Deep End(91)

“Yeah?” She takes a step closer. “If this is how you thank me, I hope you get to reap the consequences of your stupidity.”

I smile sweetly. “And I hope you get explosive dysentery in the middle of a somersault dive.” I brush past her, Pen on my heels. It’s probably the most out-of-character thing I’ve ever done, said, or thought. But Pen is at my side, gripping my arm.

“That may have been the sexiest thing that ever happened to me.”

Oh? “Well, I’m no hero, but . . .” I pretend to dust myself off and she laughs.

“Even better than when she saw me and Lukas hold hands the first time. I swear, her face shattered in a million plankton-sized pieces. Clearly, you and Lukas are my knights in shining armor.” We enter the elevator, and her eyes narrow on me. “You are quite similar.”

“Me and Carissa?”

“God, no. You and Lukas.”

I laugh. “Believe me, we aren’t.”

“You are both reserved. You get intense about the people you care about. You’re single-minded, and have a solid core of strength and self-confidence. You hide your sense of humor from most people, but are hilarious. And of course you’re both into . . . ”

“Kinky BDSM stuff?”

“I was going to say science-y shit. But that, too.”

I shake my head. “I’m not confident at all. Up until two months ago, I could barely dive.”

“Confidence is not about being able to do shit, Vandy. Confidence is showing up, and trying, and not giving up because deep in your heart you know who you are and what you’re capable of.”

Is that right? I have no idea. I do want to be like Lukas, I tell myself later that night, in bed. Somehow, it’s a good thought to settle on. It feels less messy than wanting to be with Lukas.

The following day, during the platform synchro final, Pen screws up her takeoff and sprains her ankle.

“It’s not bad. You’ll be like new in a week or so,” the doctor tells her.

Her eyes light with hope. “Can I continue competing—”

“Today and tomorrow? Absolutely not.”

It’s disappointing, but we’re both relieved that her injury is minor.

“No podiums,” Coach Sima tells me, Bree, and Pen on the last day. I’m waiting to be introduced for the individual platform final, and they’re here to support me. “That’s not ideal, of course.” His lecturing gaze meets each of ours for a socially cruel length of time. “On the plus side, the whole team qualified for the Olympic trials. Though your three-meter dives badly need work, Vandy.”

“There isn’t enough room,” I mutter sullenly into my PB&J. “It’s my least favorite, anyway. I feel like I’m jumping off a gangplank.”

“Any more back talk?”

I lower my gaze and stay silent, but thirty minutes later and four dives into the platform finals, I’m wondering if Coach is eating his words. Because my scores are, incomprehensibly, hovering very close to the podium.

“It’s really just the four of you,” Pen whispers at me while I try to keep warm between dives. “I mean, Akane Straisman is way too far ahead and she’s going to take gold, and unless Emilee Newell’s bones turn into glow sticks, she’s gonna take silver. But bronze is either going to be you or Natalie.” Carissa’s henchman. “You two have been switching third and fourth place the whole time.”

“I don’t know what I want the most—to get a medal, or to stop Natalie from getting one.”

Pen wraps her palms around my shoulders and squeezes with all her might. “Pick one, Vandy. Because I want to buy you a bronze medal’s worth of drinks tonight.”

“What’s your last dive?” Bree asks me.

“Armstand double one and a half.”

“Oh my god!” Pen gasps. At my best, this dive is my masterpiece. Anything less than that? An utter shitshow. And there are so many places for it to crumble to dust. But this is Pen, of course. And she’s amazing. And instead of telling me what could go wrong, she hugs me. “It’s my favorite dive of yours!”

“Mine, too!” Bree bounces on her feet. “This is fucking fate!”

I keep that with me. Even after Natalie dives and I do the math on the score I need to get the bronze, even as I climb up the stairs, even when I’m drying off with my tie-dye shammy, so similar to the one I lost two years ago—the one I barely recall mentioning to Lukas.

He remembered, though.

I look at it, smile, and throw it off the tower. And when I rise into an armstand, I don’t think about what could go wrong. I don’t think about perfection. Instead, I focus on the people out there who enjoy watching me perform the dive. When I take off, when I’m in the air, when I enter the water and then exit it, I hope they’ll have a good time. And when I’m barely out of the pool and they’re already there, wrapping their arms around my drenched body . . .

“You did it! You did it, you did it, you— ”

“You have ten points over Natalie!”

“It’s bronze! It’s certain bronze, ’cause there’s only Emilee left, and she’s already ahead of you! Bella’s gonna cry so hard when I—” Bree cuts off abruptly. “Oh my god,” she says, her tone chock-full of shock. She’s looking past my shoulder.