by Sarah Tomp
Her hands were gritty and coated in a thin sheen of mud. Under the helmet her hair felt sweaty and mussed. But she was exhilarated, too. A buzz of the challenge hummed along her bones as she scrambled and climbed up and over rocky barricades.
“Look at this.”
Ria couldn’t tell what made this particular collection of bumpy rocks different from any others, but she stopped and leaned against one. She was surprised to realize she was close to panting.
“Here’s what we call the ‘back door to Australia.’” He handed her a small rock and pointed to a narrow opening. “Drop it in.”
She tried to peer inside it, but her light wasn’t aligned with her eyes. It seemed impossibly dark in there. She dropped the rock and waited. A second later she heard a thunk of it hitting rock. The skittering noise continued. And kept going. Even longer, until she couldn’t hear it anymore, but she was sure she’d never heard it hit bottom.
“What’s down there?” She sounded—and felt—breathless, and even more determined to try to see within the rocks.
“My favorite pocketknife, Leo’s compass, and a lot of rocks. There might also be another cave system, but we haven’t found a way down.”
“I . . .” Ria paused. “That’s so deep.”
“Yes.” His light nodded with him.
“Thanks for bringing me here, Cotton. I didn’t know what to do today, now that I’m not diving. I used to have practice every day, but . . .” She stopped. None of this mattered to him. Or, at all. It was over.
“Why did you quit diving? I thought you were going to compete around the world.”
That’s what she’d planned. Hoped for. Now even the wishing was over.
“Just because I asked doesn’t mean you have to answer,” he said. “Sometimes I ask inappropriate questions. It’s because I have poor social skills.”
“It’s fine. You’re fine, Cotton. I’m just not sure of the answer.” She took the canteen from him, sipping more water.
“There was a big meet in California. I was supposed to win. That’s what everyone expected.” There was something about the dark that made it easier to talk. It was also Cotton’s patient way of listening. It felt like he was waiting, not guessing what her words would be, with his answer ready before she finished. “If I placed in the top three, I’d earn a spot with the National Development Team. It’s an elite training club. There are others, but NDT is the best. It’s a very—with a capital V, B, and D—Very Big Deal.”
“Got it. NDT is a VBD.”
“The NDT is what we’d been working for. But then . . .” She shook her head, and her light traveled back and forth across the walls. She’d freaked out, screwed up.
“During a practice before the meet, there are always lots of coaches around. One of them yelled at me, and, well, I ran away.”
“Yelling is scary.”
He was right. It was that simple. But, also, more complicated. The situation had felt too charged. Benny had been on edge all week. Even more intense than usual.
“The floor was slick, and I went down, hard.”
Her knees and elbows had been banged up, but her confusing answers to their too many questions convinced them she had a serious head injury, too. She hadn’t even mentioned her chipped tooth. No one could understand why she’d been running.
“The stupid thing is, that coach, the one who was yelling, wasn’t mad. I’d left my shammy towel and she was giving it to me.” She’d felt so scared—terrified—when that coach had yelled her name. But she’d gotten it wrong.
Then Benny got riled up because he thought the woman pushed her. He’d accused her of trying to sabotage their practice. There was too much jealousy in the air, there always had been, ever since she started winning. All the other teams resented how a small-town nobody coach had the best diver. She and Benny always had to be even more perfect because people envied him.
And then she’d screwed up in front of everyone.
When someone produced the video that showed her in the background, it was clear the other coach hadn’t come near her. There was no question, the slip was Ria’s own fault.
“I freaked out for no reason.”
“You had a reason. Even if it wasn’t a reason other people understand. I used to freak out all the time. I always had a reason.”
She remembered. Everyone took turns freaking out back in Ms. Q’s room in elementary school. She was their special ed teacher, but the few hours they’d spent there each week had felt more like a vacation hideaway than a real class. Freak-outs hadn’t mattered as much in there.
“So, I didn’t compete.” Scratching the meet was the easiest way to stop the questions and the fighting. Her parents blamed a concussion. All she’d wanted was to make it all stop, right then. In the moment, it felt like her only choice. “But since I blew my biggest meet, my coach won’t work with me anymore. So I’m done.”
“Done,” echoed Cotton.
“It’s not like diving is a career. I had to quit eventually. And now it’s eventually.”
“Eventually never looks the way I think it will.”
She laughed, setting the helmet light bobbing. “What about you, Cotton? Why do you have a minimum schedule? Is it so you can go caving?”
“No. I didn’t plan to cave today. It was your idea.”
That was Cotton. Straightforward and stating the obvious.
“Well, then, why?”
“I want to learn more about mapmaking. So I’m taking online classes from the University of Virginia.”
“They have an awesome pool. With a brand-new platform.”
“That’s for the really high dives, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That will never be used by me,” he said.
“Not even online?” Ria paused, then said, “That’s a joke.”
“Yes,” he said. Then, “I prefer to stay on the ground.”
“And underground.” She stretched her arms over her head and twisted her torso. “Are you going on campus next year?”
“No.” He frowned. “I can’t leave my family.”
It was clear he didn’t have anything else to say about that.
“How much time do we have?”
“We have three minutes before we need to head back.”
“Let’s go now.” It would be a relief to stop straining to see beyond what her helmet revealed. This in-between place of not quite light or dark was exhausting.
When they reached the tunnel, Cotton stopped and asked, “Are you ready?”
“I think so.” Her light moved more enthusiastically than she felt.
This time, instead of facing the walls on every side of her, she closed her eyes. She crawled, letting her body disappear into the motion of it. Reach by reach, only forward, no hurry, refusing to let panic settle in. She was surprised to feel a draft of cool air, and the sense of space widening. She opened her eyes again, then blinked against the reflections of the damp, sparkly wall.
“We made it through,” he said. “We’re almost back.”
She had no way of knowing if he was right. It all looked the same to her: mud and dark.
Her knees felt raw and bruised, even under the coveralls. Whenever her helmet scraped against the rocks, it sent vibrations across her skull and put her nerves on edge. She had no choice but to trust Cotton, to hope that he was as smart as she’d always thought. She’d copied his papers all through elementary school. She could copy his steps now.
Finally, a peek of sunlight appeared ahead. As they stepped out, she blinked and squinted in the bright day. She’d known Cotton forever, but somehow she’d missed the fact that his dark brown eyes were flecked with green. His face was slightly muddy and his hair completely wild now. Seeing him filled her with a giddy lightness. But that was probably due to the sunshine and the blue sky and had nothing to do with the line of his eyebrows, his nose, and his lips. The shadow of whiskers on his face made her feel like they’d been in the cave too long.
Nin
e
As soon as Ria walked in the door, she heard Mom announce her arrival. “She’s here.”
Her mother walked out of the kitchen as her father hurried down the stairs, each of them meeting her in the foyer. They had her surrounded.
“How are you, sweetheart? Did you have a good day?” Mom stared into Ria’s eyes, way too intently.
Ria looked down, tried to smooth her rumpled dress, saw that she had mud under her fingernails.
“It was fine.” She skirted around her dad and headed to the bathroom sink to wash her hands. She studied her face in the mirror. She was sure she still had mud tucked into her joints. Maybe it was inside her nose. She could smell it mingled with her sweat. The exact opposite of a day spent in the pool. Her arms and legs twanged with the effort.
They were waiting for her as soon as she stepped back into the hallway.
“Are you hungry?”
“I think I’ll go jump on the trampoline first.” She couldn’t bear the effort of eating with such an attentive audience.
“Not yet. We need to talk.”
Those words never led to anything she wanted to hear. No one ever “needed to talk” about anything wonderful. Good news spilled out, fast and frantic, shared without any warning. Need was about messes and mistakes. Troubles.
They sat in the family room. Her parents on the couch, Ria in the loveseat. The same positions as when she told them Benny had refused to keep coaching her. All the time and money spent on her sport had been wasted. Dumped on the floor with her wet towel.
“It’s been a while since we did a mood check-in.” Dad’s voice had a fake cheerful tone.
When she first started her ADHD meds, they did daily, then weekly check-ins, forcing her to examine her emotions. One of the costs of being able to focus better could be a shift in mood. But, for her, as long as she’d had her time in the pool, she could work off whatever messes filled her school day. Diving was her therapy.
“We’re worried about you. You seem depressed.”
“Which is completely understandable,” Mom interrupted.
“But we need to know how you’re feeling. What you might do.”
“I’m not suicidal.” Irritation burned in the back of her throat. She hated that they worried. It made her feel weak. Like she was still that wiggy little kid who’d hid in the janitor’s closet so she wouldn’t have to try to read her book report to the class.
After a minute, Dad broke the tense silence. “What do you know about Dayton Hill University?”
Nothing much. She had a vague idea their mascot was some kind of horned animal. She must have seen one of their recruiting scouts at a meet.
“Their coach wants to talk to you about diving.” Mom joined her on the loveseat, squishing in close and grabbing Ria’s hand.
“Why?” Ria pulled her hand back.
“She’s interested in meeting you.”
Mom couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. “They’re a Division One school. They’re already offering money. It could mean a full scholarship!”
Ria started to get up, but Dad stopped her.
“She wants you to come for a visit. No obligation, no commitment. The pool was redone last year. All new boards. They need a new platform, but that’s in development. . . .”
“But I’m not going to college.” That was never the plan. They knew how much she hated school. How laughable to think this was a possibility. She hadn’t even met with any college coaches because they didn’t have anything for her. Benny knew that. He got it.
Once, when she’d been trying to finish her homework at the dry gym in between sets he’d said to her, “There’s more than one kind of intelligence, Victorious. Don’t you worry that pen-and-paper stuff isn’t yours. There’s not going to be tests and science reports in real life.”
It had made her feel better at the time. And for a long time afterward. But now here she was at the start of senior year, with nowhere to go. The void ahead, otherwise known as her future, was too big, too exhausting, too much nothing to fill.
“She’s going to call soon. You need to at least talk to her.”
“I can’t,” Ria started, but then Mom’s phone rang and they all jumped, startled. She stared at it, like it might explode. Dad shoved it in her hand.
“Hello,” a woman’s shrill voice greeted her over the line. “My name is Evelyn Ling from Dayton Hill University. Is this Victoria Williams?”
“You can call me Ria.”
“Excellent. I won’t waste your time. According to our records, you haven’t yet committed to dive for any college next year. Is that correct?”
“Yes. But . . .”
“You need to consider Dayton Hill. We’re NCAA Division One. Our facility is top-notch, with all the bells and whistles. Brand-new boards, with a platform coming soon. You’ll look great in orange.”
“If it’s so great, then why do you still need divers?” It was an irrelevant question. The answer didn’t matter. Not to her. But she couldn’t help but wonder anyway. All the top programs had their scholarship places filled months ago. That’s why Maggie was tempted to settle for a small college like Uden—she knew it was too late to get picked up at any of the top programs.
Coach Ling laughed, but it sounded like something she hadn’t practiced enough.
“I like that you’re a straight shooter. You’ll fit right in. Truth is we’re looking to expand our program, and, well, our other recruits hit a bit of bad luck and made some poor choices. You don’t have a criminal record, do you?” Before Ria could respond, she went on, “I’m sure you heard about Tammy Bauer’s back surgery. Hopefully she’ll get another chance next year.”
She remembered Tammy. Nice tight flips, a little prone to meltdowns. The better she dove at the start, the more likely she’d fail a later dive completely. But she had good scores on most dives at some point. She probably had a killer video—the kind that makes coaches hopeful they can tame the head-storms.
Ria stood up, turned away from her parents so she wouldn’t have to watch them staring.
“You should look at Maggie O’Connell. She’s made some serious progress lately. She’s mastered a reverse two-and-a-half and is working on her inward. I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t have two-and-a-halves in every direction by December. Check her scores; she’s super consistent. She dives for Benny . . .” Ria cut herself off before she added the “too” that used to fit.
“You sound like a scout. But we want you, Ria. Even if it’s only for a year.”
“Only a year?”
“That leaves options for all of us. By then we’ll know if it’s a good fit for everyone.”
Ria could tell there was a whole undercurrent of conversation she was missing here. Benny would know what the coach meant and what was being said without being said. That’s why all recruitment conversations were supposed to go through him. All she could go on was the seasick roiling feeling she felt at all the vagueness.
“Come for a visit. Let us convince you in person.”
She shook her head no even though Coach Ling couldn’t see.
“Your parents have my contact information. I hope we’ll hear from you soon.”
After Ria ended the call, she wrapped her arms around herself, then quickly dropped them. That was an old cue that she was upset. That she needed her parents to give her a hug. She looked at them, back and forth between their expectant, hopeful faces. Hoping they’d found what she’d been missing.
“Well?” said Dad, breaking the tense silence. “What do you think?”
“I think it could be good to dive for a woman,” added Mom.
“I quit.”
Why did she have to say it again? Every time was like ripping off a Band-Aid. Or part of her skin. A chunk of herself.
“How can you quit? After all this time, all this effort. I don’t get it!” Mom sounded one breath away from a scream. “Tell us what you’re thinking. We want to understand.”
She did too.
&nbs
p; She traced the stitching in her dress with one finger. It used to be her parents who knew what she was thinking and feeling before she did. They’d help her define the mess of emotions churning inside. They’d say, You’re frustrated. Angry. Nervous. Hurt. They knew why she did things, even when she didn’t. But there wasn’t a label for this freefall feeling.
“Ria,” said Dad. “I know you’re disappointed about missing that last meet—”
“And Benny is being . . .” Mom cut in, then stopped. Restarted. “I still can’t believe after everything we’ve done for him . . .”
“You paid him to coach me,” said Ria. “He coached me. You don’t have to pay him anymore. Think about all the money you’ll save.”
Mom pursed her lips, then went on. “Our point is, we need to look to the future. Your future.”
Dad stared at her as though he thought he could read her mind. She wished he could, that they both could. But her parents didn’t get it. They’d never been on the board with her. They weren’t the ones who wore the bruises. Their questions only proved how little they knew. All the things they couldn’t possibly understand.
Benny was the only one who knew—and said—the truth.
“There’s no point diving. I blew my chance.” She’d tried to fix things, but he’d turned her away. Again. He didn’t need her. She would have been gone by now, if she’d competed the way she was supposed to. He must have another plan. He always had a plan.
Her parents had tried to support her diving, in the ways they knew how. They were the ones who’d found Benny. Mom had recruited him from a community college after reading how he’d coached a group of former gymnasts with no water experience to win their regional championship. They’d paid him to move.
And, every day, for weeks and months and years, they’d told her how lucky she was that they’d found him, lucky that he was willing to work with her, lucky that she was his pet. She was lucky, privileged, honored that he’d do whatever it took to make her the best. Except they thought, since they paid Benny extensive club and coaching fees, they had the right to weigh in on what she needed. But it was the opposite. As her coach, Benny’s opinion was the one that mattered. Her parents only confused her, making her doubt how things should go.
