringed. It was embarrassing enough to have people ask where she’d been when she took extra time for tests. If she got to take out her notes when everybody else didn’t and left the room for extra time on every tiny quiz, too? Ugh.
Mitch spoke up. “Well, I think this could be a good opportunity to strategize. Come up with a new action plan for next year, right?”
Those were typical Mitch words: opportunity and strategize and action plan. The whole reason they’d moved to Gray Island was that Mitch had found an opportunity to capitalize on—someone from his old job had told him there weren’t any finance people on the island, so if the year-round families wanted help investing their money or making business plans for their stores or planning for their retirement, they had to go to the mainland.
“Right!” Mom agreed. “Maybe Mrs. Sloane will have suggestions we haven’t thought of. Things that have helped other students in the past.”
“Maybe,” Annabelle said.
Or maybe Mrs. Sloane would say she wasn’t really Gray Island Academy material after all.
She cleared her throat. “What . . . what if Mrs. Sloane says they don’t want to keep giving me financial aid?”
Mom and Mitch both had successful businesses now, but Mitch had two daughters from when he was married before, and they were both in college. Annabelle knew their tuitions cost a lot. She was pretty sure Mom and Mitch couldn’t afford to pay any more of her Academy tuition than they already did.
And if she had to start over at public school, then everyone would know she hadn’t been smart enough to handle the Academy. And the other girls from swim team would say things like “Oh, you decided our school was good enough for you after all?” And they’d say it like they were joking, but they wouldn’t be, really.
Mom set down her forkful of chicken and pushed her plate away.
“That’s not going to happen,” she said.
And that was that. Conversation over.
Chapter 6
After dinner, Annabelle shuffled through the mail that Mitch had left on the table in the hallway. The official copy of her report card should be coming any day now, and she hated the idea of Mom picking up the fancy version that was always printed on thick cream-colored paper with the Academy logo as if it were some keepsake to treasure.
But there wasn’t anything from the Acade
my in the stack. It was mostly catalogs and junk and then a small square envelope that peeked out from underneath a bill.
The return address said Boston, and there was her own name, written in handwriting she hadn’t seen in ages. The big round A. The ns that joined together, as if they were holding hands. Her last name, Wilner—the name only she still had now, since Mom had taken Mitch’s when they got married—written with a big, pointy W and an r that flattened out into a line.
She grabbed the envelope and bolted up to her room, her heart pounding against her rib cage as her feet pounded against the stairs.
Her fingers shook hard enough that she gave herself a paper cut when she tore the letter open. A white line appeared on her finger, and after a second, it filled up with a round red blob. Some of the blood stained the corner of the paper, and she sucked on her fingertip to make the bleeding stop.
Dear Annie, the letter started.
She had almost forgotten that he called her that, which was ridiculous. It hadn’t been that long.
I’ve wanted to be in touch with you for a long time, but now that I am writing, I don’t know quite what to say. I’m sorry, for starters. I’m sorry for being absent and nothing like the kind of father I always planned to be. I think of you often and will love you always. I’m doing much better now. I moved to Boston with a friend, and if you ever want to see me, my door will always be open. Please write back any time you want to. I would love to hear from you, and I miss you every single day.
Love, Dad
Annabelle read the letter twice, and she didn’t even notice that tears were streaming down her face until the words began to blur. She grabbed a bunch of tissues from the box on her bedside table, wiped off her face, and wrapped one around the cut on her finger. Then she read the note a third time, focusing on the big takeaways and lingering questions, the way Ms. Ames always told her to do at school.
Dad was in Boston, only a couple of hours away. He had moved there with a friend. A girlfriend?
Up for Air Page 3
