Deep End(90)

“Hiss?”

“It’s a very effective defensive behavior within the animal kingdom. The point is, I’m on your side. I hate bullying, and people who intimidate others. I’ve always been on the fringe of every team. You made me feel welcome from the start. I trust you, and you can trust me.”

Her tears spill over. “Are you sure?”

I nod just as Lukas’s name flashes on my phone. I quickly accept the video call.

“Scarlett?” He must have dialed me back the second he got out of the pool, because he’s still dripping. He looks, at once, surprised, pleased, and worried. “You okay?”

I remember what he said about his mom. The phone call came. “Yeah, everything’s okay.” I angle the camera to include Pen. “Just, Carissa—”

“Nothing,” Pen says from beside me. Her cheeks are still shiny, but she turns to me. I do the same, and notice her smile. “I had an . . . issue. And wanted to talk to you. But as it turns out, Vandy helped me through it, because she’s an amazing friend. And I don’t deserve her.”

My heart swells. I feel . . . chosen. Worthy. “That’s nice of you to say, because I live in fear of you seeing through my daily charades and realizing that I’m so numbingly boring, dentists inject me into gums before root canals.”

“What? You’re not boring at all,” she says. And there’s an echo—because Lukas said the same thing, at the same time. He looks confused by the whole thing. Might still be panting from his race.

“Did you win?” I ask.

He shrugs, because of course he did. And doesn’t even look smug about it. “Is everything okay? Do you need me?”

I get the impression that the question is for me, but it’s Pen who shakes her head and says solemnly, “It appears that your presence will not be required, after all. ”

He lifts an eyebrow, puzzled but not displeased. “Okay?”

“Basically, I’m the new and improved version of you,” I tell him with my most self-satisfied smile, which makes his own lips quirk.

“And here I was, thinking you were a troll.”

Pen looks confused, so I squeeze her hand again, and we change the subject.





CHAPTER 47


THE WINTER NATIONALS LAST FIVE MORE DAYS, EACH WITH highs and lows.

During the springboard final, neither Pen nor I qualify for the world championship—but neither does Carissa, who’s on track for the gold until she flunks an entry so bad, chestnut-backed chickadees in the Pacific Northwest must have felt the spray. I’ve produced way worse dives, and when it comes to enjoying someone else’s screwups, I don’t have a single toe to stand on, but just this once I allow myself some gloating room.

“We should celebrate,” I whisper at Pen during the award ceremony. Coach Sima turns back with a worried look, like maybe I forgot that not being on the podium is a bad thing, but Pen leans her forehead against my shoulder and wheezes for five minutes.

Everything okay? Lukas texts me that day.

SCARLETT: Yes. Pen’s doing much better! We’re about to start some synchro prelim.

LUKAS: And?

And?

SCARLETT: Would you like a picture of the dive sheet?

LUKAS: How are you, Scarlett?

There is no reason for this simple question to make me blush. Must be the heat of the pool. I’m no longer used to diving indoors.

SCARLETT: Fine?

LUKAS: Is that a question or an answer?

SCARLETT: Not sure.

LUKAS: Think it through, then.

The second day, I wake up to an email from my favorite German insomniac, Herr Karl-Heinz.

Scharlach,

Look at you go!

It’s an A. On my exam. “In your face!” I scream—in absolutely no one’s face. “I did it! I did it!” I text Barb a screenshot. Then Maryam. Then—why not?—Lukas, who says, Swedish better be next.

I don’t know why, but it makes me kick my feet.

On the third day, after a long, hushed conversation with her sister, Bella decides to withdraw. “My back’s just too . . .” She shakes her head.

Coach Sima sighs, patting her shoulder. “Not your fault, kid. Stop by PT, okay?”

Watching the twins leave the pool is heartbreaking. Because of Bella’s injury, and because of the wistfulness in Bree’s eyes as she looks back at us. Pen and I finish fifth on the board synchro, as good as we could have hoped considering the competition, but it’s hard to celebrate when Carissa and Natalie take the gold, which means they’ll be heading for Amsterdam.

We don’t stay for the award ceremony that follows the event, even if it’s terrible sportsmanship. Instead we head for the locker room and quickly shower. We’re out before most of the other divers arrive, and because the universe punishes athletes with the afore-mentioned sportsmanship, we cross paths with the two people we care to avoid.

“Hey, Vandy,” Carissa says. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the platform synchro finals. And”—her eyes flit to Pen—“take what I said to heart.”

“You need to stop,” I tell her, squaring my shoulders.

“Stop what?”

“Being rude to Pen.”

Her face hardens. “You know I’m doing you a favor, right?”

“Actually, you’re just harassing us.”