Page 82 of Diving In
AJ sits up a little, eyes narrowing at me. “You look especially tragic. On a scale of one to ten, how emotionally compromised are we today?”
I drop my bag by the stairs. “Twelve.”
“Ah.” AJ nods sagely.
I grunt in response. The twelve isn’t just from the breaststroke. It’s from everything else.
“Come take a break?” AJ suggests.
“I actually said I’d meet Seb in the library,” Austin mutters.
I give him a questioning look.
“We’re in the same Econ class remember? We’re doing a project.”
Right.
"Sam?" AJ asks.
“Another time,” I tell him.
I don’t really feel like people today. Well, that’s a lie. If Kath were here I would spend my afternoon with her in a heartbeat, even if we just sat in silence.
As AJ cues the next film I grab my bag to take it upstairs, before pausing as I recognise the music. I turn back to see the opening ofPiratesof the Caribbeanfilling the screen, and almost immediately I can imagine Kath sat there on the sofa aged eleven, laughing at an intensely eyelinered Johnny Depp swinging off a mast and waving a bottle of rum.
The sight hits me like a gut punch.
I take the stairs two at a time, rushing to my room and sinking onto my bed with a rattling breath. Everything looks blurred. My heart’s pounding, and my chest hurts. I feel like I can’t breathe. The walls seem closer and closer and closer.
Shaking hands grab my phone, and I dial Kath’s number without thinking.Please pick up. Please pick up.
“Hello?” her voice comes through the line.
“Hi. Sorry, I shouldn’t have called you,” I choke out, voice shaking.
There’s a pause, and then I hear her sigh softly. “Sam, you can always call me.”
My throat tightens.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks.
Almost immediately my chest loosens and I suck in a breath. The relief is instant, and that’s the worst part—I don’t deserve how easy she makes it.
Chapter 35
Twenty-one years old
Sam
My shoulders are aching as I finish up in the showers. That extra gym session yesterday was probably a bad idea, but I want to get my breaststroke better, and to do that I need to be stronger. I sigh as I raise my arms to rinse out the shampoo, lifting my arms up really shouldn’t be this painful. Wincing, I wash my face before stepping out of the spray.
We have another race next week, and I’m dreading it. Everyone likes cheering for the underdog, but I’m not that kid surprising everyone anymore. Now I’m established and I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to lose.
“Fletcher,” Coach calls to me as I leave the changing room.
“Yes, sir?”
“What’s going on with you? Those turns were sloppy. It’s like we haven’t been training them for two years.”
