Page 28 of Diving In
Sam hums in response, clearly not convinced.
I feign nonchalance. “Anyway, it’s probably not a big deal. He still hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend, so I don’t think it really matters. I don’t think he wants to make it too serious.”
The words feel rehearsed, like something I’ve been telling myself on repeat. I don’t know if I’m trying to justify it to him or to myself.
Sam exhales through his nose, gripping the tennis ball a little tighter before throwing it again. “If you want serious, you deserve serious.”
We both watch as Crunchie tears across the park like it’s the most important mission of his life.
I swallow. “I don’t really know what I want.”
It’s a lie. Idoknow. And it’s notthis. But it’s so nice to feel wanted. Intoxicating. Even if it’s only sometimes.
Sam nudges my arm gently. “Well, don’t undervalue yourself. You’re way too amazing to settle for anything less than what you want.”
My heart picks up, and I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off.
“Anyway we should probably get back. I have to leave for training soon and my mum wanted to chat about something before I left.”
I glance at him. He still won’t meet my eyes.
Chapter 11
Seventeen years old
Sam
Sometimes, I love that swimming gives me time to think. Other days, it’s the worst part about it.
Today is definitely the latter.
No matter how many laps I do, I can’t shake the conversation with my parents. It clings to me, sinking deeper with every stroke, every turn, every breath. Even the more technical drills, the ones that usually demand all my focus, aren’t enough to drown it out.
“Your mum and I need to tell you something.”
I take a deep breath and turn. But the water doesn’t get my dad’s voice out of my head. I hold my breath until my lungs start to burn. It ruins my stroke pattern but I don’t even care.
“It’s Stage Four. We only found out recently.”
I reach the end of the lane and drag in a sharp breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. What’s next? I check the board, grab a kickboard and start another set.
“There isn’t a cure at this point. I’m going to try some chemotherapy to get more time. It seemed like the best option. But I don’t know how much longer I have, love.”
The doctor’s appointments. The exhaustion. The signs. How did I not notice?
The words ‘Stage Four’ beat in my head in time with my kicks. What does that even mean? What does any of this mean? I think I went numb halfway through the conversation. I still don’t understand. The only thing I managed to take away from it was that my mum has pancreatic cancer. And that my mum is going to die. I keep kicking, but I can’t outswim this.
My dad looked shocked when I said I still wanted to go to practice. My mum just smiled and offered to drive.
Shit. How am I going to get to training now?The thought hits me out of nowhere, and the second it does, a wave of guilt crashes over me. God, I’m a selfish prick. Why am I thinking about swimming right now? Why am I making this about me?
I don’t know anything about how to handle this.You’re seventeen, a voice in my head reasons.You don’t have to know. You don’t need to have the perfect reaction.
But I do.
That’s what my life is. Technique. Control. Fine-tuning every aspect of my stroke, analysing every movement, mastering every drill. Striving for perfection.
When I swim, it’s just me, my body and the water. I control everything.
