by Sarah Tomp
“That was Benny. I know he put you up to it.”
“We should have warned you.” Maggie looked miserable.
True. But if she’d been warned, she wouldn’t have gone. She wouldn’t have been on the board, wouldn’t have surprised herself how easily it all came back, wouldn’t be phantom-diving in her head.
“I had to do it. He insisted. I didn’t know you’d get so upset. You were always his pet.”
“I was his diver.” Ria peeled back the foil and sniffed the sweets more closely. Maggie baked whenever she was nervous. “If we watch Prom Night we’ll learn what to expect.” Maybe that would help her figure out if she’d miss not going to her own.
“What did he want?”
“Who? Your prom night lover? He wants you, of course. I bet it’s Principal Roglio.”
“You know I meant Benny. I thought he was going to beg you to come back. That’s why I did it. But, ewww, Ria, Mr. Roglio must be a hundred years old. And he has nose boogers.”
“So he must be a very experienced lover. You can bring tissues. Bad news is, if I get slashed, it’ll be all your fault. Good news is, if we’re still virgins, we might survive.” She was actually kind of freaking herself out.
“He’s changed lately. He seems almost human. Definitely more relaxed.” They both knew Maggie didn’t mean their principal. “But he’s still different with you.”
Ria could hear the old familiar resentment in her friend’s voice. The cost of being special.
“I think Benny’s starting to worry about money. He sold the extra trampoline.”
Maggie blamed her, but she had the details wrong. Benny hadn’t told the team about the NDT. He hadn’t been part of the original plan, the one before Ria lost her mind and ran away from nothing at her most important meet. The team didn’t know he might be leaving. She should have told Maggie as soon as she got the invite. Keeping the news in the dark had made it grow. It was too enormous to simply say. Not when Maggie looked so desperate. Besides, telling Maggie the truth now would make it one step closer to true.
If she went to the NDT, she’d be gone. Really gone. She’d say goodbye to Maggie and Sean . . . and Cotton. She’d skip the rest of her senior year. She’d miss prom night, whether or not it was the bloodbath shown in the old movie. And Maggie would lose her chance to keep diving. Because Ria would take Benny away too. She’d be with him a million—or, according to Cotton, 1,500—miles away, with no one else around.
She’d signed that letter of commitment, but they couldn’t make her go. Her parents didn’t even know about the invitation yet. She couldn’t go if they didn’t pay.
“Don’t worry about Benny, Mags.”
“But I need to get that scholarship. If he shuts down . . .”
“He can still help you get a scholarship even if he isn’t here. Make him talk to coaches for you.”
“I can’t make him do anything.”
It was true, but only because Maggie wasn’t willing to push. She was too afraid of hearing no.
“Help me eat these brownies,” said Ria.
Now she was thinking of all those girls who didn’t get asked to the prom. They must have stayed at home, crying into their pillows. They had no idea they were the lucky ones.
Twenty
Early the next morning, Dad interrupted Ria’s croga—cross-yoga—stretching, with random-weighted objects designed to increase the challenge.
“Are you cooking or cleaning?” he asked from the doorway.
“Am I being too loud? I dropped the potatoes.”
“Get ready. Mom’s waiting for us. We’re going out.”
He was up to something. She recognized that mischievous way he was trying not to give something away. He had a terrible poker face.
In the back seat of the car, she didn’t bother wondering where they were headed. It had been ages since they’d done anything together, so the possibilities were wide open.
She’d finally texted Sean last night, after dinner. He’d come over and stayed late to make up. Cotton was right. Sean hadn’t meant to make her upset when he’d let Benny surprise her. She’d had no right to charge in on Cotton’s life, dumping her misplaced mad on him. No wonder he’d ignored her in his garage. He didn’t need to get dragged into her messes.
She and Sean had carefully avoided mentioning the pool or Benny or her storming away or pretty much anything except the video she’d sent him of stunt-fails. Someone else’s pain was always good for a laugh. They’d moved on to other safe topics. Or, more accurately, kissing was an excellent way to not talk about anything.
She couldn’t stay mad at Sean when she’d been such a disloyal girlfriend. She’d trade being mad at him about letting Benny into the pool for not having to tell him the way she’d thought about Cotton in his garage. She wasn’t sure it was completely even, but close. Anger had never been easy for her, anyway. She’d dodged other people’s so often; she didn’t know how to hold on to it herself.
As soon as her parents pulled into the parking lot of Donna’s Diner, Ria’s stomach clenched. Damn. Something was up.
They only went to Donna’s for celebrations or punishments. When she did her first back-double, they came here straight from practice. The time she was suspended for coating the girl’s bathroom ceiling with wet-paper-towel bombs in order to avoid a math test, this was where they had a recovery-strategy meeting. After winning Junior Nationals, it was their first stop as soon as they were back in town. The morning after the night in eighth grade when she and Maggie snuck out and walked to the all-night doughnut store at two in the morning, they made her eat at the plastic counter while watching the cooks and breathing in all the grease and sweetness. Pancakes had always had a bittersweet flavor.
Once they were tucked into the booth, and her parents’ coffee and her freshly squeezed, extra-pulp orange juice was set in front of them, Mom asked, “Is there something you want to tell us?”
Ria wasn’t sure what they’d discovered. Less sure what they’d think about her caving trips. They’d probably see it as another one of her impulsive irresponsible actions. Or maybe they’d found out she was behind in her classes, as usual. She wasn’t going to guess or offer anything up. She could wait. They hated silence. It wouldn’t be long before they rushed in to fill the quiet.
They used to know everything she did, but never because she was the one to tell. Her teachers used to call or send home daily progress reports filled with stickers. When she first started diving, Mom or Dad always watched her practices. They knew everything because they were there. Then she’d sent them away, unable to have them interfere with Benny’s demands. Once she’d started driving herself to practice and had doubled up on the number of private workouts, she’d insisted they stay away from him completely. All communication had to go through her. It kept things simpler, cleaner. She couldn’t afford to have their doubts in her head when she was on the board. But right now they knew something.
“Congratulations, Ria.”
“The NDT wants you!”
Then, without a second for her to catch her breath, there was the shift.
“Why didn’t you tell us? Why are we hearing this from Benny? He said you’re feeling uncertain.”
“Are you worried about the expense? It’s no more than college. The better you do, the more sponsorships kick in.”
“I know it’s far, but we’ll come visit. I might even be able to work remotely. At least until you’re settled.”
“We can figure this out. We’re so happy for you.”
Ria set her forehead on the edge of the table, face down, breathing. They were moving so fast. In circles. Spirals. She’d barely wrapped her head around the fact Benny had told them. She was supposed to be the in-between. They weren’t supposed to talk to him.
“Ria? What are you doing?”
“Sit up,” said Dad. “Talk to us.”
She lifted her head. She knew she was reverting, back to acting like a wiggy little kid. Like someone who need
ed everyone else to decide what was best.
“You talked to Benny?”
Dad said, in the most annoyingly slow and even voice, the one he used to break down the most obvious of problems, “This is what you’ve been working for, Ria. You did it. You get to be part of the NDT.”
“This is an incredible opportunity. You are so lucky that they are still interested in working with you.” Mom’s voice carried a whiff of shrill.
“Do you know how few divers are chosen?”
“Do you know anything?” Ria couldn’t keep the scorn from her voice.
She knew she was being ungrateful. After everything they’d given her, all the money they’d spent, all the time they’d dedicated to making sure she could reach this point, she was awful to feel unsure. Maybe she could find a way to tell them the truth. To let them know the parts of diving she’d kept hidden from them. Maybe if she confessed her secret shame, that she wasn’t as perfect as they thought, maybe then they’d understand.
“Benny said . . .” Dad started.
There it was. If Benny said it, they believed him.
They trusted him. They knew she needed him. She could never dive without him. On her own, she always got everything wrong.
Twenty-One
Ria was late getting to school on Monday morning. She’d gone for a run, heading in the direction opposite from Cotton’s house. Not that she was likely to see him in the early dawn, but it was time to change up her route. Except she’d misjudged the distance and stayed out too long. Now, in the quiet parking lot, her mind raced, fast and loud. She couldn’t remember if she’d taken her medicine today. Or yesterday. Or when the last time had been. There was no point sitting in class if she couldn’t focus. Besides, she’d already missed too much of first period to bother, and with only a couple more classes, she might as well skip them.
So, she headed home. Now that she’d ruined things with Cotton, she didn’t have anywhere else to be. She hadn’t heard from him since she left him tapping away on his computer.
Her room didn’t fit her mood. It was too yellow, too crowded, too weighed down with clutter. All the pictures on her bulletin board and mirror and in the frames placed in line of every view were old. Outdated. She gathered them into a stack and stashed the collection into the bottom of her desk drawer. She grabbed a pillowcase and filled it with her medals. Each one stood for a long-gone victory.
It was too heavy to lift, so she dragged it to her closet and pushed it to the back, behind her shoes and dirty clothes. Then, because all the remaining holes seemed too big and glaring, she swept away everything else, too, until finally her room looked clean and bare. Anonymous.
Ready for her to leave.
Or, to once and for all, forget diving.
She wanted to move her bed to the opposite side of the room, closer to the window, but she wasn’t sure it would fit. She’d have to move her dresser and desk, too. She got out a piece of paper and drew her room, a view from above, mapping each piece of furniture in relationship to the other. Once she was sure the scale was close, she cut out each shape and moved them around her room, trying out new arrangements. It was like playing with a flat, boring dollhouse, figuring out where everything could move.
She moved the smaller furniture first, getting it out of the way, then finally she pushed and shoved, using her hips to move her bed near the window. After she’d rearranged the rest of her furniture, she lay down, checking out her new view of the treetops.
She had no idea what a room with the NDT would look like. She needed to have a window. If there was no window, she’d have to leave. But what if she hated the view out the window? What if Colorado looked ugly and wrong? She knew it wasn’t ugly in general as a place, but the view out her unknown window might be.
Ever since she’d gone back in the pool, every time she closed her eyes, she found herself falling off the edge of the quarry. She’d slip, then fall. Over and over, but she never hit the blue below. Lying here, she felt so damn tired. The fatigue started behind her eyes, but then it spread through her veins and arteries. Like oxygen, but thicker. It wasn’t a physical, overexertion kind of spent. It wasn’t that she wanted to sleep, either. Gravity had shifted. Realigned. It tugged at her. Made her body impossibly heavy. Maybe it was the weight of memories. Or the imaginary view she couldn’t picture.
It was exhausting being in this place of used to be and no idea what the hell to do next.
The first time she met Benny was at the community college where he worked in northern Virginia. Mom had been emailing and calling him for months, he later told her. She’d begged him to meet with them. Ria was a skinny hyper kid excited to miss school for a road trip. There had been two boards at the pool. One was springier, better for getting height, but the fulcrum was tight, and she was little, so she’d had to use both hands while sitting on the ground to turn it.
After her first dive—a one-and-a-half pike she’d fallen in love with, the one that made her feel like she was part bird—Benny had given her a correction. “Go more up than out.”
It was the simplest advice. Something she’d heard a million times since then. But that day, it was new. She’d gone again, doing what he’d said. She went up, up, up. It was glorious. The feeling of spring without care for the board, the attention on that flash of a moment in the air before ever hitting the water—that was all that mattered.
She knew she’d done something beautiful. She could feel it in her bones and muscles and cells that she’d done it right—even before she heard the cheers and applause when she resurfaced.
After that, Benny had taken her through a beginner novice list. She’d done each dive twice. Once to show him, then again with whatever advice he gave her. It was a simple formula. When she did what he said, she dove better.
Her coachability was the reason he agreed to move to Pierre and start a new club. She was his one and only diver. But then Mom talked to parents at the rec center, spreading the word. Before long, other divers filled in the space around her, making it a real business for him. That same coachability was one of the things Benny put on his recommendation of her for the elite teams. She was willing to do whatever it took.
She never questioned his techniques. If he got mad, she accepted her punishment, knowing it was all part of the process. Being the best demanded strength and endurance. No backing down. No complaints or protests.
And for a long time, for years and years, it worked. They worked. Ria and Benny. Working hard, working together. Getting better all the time. She started winning, everything, no matter how far they traveled. But, eventually, because that’s the way it always went with adults, she started making Benny mad. She got lazy. Overconfident. She played too much when she should have been working.
She couldn’t let her parents know how often she got in trouble at practice. They were so sure diving was the one thing she was good at. There had been times when they thought Benny was too intense. But that’s how he had to be. She was, too. Mostly, they were so proud that she was exceptional. Instead of being the parents called into the principal’s office for another one of her impulsive mistakes, they were now the parents of the girl who always won. Suddenly other parents asked them for advice on nutrition and training time, even bedtimes. They were stars too. All of them, as close to perfect as possible.
One day, a long time ago, when Dad noticed her icing her ribs and didn’t like the look of the bruises on her arm—the ones that looked like fingers—she’d almost told him the truth. She was so close to admitting how she’d temporarily lost trust in her coach. She’d refused to do a new inward dive. Fear had shown up, she’d thrown a fit, and Benny had to set her straight. But she didn’t want Dad to be disappointed in her again. Benny had promised her he’d never make her do anything that was impossible, but she’d forgotten. It was all her own fault.
So, instead, she’d lied. She made up a ridiculous, over-the-top story about slipping off the board and wrestling with Chrissy and later she’d accidentally ru
n over a deck chair, somersaulting onto the concrete—it was a story wild and bizarre enough to be believed because she was the star. She was always doing something reckless and goofy. Dad laughed and told Mom and she laughed too and everyone was happy. It was way easier to make up stories than to try to explain the truth: she was still a screwup.
Benny had been the one to suggest she keep her parents away from practice. He’d shared with her in secret that the reason Chrissy would never make it big was because her parents weren’t on board. They were the weak link in Chrissy’s pyramid: coach, diver, parents. Ria hadn’t understood the geometry, but she’d understood the result. Her own success was because she and Benny worked together, without interference.
It wasn’t fair that now he’d told her parents about the NDT. They couldn’t make that be the right thing simply by wanting it. Not when they didn’t understand what it all meant.
The NDT was a second chance, the kind that doesn’t always come along. It was a flashy burst of good luck—but she’d been trained that luck didn’t exist. It couldn’t be trusted. She might freak out again, the way she had in LA. She’d been so absolutely, positively certain that she was in danger when she took off running. Even when no one else would admit that she’d been chased, she’d felt certain they’d missed it. But then when they’d all watched that video—it was obvious that she’d bolted for no good reason. If she couldn’t understand how her head and her body had gotten so mixed up, she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t do something like it again. No wonder the NDT wanted Benny to come with her. She couldn’t be trusted on her own.
Her phone beeped, surprising her with a text. It lay in the spot where she’d dropped it on the floor. It was almost too far away to bother getting.
She hung over the edge of the mattress, dangling and stretching, finally grasping the phone with the tips of her fingers. It was Cotton. She’d been avoiding him, but when she saw his name pop up, she couldn’t remember why.
