Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“I’m not saying I would,” she snipes back with more attitude than she’s mustered in months. I’d almost be proud of her if she weren’t talking about becoming a notch on Fenn’s belt.
“Good. Then don’t.”
At my sharp rebuke, she sulks in her seat, all full of contempt and righteous indignation. I’m the bad guy who never lets her have any fun. As if I’ve never been where she is.
“Trust me,” I tell her, trying to sound like her big sister and not her mother. “You don’t want to catch feelings for a guy like Fenn. It’s the last thing on their mind. At this age, they’re incapable of participating in a real relationship. It’s all prologue to getting laid and then forgetting your name. It’ll never mean the same to them that it does to you.”
Before I even finish the thought, I realize just how true it is. It’s good advice.
Not just for her, but for the both of us.
Chapter 25
RJ
I don’t know what happened. I think I blacked out and woke up in Coach Gibson’s office with him shaking my hand. Then, somehow, I ended up at the pool in a navy Speedo, with Silas and Lawson in my ear giving me advice I’m too delirious to understand.
Now, it comes back to me in a rush of regret. Asking to be excused from gym to go find Coach Gibson in his office. Agreeing to formally try out at practice. Because apparently I’m on a mission of self-destruction.
“This was a bad idea,” I mutter to Silas, who’s beside me at the starting platform.
“There’s nothing to it,” he assures me. “Just don’t forget to breathe.”
“Almost no one shits the pool their first time,” Lawson deadpans.
“Great. That’s helpful.”
A whistle screeches, piercing my eardrums. The echo rings inside my skull.
“I don’t even know how to dive off this thing,” I whisper to Silas. The entire swim team is lined up behind me, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. The worst part is that Carter is on the team, so he’ll no doubt report my every dumb screw-up to his lord and savior Duke.
“Bend over like you’re tying your shoes. Stick your ass out and grab the front.”
“Imagine you dropped the soap in the prison showers.”
“Seriously, dude.” I glare at Lawson. “You’re terrible at this.”
I get in position and take a deep breath. Though I’m not certain how I got here or why, I recognize the jittery sting in my toes. It’s not the swimming that worries me. Or even making an ass of myself. I suddenly realize that what it boils down to is: I hate doing anything I can’t be great at. If I’m not the best, why bother? Maybe that’s why I tend not to stray too far outside my comfort zone.
Goddamn it. My guidance counselor two schools ago would probably call this a character-building moment.
Coach Gibson blows the whistle again and like a Pavlovian response I jolt off the platform. I don’t know all the rules and mechanics of competitive swimming, so Silas told me to ignore the technical and instead aim for speed. Quickness off the platform and split times between laps is what really matters today. So I push through the water with as much force as I can muster, grabbing the water with both hands and kicking like something’s chasing me.
When I hit the wall after the turn and throw the water out of my eyes, Silas gives me a discreet thumbs up. I climb out of the pool and accept a towel from Lawson. No one gives much away in their faces until Coach nods at his stopwatch.
“That’ll do. Go pick out a locker, Shaw.”
Maybe part of me is disappointed. If I’d botched it and not made the team, I could have said I never wanted it anyway. But now, I might actually have to try. I fucking hate trying. But it’s too late to back out now. My dumb ass is doing this, whether I like it or not.
In the locker room after practice, I get dressed beside Silas and Lawson.
“Not bad for a novice,” Lawson tells me. He glances at his roommate. “Bro, how hilarious would it be if he places in the state rankings at his first meet?”
“Yeah, sure,” I answer with heavy sarcasm.
“He’s not far off.” Silas sits on the bench to pull on his socks. “You’re fast. Just have to see if you can maintain that speed with the right form.”
“Fuck form. Be legends,” Lawson says, sliding on his sunglasses.
I don’t put much stock in what they’re saying, mostly because this is a temporary arrangement. One season. Just to get the hell out of gym and field hockey bullshit. Lawson was right—swimming is a solitary thing. Me against myself. No playbooks, no rules. Hell, if I suck, maybe I won’t even swim. I could take a nap while getting credit to ride the bench. Easy. I’m cool putting my pride aside to coast through the semester.