by Doty, M.
Dominique arranged her body against the side of the pool as Emily had, and the girls turned their heads to look at each other. Emily was still breathing hard, and Dominique smiled, recognizing her weakness.
“I’m trying to remember—have you ever beaten me at backstroke?”
“You haven’t seen me swim it in competition since May,” said Emily, her knuckles going white around the lip of the pool. The block, which would have been far easier to grip, stood at the far end of the lane.
“Then I guess you wouldn’t mind a little race?” said Dominique. “There and back?”
“Not at all.”
Stupid, thought Emily, still trying to catch her breath. She can tell I overextended myself. She’s trying to make me look bad. Indeed, most of the other swimmers were watching Emily and Dominique talk. Some were treading water and whispering to one another.
“Three,” said Dominique, tensing her legs. “Two. One.”
The girls pushed off in unison, streaking for a few meters beneath the water before rising side by side and beginning their strokes. They glided on the pool’s surface like weightless insects, matching each other move for move. As they cut down the lanes, Emily looked at the overhead flags, readying herself for the turn at the far wall.
And then she heard them chanting; the other girls on the team were cheering, “Dominique! Dominique!”
How could they all be cheering against me? Emily wondered.
Because you’re a machine, a voice inside her responded. Just like your sister. She suddenly thought of the story of John Henry, hammering his way through the mountain, racing against the locomotive.
Everyone wants to see the human win, she realized. No one cheers for the machine.
The revelation hit her at the same moment the back wall collided with her skull. Pain radiated from her bruised head, coming down through her body in waves. Even worse than the physical anguish, though, was the shame. Emily couldn’t believe it: She’d gotten distracted and lost track of the flags, something she hadn’t done since elementary school.
There was no point in finishing. Emily surfaced and looked down the lane as her rival completed the race. A few seconds later, Dominique touched the far wall to a loud cheer from their teammates, and several swam over to her to offer their congratulations.
Emily stood alone at her end of the pool, her stomach knotted with humiliation.
It’s just practice, she tried to remind herself. You’ll have all year to beat her. But it was little consolation. The room echoed with light applause as Dominique, surrounded by her admirers, threw a fist in the air. The other girls would remember this moment: Swimbot breaking down, losing a race to a mere human.
At dinner that night, Emily’s mother tried desperately to make conversation as Emily and her father glowered at each other from opposite sides of the table.
“So, how was work?” she asked Emily’s dad.
“Fine,” he responded. “Except that one of the swimmers had a discipline problem and then tried to show off by having a little race—which she lost, by the way.”
“Well, what about you, Emily?” her mom asked hopefully.
“Fantastic. Except the stupid coach made me practice for an extra hour for basically no reason.”
Emily’s mom nervously knotted her napkin in her hands. She avoided eye contact with her husband and Emily and looked across the table at the empty spot where Sara used to sit.
“Well,” she said, trying to maintain her smile, “it sounds like everyone could use a little cheering up, and I have just the thing. A pint of a certain pair of people’s favorite ice cream that may or may not contain delicious dark chocolate fish—”
Emily’s mouth immediately started watering. She hadn’t been allowed to have ice cream since her birthday in August, and the only chocolate she’d tasted since then came in the form of chalky protein shakes that reminded her more of liquid cardboard than cocoa beans.
“Not for her,” said Emily’s father. “She’s already had her eight thousand calories, and that much sugar and fat would be terrible for her system, especially this soon before bedtime.”
Emily’s mother frowned.
“Well, just a few scoops couldn’t possibly hurt—”
“I said no.”
Emily popped a pair of vitamins from the side of her plate and finished the last of her water.
“It’s fine, Mom,” she said. “He’s right. I’m not hungry anyway.”
A few hours later, after Emily had plowed through a mountain of homework, including forty pages of reading for Honors History, she sat on her bedroom floor, stretching her aching muscles. After a week of intense training and equally intense homework, Emily wasn’t sure which hurt worse, her body or her head. She heard a soft knock on the door and opened it to find her mom holding a coffee mug.
“I brought you some ‘tea,’ ” she said with a wink, handing the mug to Emily, who took it in both hands. The ceramic was cold to the touch, and Emily looked down to see not tea but ice cream.
“I figured a few hundred calories couldn’t hurt,” Emily’s mom said. “Besides, conditioning is an art, not a science. Even your father says that.”
Emily looked down at the ice cream, wanting it more than anything. She pressed the top of a scoop with her index finger and brought it to her lips. The entire focus of her being suddenly centered at the tip of her tongue and the sensation of chocolaty sweetness.
She took a deep breath and handed the mug back to her mother.
“Mom—I can’t.”
“But—”
“Sara wouldn’t have eaten a mug of ice cream,” said Emily, and her mother looked away.
“Right,” she said. “Of course.” She hesitated for a moment, watching the melting ice cream, as if hoping Emily would change her mind. After a few seconds had passed and Emily stayed silent, her mother said good night.
She turned down the hall, dipping a spoon into the mug and eating as she went. Emily closed the door behind her. She felt bad for her mom—she was always trying stuff like that. She’d been the one who insisted Sara and Emily go to public school instead of the private swim academy their father had wanted them to attend. In the end, they’d compromised on Twin Branches High, which had a good pool and was located close to Las Playas, where Junior Nationals was held each year.
What Emily’s mom didn’t seem to realize was that deep down Emily and Sara wanted to follow their dad’s strict regimen. If anything, their desire to win was even stronger than his. Or at least that’s what Emily told herself. She had to admit, that ice cream had tasted even better than she remembered.
Later that night, Emily checked her phone and texted Kimi to see if she was up. When no response came, she opened her laptop and decided to check her G-Chat. The cell and the computer, Emily’s two most prized possessions, were hers thanks to her mom.
Although Emily’s dad had initially resisted them as “unnecessary gadgets” that would only serve as temptations to talk to strange boys, Emily’s parents had eventually struck a bargain: As long as Emily kept her GPA above 3.5 and stuck to her training regimen, she was allowed to have the phone and the laptop—as well as a monthly sleepover with Kimi.
As Emily signed on to her IM account, she thought back over the events of the day. After the locker-room encounter with Dominique and Samantha and that stupid race, she’d almost forgotten her earlier run-in with Nick Brown.
She flashed back to the astonished look on his face and the way he’d called her Sara. She winced as if in physical pain every time the incident played in her head.
As she waited for her log-in to complete, Emily tried to think of something pleasant, and Ben immediately came to mind. She remembered Dominique’s story about the party, about the way he’d totally ditched her and headed back to his room to sleep. Other guys were powerless against Dominique’s supposed charms, but not him. She wondered what he’d thought of as he went to bed that night. For a moment, Emily let herself fantasize that it was
her.
She absently checked her in-box (nothing but junk mail) and her Facebook feed (no new invites, posts of interest, hookups, or breakups). According to the site, she had thirty friends. In real life, all she had was Kimi, who she hoped was still online.
EmilyK14: Kimi? You there?
ChEnigma22: Hey! Sorry I missed u at lunch! Was totally hiding out from Amir Singh!
EmilyK14: Who?
ChEnigma22: Ugh. You remember him from when he tried to recruit us for his hypernerdy role-playing game, right? TOTAL stalker. Wants to be my homecoming date. NOT gonna happen. I’ve got a list of like ten other guys who I want to ask me tho. I’m doing pro/con spreadsheets for all of them.
EmilyK14: ?
ChEnigma22: I’ll e-mail the one for Phil Ramirez. He’s my top choice.
ChEnigma22: Sending… NOW!
Candidate: Phil Ramirez
Pros Cons
HOT (10/10!). Possible Axe Bodyspray user.
Plays guitar (electric!). 2.32 GPA (might lower future $ potential).
Owns/drives Mustang convertible. Crazy exes (at least three!).
DJ skills. Plays at lots of parties. Soul patch (could be shaved).
Six-pack abs. Sexy. Uses the term “bro.”
Senior = prom potential. Senior = gone next year.
The list went on for several more rows. Some of the cells were highlighted in different colors, which seemed to indicate Kimi had developed a scoring system for weighting each quality, but it was way too complicated for Emily to understand.
EmilyK14: Sounds like a winner.
ChEnigma22: Yeah… Except I heard a rumor that he’s already dating Paula de Veer. And he’s never even said hi to me.
EmilyK14: Aw. YOU just gotta say hi.
ChEnigma22: When? He’s always with his posse of dudes at school. I need to catch him when he’s DJing. Like at a party. Too bad we NEVER GET INVITED.
ChEnigma22: Not that you care, I guess…
Emily thought of Ben Kale at one of his parties, bored, looking for someone to talk to.
EmilyK14: Actually I sort of wish we could go to a party, too. Not that my dad would let me.
ChEnigma22: !!!
ChEnigma22: There’s hope for you yet! We’re GONNA make this happen!
ChEnigma22: Er. Eventually.
ChEnigma22: Like by the time we’re seniors.
EmilyK14:
ChEnigma22: Aw! G2G. But sorry again about missing u at lunch. Any adventures w/o me?
Emily stared at the screen for a moment, her fingers hovering over the keys.
ChEnigma22: U there?
EmilyK14: Nah. Nothing major.
ChEnigma22: K. Sleep tite! See u tomorrow!
EmilyK14: Nite.
Emily logged off, closed her laptop, and flopped onto her bed. She felt bad for holding back, but the story of today’s swim practice was just too embarrassing to talk about.
More than that, she’d wanted to tell Kimi what had happened with Nick, but when the time had come, she just couldn’t type the words. Hey, you know that guy who was driving the night Sara died? Well, I totally bumped into him today in the cafeteria! Ugh. What a bunch of stupid drama. Why couldn’t Nick Brown have left her alone? They just had to make it through one year, and then he’d be gone.
Emily pulled off her jeans and T-shirt and slipped under the covers. No matter how long she showered after practice or how much shampoo she used, her hair still smelled of chlorine afterward. Her pillow reeked of it. But Emily had gotten used to the smell; it was her sister’s and her own.
In the dark of her bedroom, with the covers pulled tight around her, she could almost imagine everything was fine. She tried to concentrate on things that made her happy: the trophies lining her wall, the feeling of water on her skin, and Ben Kale.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next time Emily saw Ben was right before swim practice. School had just ended for the day, and most of the other kids had already left. Emily was at the intersection of the school’s three main hallways and the long corridor leading to the indoor pool when she saw two figures approaching fast. One was medium-sized, the other huge: Ben and Spencer. She could just barely make out what they were saying as they ran toward her.
“Mission accomplished,” said Spencer as they neared Emily. “Dominique is going to freak. I totally owe you one.”
“Are you kidding?” asked Ben. “This is the most fun I’ve had all year.”
As they reached the intersection, Spencer pointed down a hallway to his right.
“Better split up,” he said. “Rendezvous at your place in thirty?”
“I’ll see you there.” Looking around, Ben noticed Emily for the first time. Pausing to catch his breath, he said, “Hey, it’s you. Yogurt.”
Emily frowned. This wasn’t how she’d imagined their next conversation going.
“My name isn’t Yogurt.”
“Sure,” he said. “Look. Do me a favor. If school security comes by, tell them I ran that way, okay?” He pointed down a random hallway before turning toward the door to the girls’ bathroom. “Oh—there’s no one in there, right?”
“I don’t—” But before Emily could say another word, Ben had slipped inside. She stood stupidly for a moment, waiting to hear shrieks from inside. Everything was quiet. Lucky guy.
She hesitated. Practice would be starting soon, and her dad didn’t appreciate tardiness, to say the least. But if she waited here long enough, Ben would come out of the bathroom and talk to her. Maybe he’d even learn her name.
As she waited, a man in a brown school-security uniform ran up. He looked down at her menacingly through dark sunglasses. The name tag on his chest read OFFICER MONTE.
“Hey, you,” he said. “See anyone run by?”
He scratched a bead of sweat from his black mustache and rubbed it against his pant leg. His nose twitched as if he were a bloodhound, tracking Ben and Spencer by scent.
“Uh—” said Emily.
“A correct response would be either yes or no,” the officer said. He looked suspiciously over Emily’s shoulder at the bathroom door.
“A couple of guys ran off that way,” said Emily, pointing down the hall that Ben had indicated earlier. Without another word, Monte ran down the hallway at full speed, one hand on his hat to keep it from blowing off.
“He gone?” asked Ben from inside the girls’ room.
“Yeah.”
Ben opened the door and peeked out.
“Wow,” he said. “Girls write way dirtier stuff on the bathroom walls than guys do. I didn’t see you mentioned anywhere, though. Too bad.”
“Well, most people don’t call me Yogurt.”
“I know. But Emily Kessler? That’s just so, I don’t know—boring. Yogurt suits you way better.”
For a moment, Emily was speechless. He knew her name. He must have asked someone about her. Maybe he’d even Googled her—or Facebook-stalked her! Her photos didn’t show up to strangers, right? Kimi had posted that one of them dressed up like Uma Thurman and Lucy Liu in Kill Bill for Halloween!
“Uh, Yogurt?”
“That’s not my name!” Emily said, crossing her arms, but she couldn’t keep from smiling. There was no doubt about it. He was flirting with her.
“Hey!” They heard a shout at the end of the hall. “You! Stop right there!”
“That would be my cue to leave,” said Ben as they looked down the hall to see Monte charging toward them full-speed. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Anyway, I’d better get to practice.”
He was backing up now, ready to turn and run.
“You never know when swim practice might be canceled!” he shouted. “I’ll see you around!”
Ben turned and fled, Officer Monte following close behind. For a moment, Emily stood watching them, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Ben Kale knew her name, had just spent two minutes flirting with her, and had said he wanted to “see you again some
time.” But what did he mean about practice being canceled? She walked down the empty hall toward the pool.
The rest of the swim team, still in their street clothes, stood by the blocks as Emily entered the gym. The girls peered nervously at the water as Emily’s dad paced back and forth, swearing under his breath. The pool was green. Bright green. And instead of chlorine, it smelled like apples.
“Uh, what’s going on?” Emily whispered to Hannah Carmichael as she joined the crowd.
“Apparently some boys dumped, like, thirty vials of green food coloring into the pool. And maybe some other stuff, too, based on the smell.”
“I think it smells kinda yummy,” said Amanda, a cute, red-haired girl who was one of the weaker swimmers on varsity and a notorious airhead. “I kind of want to drink it.”
“No one’s drinking it!” shouted Emily’s dad. “No one’s so much as dipping a pinkie toe in there until we drain the thing and pump in fresh water. Who knows what chemicals are in there? I’m not getting sued by some mother whose daughter’s skin turns green.”
“So is practice canceled?” asked Lindsay hopefully.
“Absolutely not,” said Emily’s dad. “The school still has a weight room, doesn’t it? Unless someone turned that green, too.”
So much for Ben’s plan of getting practice canceled. The girls muttered insults and cursed their luck as they marched toward the locker room to change into workout clothes. Lindsay and Amanda breathed in deeply as they left the room, filling their nostrils with the pleasant apple scent.
“You two, wait,” said Emily’s dad, pointing to Emily and Dominique. “I’m pulling you out for the first hour to talk to a reporter, Maria St. Claire from Swimmer’s Monthly. I believe I mentioned she’d be coming? She’s waiting in the hall.”
The two girls exchanged a worried glance. This sounded like a bad idea.
“She’s talking to us together?” asked Emily.
“Is there a problem with that?”
