Page 21 of Diving In
“This is a deeply weird conversation to be having with Kath’s brother,” I say instead.
He snorts. “Welcome to my world.”
“Anyway, I don’t date. I train.” I pause. “It doesn’t stop after the Olympics. There’s the European Championships, then Worlds next year. It’s a cycle.”
Tom doesn’t argue. Just shrugs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Aquaman.”
Before I can say anything else, the front door swings open.
Kath walks in first, looking… off. Not exactly upset, but not herself either. Something in the way that her stride’s a bit more forceful than usual and her jaw is set. Behind her, unfortunately, is Bobbie.
“I’m going upstairs to change,” she says, barely glancing at him. “Bobbie, can you wait down here? I’ll be ten minutes.”
“Kath,” he whines, dragging out her name, but she just frowns.
God, what an idiot. Now that I’ve admitted how much I dislike him, it’s even harder not to glare. His dark hair is slicked back with too much gel, and when he drops his backpack onto the floor, it clinks suspiciously.
Tom catches my eye behind Bobbie’s back, raising a single eyebrow.
Bobbie flops into a chair, pulling out his phone. “Can I have a beer?” he asks.
“No.” Tom doesn’t even bother to look away from the TV.
Silence. Awkward, heavy silence. The sort of silence that Kath usually saves me from. It doesn’t end until she comes back downstairs. Her hair ispulled back in a braid and she’s done some sort of glittery thing to her eyes. But she still isn’t smiling.
“Say hi to Buttercup,” Tom shouts after us as we leave, and Kath doesn’t even muster up a retort to his stupid nickname for Claire.
When we get to the party, Kath makes a beeline for the kitchen, immediately pouring herself a glass of wine. I follow, unsure how to pull her out of whatever mood she’s in. Before I can even ask what’s wrong, someone sweeps her away into a conversation, and I’m left standing there, watching her disappear into the crowd.
By the time I find Kath again, over an hour later, she’s moved past the giggly stage of drunk and into something more subdued. She’s still smiling as she talks to Claire in the kitchen, but it’s not arealsmile. Not the kind that reaches her eyes.
Claire excuses herself and I lean against the counter, watching Kath carefully before pulling a KitKat out of my pocket.
“Here,” I say, handing it to her. “Pretty sure you didn’t eat dinner. Are you OK?”
“Peachy,” she mutters, unwrapping the chocolate bar with more aggression than necessary.
I stand watching her for a minute. She doesn’t look peachy to me. The tension that’s been clinging to her since she got to her house a few hours ago is still in every move of her muscles, every dart of her eyes, and she still looks off.
“Are you sure?” I ask again.
She sighs and leans into the kitchen counter next to me, and I reach over to give her arm a squeeze.
“Am I not good enough?” she asks me, and something in my chest crumples a bit. I’m not good at this stuff. I don’t envision this conversation going particularly well.
“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously, glancing around. The party’s still in full swing outside and in the living room, but in the kitchen it’s just the two of us.
“Bobbie still hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend.” She snaps another finger off the chocolate bar like it personally offended her. “What about me isn’t good enough? We’ve been dating for two months.Two months.I don’t understand. Why does no one ever want to go out with me? What about me isn’t worth it?”
I open my mouth, but she keeps going, words spilling out like she’s been holding them in for too long.
“And he wants us to do more stuff.” Her voice wobbles, and my hands clench. “He wants me to stay over at his house. But then he won’t even ask me to be his girlfriend. And I call him my boyfriend, but maybe I’m wrong. We’ve never even had that talk, I just sort of assumed. What kind of bullshit is that? But when we’re together, I have fun. Ifeelspecial.” She pauses, inhaling sharply, like she’s trying to hold herself together. “But then sometimes I feel really small. That’s stupid, right?”
I stare at her, my brain scrambling for the right thing to say. A tear rolls down her cheek. I’ve never seen Kath cry before, she doesn’t even cry at movies, and I have no idea how to navigate this.
“Hey.” I step closer, turning her to face me. “Look at me.”
Her glassy eyes meet mine, and my chest aches. She looks pale, even her freckles look sad.
