“I gotta go.” Jennifer tries to take a step, but it looks as if she can’t decide which foot to put forward, and she sort of wobbles unsteadily on her boot heels and doesn’t move forward at all.
Margo gets a heavy feeling inside, just like the Punchy Punch, thick and syrupy.
“You can’t drive,” Dana says. “Where’d Ted go?”
Rachel looks out the window. “Um, I think he just left.”
“What a jerk,” Dana says, quickly wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “I’ll take you home, Jennifer. You can leave your car here and come get it tomorrow. You ready, Rachel?”
“Ready. We’ll see you tomorrow morning, Margo. Thanks for everything.”
Jennifer teeters past Margo without making eye contact. “Yeah. Thanks. For everything.”
t’s impossible to sleep with a broken heart.
Every which way Danielle rolls in her bed, a shard pricks and tears and pokes at her insides, leaving behind another fresh wound.
At six thirty, she gives up and trades her pajamas for her Speedo and her team-issued sweat suit.
Mrs. DeMarco drives her to school wearing her fuzzy blue bathrobe stuffed bulkily under her coat.
The school parking lot is empty.
“Did you get the time wrong?”
“Maybe,” Danielle lies. “But don’t worry, Mom.” She unbuckles her seat belt. “They’ll be here soon. Go back to bed.”
She waits on the driveway curb, rubbing her hands together to keep warm. When Coach Tracy’s Jeep appears, Danielle chases it into the lot. Before the engine goes off, Danielle has her face up to the driver’s-side window. “Good morning, Coach Tracy.” Her breath leaves a cloud on the glass. Danielle wipes it with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, then opens the door like a valet.
If Coach Tracy is surprised to see her, Danielle can’t tell. All she says is, “What are you doing here?”
“I woke up this morning and realized that my shoulder feels pretty good. Great, actually.” She pivots so she is parallel to the Jeep, hitches forward at her hips, and rolls her arms in a spirited butterfly stroke. “So I thought I’d let you know that I’m ready to swim on the relay, if you need me.”
“That was a quick recovery,” Coach Tracy deadpans. “But your spot’s been taken. You know that.”
“Right.” Danielle takes a breath and steadies herself. “But I came anyway, because I wanted to prove to you how much this opportunity means to me. And to promise that I’ll never miss another practice again this season.” She pauses. “And … you know … to say that I’m sorry about yesterday.”
Danielle was hoping that if she owned up to what they both already seemed to know, Coach Tracy would give her another chance. She waits for her coach’s face to soften, but it tightens instead.
“I’m trying very hard not to take what you did personally, Danielle. But you need to understand that I find faking an injury particularly insulting.” Coach Tracy’s eyes get wide and intense. “I can never swim the way I used to. I could have gone to the Olympics. But even worse than that, I lost a big part of my identity, one of the things that made me special, because of what happened to my shoulders. Can you understand what that might feel like?”
Danielle drops her head. She wants to tell Coach Tracy everything — about the list, about how she was teased this week, about her breakup with Andrew. She tries to speak, but her voice cracks. And anyway, Coach Tracy isn’t finished. She cuts Danielle off.
“Obviously you weren’t ready to handle the responsibilities and the honor of being a varsity swimmer on my team,” Coach Tracy says. “But since you’re here, you can grab the team towels from the back of my Jeep and load them onto the bus. And the water bottles, too. Do everyone a favor and make sure they stay filled throughout the meet.”
Danielle isn’t sure whether to feel lucky or sad. But she does as she is told and then boards the school bus that will take the swim team to their meet. The other varsity team members climb on. Most of them have their sweatshirt hoods pulled up, headphones in their ears. No one asks about her shoulder injury. And Danielle doesn’t tell them that she’s been demoted from varsity swimmer to team equipment manager.
Hope arrives and looks pleasantly surprised to see Danielle. Danielle tries not to feel jealous that her best friend has her varsity spot. After all, it’s nobody’s fault but her own.
“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” Hope asks.
Danielle scoots over. But it is hard to look at Hope. She is still completely humiliated by the way she’d acted with Andrew.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Not great,” Danielle says.
“Did Coach Tracy say that you can swim?” Hope whispers.
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Danielle.”
Danielle pulls her sweatshirt hood up like the others. “Yeah. Me, too.”
The swim meet is a nail-biter. The score goes back and forth, each school having the lead for a single relay, only to lose it again the next heat. Danielle sits in the bleachers, handing out towels and water to the other team members. She reminds Hope to stand up every so often to do jumping jacks or squats to keep warm, like she’s seen Andrew do on the sidelines.
As quickly as Andrew creeps into her mind, Danielle tries to push him back out. It is sad knowing she’ll have to give herself this new reflex. Despite his glimmers of regret, she can never ever forgive Andrew for what he’s done. How he’s humiliated her, worse than any list or any stupid nickname. Though she knows she is strong physically, she wonders if she is strong enough to get over him.
When it comes time for the four hundred freestyle relay, Mount Washington has earned a bit of a lead, courtesy of the boys’ individual freestyle, in which they take first, second, and fourth places. There is a chance that, with a strong finish, the girls can sew it up. Coach Tracy comes over. “Alright, Hope, I’m switching you out of this race and into the two hundred freestyle in the next heat.” She turns to Danielle. “Let’s go. I’m putting you as anchor.” And then she adds, before cramming her whistle into her mouth, “Prove me wrong.”
A bolt of energy jolts through Danielle. She wants to cry, to thank Coach Tracy, but there will be time for that afterward. After she proves herself.
Danielle quickly sheds her tracksuit. She’s never felt nervous before a swim, but now every muscle is twitching. Hope gives her a good-luck hug and tucks a stray hair underneath Danielle’s swim cap.
She follows the other girls up to their lane. She’ll be swimming with two seniors (Jane, who’d been her partner in the weight room, and Andrea) and one junior (Charice). Danielle knows they’re the three best female swimmers in the school. She can’t help but wonder if she’s good enough to be racing with them.
They gather in a little group and Jane gives everyone a quick pep talk, but Danielle isn’t listening. Instead, she is looking at the girls in their bathing suits. They have the same kinds of broad shoulders and muscles as she does. And Danielle suddenly feels like she is exactly where she should be.
After the third girl leaps into the water, Danielle pulls her goggles down, climbs on top of the stand, and readies herself for the last leg. They are a second or two behind the other school.
Her mind goes white as she breaks through the surface of the water. She pushes all the pain out of her arms, kicks the hurt free from her legs. She swims her broken heart out.
Danielle and Hope climb onto the team bus and share a seat near the front. The vibe is completely different from what it had been in the morning. Everyone is in a celebratory mood, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. The whole team sings the Mount Washington fight song at the tops of their lungs while two of the varsity boys do a jig in the aisle.
Danielle’s relay team came in first, and she tied a school record for the fastest leg. Though Danielle knows somewhere inside of her is a beam of happiness at her accomplishment, she can’t reach it. She simply feels exhausted. Everything she’d had to give is gone. There�
�s nothing left inside her, certainly no strength for celebration. She only wants to climb into bed and sleep for the rest of the weekend.
Jane leans over their seat. “Danielle! Our MVP!” She points over her shoulder at the back of the bus. “You guys know Will Hardy, right? He lives in the redbrick house a block behind the school parking lot. The whole varsity team’s going over there before the homecoming dance to pre-party and take pictures, and then we’ll walk to the gym in a big group. You both should come.”
“Wow, thanks!” Hope beams a huge smile at Jane, and then gives a knowing look to Danielle. “We’ll be there.”
Danielle pulls her hands inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going. But thanks so much for inviting me.”
Jane’s mouth drops open. “What? Why aren’t you going to the dance?”
“I’m exhausted. I only slept about five minutes total last night.”
“Tired?” Jane makes a face. “So take a nap. The dance is eight hours from now.”
“Yeah. I just don’t think I’m feeling up to it.”
Danielle can tell Jane is confused and looking for a bit more of an explanation. But she isn’t ready to tell people what happened. It’s still too hurtful and raw.
Hope sighs. “She and her boyfriend just broke up,” she tells Jane. “He’s been a jerk to her because of the list, and yesterday he invited her out for pizza and then let all his friends make fun of her.” Hope takes a breath. “And then she found out that he is having a party and didn’t invite her.”
“Hope!” Danielle says.
Jane purses her lips. “Who is this a-hole?”
“Andrew Reynolds,” Danielle says. Jane shrugs blankly. “He’s a sophomore.”
“Well, this Andrew guy got off lucky, because he deserves to have his balls kicked.” Jane spins around and faces the back of the bus. “Andrea! Charice! Come here and help me convince Danielle that she needs to come to the homecoming dance.”
Andrea and Charice move to the empty seat across the aisle.
“What? Why won’t Danielle come to the dance?” Charice asks.
“Her ex-boyfriend, Andrew Reynolds,” Jane says.
“Who’s that?” Andrea asks.
“Does he go to Mount Washington?” Charice asks.
“Yes,” Danielle says, surprised that the girls don’t know him. Then again, why would they? Andrew is only a sophomore. “He’s on the varsity football team.”
“But he doesn’t play,” Hope clarifies. “He’s kind of short. And his eyes are really close together. Like someone’s pushing in on his ears and squishing up his whole face.”
Andrea brightens. “Oh, that skinny kid with the bad skin?”
Danielle shakes her head. “His skin’s not that bad. It’s from his helmet.” Though, thinking about it, Danielle remembers that Andrew also has bacne. She never gave it much thought beyond simply noting its existence the first time they went swimming in Clover Lake together. It hadn’t mattered to her. She liked him for who he was.
And while she is flattered by what the girls are trying to do, there is one big reason she doesn’t want to go to the dance. She takes a deep breath and explains.
“I don’t think I could handle seeing Andrew dance with another girl.”
Six weeks ago, they’d danced together on the last night of camp. The deck that stretched off the back of the mess hall had been transformed by strings of white lights that didn’t shine nearly as brightly as the stars in the sky, but still managed to add something special.
The camp director acted as the DJ with rented speakers and the stereo from his office, and he played a mix of oldies, pop songs, and silly things like “The Hokey Pokey” and “The Electric Slide.” It was only the girls who danced, in small circles with one another. Every so often, one of the boys would bust out in a running man or funky chicken for a laugh, but the rest stood around and watched.
Andrew wasn’t much of a dancer. Honestly, neither was Danielle. And anyway, the night was for the campers, not the counselors. So they stood together behind the buffet table, refilling cups of fruit punch, making sure the kids didn’t throw pretzels at one another, and stopping the girls from spinning one another around too fast. The other counselors, the veterans, leaned against the railing, miserable that the best part of their summer was a few songs from ending.
Danielle hadn’t been sure what the night had meant for her and Andrew. Once they’d finally gotten together, her feelings for him had developed fast. Though maybe not that fast, considering how much time they spent together: three meals a day, every scheduled activity. They’d watched all the VHS tapes in the camp’s media closet, up to the letter W, and Andrew had thought to take a picture of what movies were left so they could finish things out at home. Clearly, that boded well for them. But Danielle also knew things would be different. They’d both have friends, sports, and schoolwork to compete with.
She told herself she’d be fine either way. She told herself that a lot in the last days at Clover Lake, hoping to brainwash herself into believing it.
And then, without warning, Andrew leaned over and whispered, “I’m so glad I don’t have to say good-bye to you tomorrow.”
“Me, too,” she whispered back.
The night suddenly took on a different feeling. It was the last night for the kids, for the veterans, for everyone but Danielle and Andrew. Tomorrow morning, they wouldn’t have to climb on two buses that would drive them in opposite directions. They’d ride back to the same place.
It wasn’t the end of anything, but the beginning of everything.
The camp director took the microphone and announced that it was the last song. Danielle didn’t even have a chance to react before Andrew’s hand was laced in hers, pulling her onto the dance floor. A couple of the kids pointed and made goo-goo faces at them, but it didn’t stop Andrew from putting his hands on her waist, threading his fingers through the loops in her shorts. She put her hands on his shoulders.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
His words, in memory, take on a hollow sound inside Danielle, as the reality shadows everything that had been bright and light and possible.
Had she looked beautiful to him that night?
She’d certainly felt beautiful, even with the bug bites and the chipped purple polish on her toenails and the horrible tan lines from her lifeguard suit. She’d felt beautiful that whole summer. But it seemed like so long ago.
Toward the end of the song, Andrew crushed her toes underneath the rubber tread of his running shoes. That hurt for sure, but not as badly as it would to see him stepping on someone else’s feet.
Jane snaps her fingers. “Hello! Danielle! Andrew’s going to be the jealous one when he sees you dancing with senior guys.”
Danielle laughs. “I don’t know any senior guys.”
“Yes you do!” Jane turns around and calls out for Will. “Will, aren’t you going to dance with Danielle tonight?”
“Sure,” Will says, smiling at her with a set of very white and very straight teeth. “I got moves. Lots of moves.” He does the running man down the bus aisle, back to his seat.
“I saw him checking you out at the relay,” Andrea whispers.
“Yeah, right.”
Charice leans forward and pinches Danielle’s cheek. “You’re hot, girl! What are you even worried about?”
Jane folds her arms. “Look. We’re picking you both up at seven. End of story.”
Danielle laughs. “I don’t have a dress or anything.”
Hope nudges her. “Yes, you do. That pink one you bought.”
Danielle had put it on last night as part of her pity party after the whole Andrew incident. The dress didn’t really fit. Not just the material, but the style. It wasn’t her at all. “I’m not wearing that.”
Jane points at Andrea. “She’s got dresses out the ass.”
Andrea flips her hair. “Yup. It’s true. I am an admitted clothes whore. I can bring a few thin
gs over. I think we’re about the same size.”
“Thanks,” Danielle says, starting to feel excited. She’d noticed Andrea’s clothes before. She always had something pretty on.
“So you’re in?”
Danielle nods and smiles. “I’m in.”
argo stands at the sink eating a quick bowl of cereal. The homecoming game is in a few hours. She has her cheering uniform on, her hair pulled up with a curl of white ribbon. The kitchen looks as good as it does after the cleaning lady visits, with no trace of last night’s party, aside from the starchy smell of flat beer wafting up the drain, the three overstuffed bags of recycling set out on the deck and now slouching against the glass patio door, and a faint haze of cigarette smoke in the air.
Rachel and Dana should be here any minute.
Margo walks to the front window and parts the curtains. Jennifer’s car is still parked in the driveway. Margo prays Jennifer will come and get it when she’s not here.
The phone rings. She thinks it might be the girls letting her know they are running late, but it isn’t. It’s Maureen.
“Hey,” Maureen says, with an awkward pause to acknowledge that they haven’t spoken for an entire month. “Is Mom there? She’s not picking up her phone.”
“She’s out shopping with Dad, and then they’re going to the homecoming game.”
“Oh, right.” Maureen says it flatly. “How’s that going?”
Margo thinks about not saying anything, but in some ways, Maureen is the best person she can talk to about it.
“Honestly, not great. There’s this whole big movement going to get Jennifer Briggis elected as homecoming queen.”
Maureen lets out a deeply annoyed breath. “Don’t you think that’s mean, Margo? Hasn’t the girl suffered enough?”
“I don’t have anything to do with it.” Margo really doesn’t appreciate her sister’s tone, considering how Maureen had talked about Jennifer back in the day. “In fact, I’m one of the only ones not doing it, even though everyone in school thinks I made the list this year.”
The List Page 22
