Page 3 of Breathing Under Water

Before I even say anything, Leo is spitting words at me. “Can you come get me? From school? Right now, can you come get me from school? Right now, right now. Mom?” The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. There is so much distress in his voice.

“Yes,” I tell him, pushing out of my chair and opening the bottom drawer of my desk where I keep my purse. “Where should I meet you?”

“I’m at the nurse. Meet me at the nurse. At school. Right now, right now, at school.”

“The nurse? Are you sick? Did you get hurt?”

“It’s CPR day in PE. Right now. I’m at the nurse.”

Oh.

“Leo,” I say, putting my purse back on my desk. “They only use mannequins in these demo classes. Nobody’s going to touch you, babe.”

“You don’t know that,” he says. “Please come pick me up. From school. Right now. From the nurse. It’s CPR day.”

I can picture exactly what he must look like in this moment, sitting on one of those plastic-covered cots in the nurse’s office, rocking back and forth, his head in his hand with his phone shoved against his ear. Laurie D’Agostino, the nurse, is always very kind to Leo, but she doesn’t have training in how to handle his meltdowns. She gives him a wide berth, letting him call me in these moments instead of trying to comfort him herself.

I want to explain to Leo that schools have rules about touching, that no one will put their hands on him, but it’s too late. He’s worked himself into a state now, and I know how it goes from here.

“I’m on my way,” I tell him, heading into the anteroom outside my office. I catch the eye of my assistant, Stella, and point at my phone, mouthing, “Leo.”

“So you’re coming, you’re coming right now? To school? I’m at the nurse.”

“Yes, Leo,” I tell him. “I’m getting in my car. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

As I pull out of my parking space and make my way toward the main road, I hear Yvonne in my head again. My job is to make Leo not need me. I am clearly very far from any kind of success.

2

McKenna

February 2023

Three-tenths of a second. In less time than the blink of an eye, the flick of a light switch, a single heartbeat, I have changed my life forever.

As my head surfaces out of the water, I hear Coach Catapano’s whoops rising louder than all the others. Yanking my goggles off, I look toward the digital board hanging above the pool. There it is, the glowing, bright red proof that I’ve done it. My name is first. I’ve beaten all seven women in my heat, even Maxine Masters, Sacred Heart’s fastest breaststroker. In three-tenths of a second, I’ve more than likely clinched a spot in the NCAAs for next month, and maybe even Nationals at the end of summer. I’ve also become Coach Warren Catapano’s newest darling.

I’m only halfway out of the pool when Coach’s large hand envelops my forearm, hauling me the rest of the way onto the deck.

“That’s my girl!” He wraps me in a hug as I try to catch my breath. Neither of us cares that I’m soaking wet. His signature red polo shirt quickly becomes saturated, the water from my suit and my tired arms turning his top from cherry red to dark wine.

“Yessss, girl!” Lark is running toward me from the bench, Semira and Rae close behind. My teammates are all over me, pulling and hugging in a chorus of cheers and laughter. Someone hands me my water bottle and I take a deep pull, beyond relieved. Even if we lose the meet, no one will be able to call me the weak link.

There were two of us from Meadowbrook in that race. My teammate Anya pushes her way through the huddle to embrace me, large rivulets still dripping off her shoulders. I glance at the scoreboard again—Anya beat her own record, so she’s got reason to celebrate even though she didn’t come in first. And we’ve been well-taught to be good sports. There’s no family closer than teammates, as Coach likes to say. He tells us all the time, and we know it anyway, that women in sports have it rougher than our male counterparts—that the expectations are different, that we’re always under a microscope, so we can never forget the importance of supporting each other. The family bit is what always resonated most with me.

I can’t say how long we’ve been carrying on with our hugging and cheering before one of the meet officials is shepherding us out of the way so the techs can prep the pool for the two-hundred-yard butterfly. For many, this is the final competition of the season, and so many futures hang in the balance. Ever since college athletes have been given permission to monetize our names and likenesses, the stakes have only gotten higher. There’s just no room for error.

“Go rinse off.” Coach motions toward the deck-side shower behind the diving boards. “Then we can cheer Rae on together.”

He shoots me another proud grin before turning back to his other swimmers.

When the final results are in at the end of the night, our Meadowbrook Egrets have come in third overall. It’s better than we were expecting, to be honest. As we walk out into the dark parking lot, everyone’s in good spirits despite being wiped out. It’s nearly nine p.m., and the Massachusetts winter air is frigid. I wouldn’t be surprised if small icicles are forming in my hair as we walk across the lot. We climb into the bus, everyone groaning at the effort. We’re heading back to the DoubleTree hotel where we’ve been staying for the four-day meet. Most of us are so exhausted from the adrenaline, we’ll pass out in our seats as soon as the bus starts moving.

I’m making my way toward the back to take my usual seat beside Lark when Coach throws an arm out into the aisle.

“Sonny,” he says, using the nickname he made from the second half of my last name, Jamison. He never calls me McKenna. “Sit for a sec.”

I lower my body onto the textured polyester of the seat beside him. I’m not sorry to take the weight of my five-foot-ten frame off my hamstrings.