Deep End(124)

“Um . . . sure? You’ve already done way more than you were supposed to, so I can’t see Makayla complaining about it. Plus, you are a nepo baby.”

“I prefer ‘legacy artist.’ Second question: Can I borrow some money?”

“Borrow? You mean, you’d later return it?”

“Probably not.”

“Hmm, I want to say yes, but I feel like the wise thing would be to first ask: How much money?”

“I’m not sure. Enough to fly to Sweden.”

The noise she makes is so triumphant, I have to move the phone away from my ear. “Scarlett, baby, finally. Mi bank account es su bank account. Within reason.”

I head out of the swim club, googling flights without reason (sorry, Barb), trying to figure out what’s the earliest time I could leave if I first stop home to grab my passport and a pair of clean underwear, until someone stops me with a hand on my arm.

“Vandy?”

When I look up, I find Penelope Ross.





CHAPTER 66


IKNOW YOU DON’T OWE ME ANYTHING,” SHE TELLS ME THE SECOND we’re sitting together in the park across the club. No benches are devoid enough of bird shit to meet our lofty standards, so we say a little prayer about the weight limit and settle on the swings, like we did last summer in Coach Sima’s yard, where it all started. Pen’s head hangs low, carefully studying the groove her shoe carves in the sand. “Maryam said you weren’t in California. And I remembered you were still sharing your location, and . . .” She shrugs. “I could have called. But I decided that behavior as horrendous as mine deserved a grand gesture.”

I consider myself a nice person, but I’m not even tempted to deny it.

“You don’t have to accept any apology. I just wanted to look you in the eye when I said . . .” She seems to realize that she’s not, in fact, looking me in the eye, and lifts her head. “I’m sorry, Vandy. I screwed up, big-time. And I have no excuses.”

I study her familiar, beloved face. She seems tired. Anguished. In the gray of this cloudy day, her hair is duller than usual. “I never tried to take anything away from you.”

“God—I know.” Her face screws up, like the memory of her words pains her. “I know, Vandy. I know you. And even if you had been trying, neither Luk nor the NCAA title were mine. The things I said . . . I was out of my mind. I could tell you where I was at, but I wouldn’t want you to think that I’m trying to find excuses for my behavior—”

“Tell me. Because I’ve been trying to wrap my head around what I did to deserve to be treated that way, and—”

“Nothing.” She reaches out to grasp my hand, and glances away when I instinctively pull back. “I knew you and Luk were seeing each other, but . . . for years I had to pry personal information out of him with a crowbar half the time, and you were not the type to do that. I figured your relations would just be sexual, and never progress. And honestly, while I was seeing Theo, I barely thought about you two, which is . . . not the behavior of someone in love.” She rubs her forehead with her palm. “And you and I grew so close, and I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. When you won Winter Nationals, I was genuinely happy. But then you went to Amsterdam, and Carissa took pictures of you and Luk together and sent them to me.”

“Carissa?”

“She kept my number over the years, apparently.”

“Jesus.”

“Planning to use it for evil all along, I’m sure. She thought she’d caught Luk cheating on me with my friend and sent an entire fucking photo shoot of you guys playing tourist. He and I . . . we both realized years ago that we had little in common. He stayed with me out of gratitude because I helped him through the loss of his mom. And I don’t think I ever admitted it to myself before last week, but I stayed with him because being Lukas Blomqvist’s girlfriend felt like the biggest middle finger to every single bully who’d tormented me in high school.” She shakes her head, like she’s ashamed of that. “So when Carissa sent those pics, I told myself that I didn’t care, but the way he looked at you . . . I don’t think he’s ever wanted anything or anyone the way he wants you. And that hurt, because I was with him for years. And then Theo ended things, and the false positive results . . . I realized how alone I was. You and Lukas were so supportive, but when I stayed with him, he slept on the couch every night, and I could tell that all he wanted was to be around you. He only became interested in conversations when you were mentioned. He’d walk me to practice just to find some hiding spot and watch you dive. It had never been like that between us. I started questioning my entire fucking life. And then . . . well, at the NCAA, I was the favorite, but you won. And Lukas was celebrating with you, looking so smitten.

“I was in pain, and someone had to be the villain of my story. But then my head cleared. You weren’t there for me to apologize, so I started with Lukas, and . . . he laid out all the facts. Everything that I should have already known about him, myself, us, he packaged it for me to see clearly. How little we shared. We were the closest at sixteen—not when he moved to the US, not now as adults. When we were children. I never even cared about his dreams, and . . . we’d been codependent friends, but our romantic relationship was long dead even if we Weekend At Bernie’d it for years. Lukas was reliable, and I knew I could always fall back on him. He was—” She laughs. “He was my crash mat. And when I saw him kiss you, I felt like you were pulling him from under my feet. And it hurt five times harder, because it was you, and I’d never had a friend like you.”