A Cold and Quiet Place Page 4

  She has to concentrate on her own life and forget the texts, the weird conversation with Erica’s mom, and the disappointed look James has on his face whenever he sees Lily and Tyler together on campus. According to the psych sheets, it looks like Lily will have a sweet spot for the event, an inside lane away from the slow water on the sides of the pool. She owes it to Robert, and to herself, to break the 24-second mark in her freestyle 50.

  The car hits a pothole, since there’s always construction on the highways in New England. Lily grunts as her stomach cramps. She throws what’s left of the melted cheese and grilled bread into the greasy white bag marked Tribeck’s – Sandwiches With Style!

  ◆◆◆

  At the meet, Prescot is assigned a perfectly timed warm-up. It’s not too early so Lily will still be loose for her event, and not late enough to tire her out. She jumps into the pool behind the other swimmers in the lane and tries not to swim on their feet. There’s nothing worse than a try-hard who swims too fast and, as a result, slaps the leading swimmer’s feet on every other stroke.

  Her taper seems to have come together pretty well. By the time her first event rolls around, her head’s in the right place and, as usual, the nerves have turned to excitement.

  She knows exactly what she has to do.

  Things head downhill after she steps up on the blocks: a swimmer’s nightmare. The competitors are all ready to go and someone false starts. It means Lily and the other swimmers have to step down from the blocks and wait for the officials’ decisions.

  She tries not to look at the girl who did it, but when a lady with a clipboard approaches, Lily’s eyes irresistibly follow. The conversation between official and swimmer is short and too quiet to hear, but everyone knows what’s going to happen.

  A false start means elimination from the race. The wide-eyed girl is led away from the blocks, her shoulders shaking. She’s probably trying not to break down in front of the crowd.

  Inside the pool area, the atmosphere grows electric with tension. False starts put everyone on edge, including the spectators. Don’t miss the beep, Lily prays. She’s certain the other swimmers are thinking the same thing.

  Finally, the rest of the swimmers are asked to mount the blocks. Lily gets back into position and wills her stomach to stop flopping around. She rolls her neck, heart racing and concentrates on the lane in front of her. It’s her best event, and she’s determined to race the hell out of the 50, even with the false start distraction. “Take your mark,” the official’s monotone voice blares over the system, followed by the usual beep to start.

  There’s a moment of flight followed by cold, bubbles, and silence. It’s Lily’s moment, her own split-second when nothing else exists, not the crowd nor the other competitors. With the velocity of her dive, she’s already hit the fastest speed she’ll achieve in the race. As an athlete, her job is to translate that velocity into a perfectly executed race.

  Lily’s muscle memory takes over. Everything else disappears as she whips one, two, three dolphin kicks.

  Almost all conscious thought is gone. Lily propels into freestyle. She looks for the “T” on the black line on the bottom of the pool, the signal for her turn, just as her body begins to demand more oxygen. There’s no time to breathe, and she has to deny her lungs as she prepares to flip off the wall.

  More bubbles, a moment of disorientation into the turn. Lily’s feet springboard off the wall. She steals a sideways gasp of air and propels into the second half of the race. Her arms are lead, there’s a cramp in her side, and she’s starving for calories and oxygen.

  When her fingertips touch the wall, Lily feels she’s swum a good race. Her eyes go instinctively up to the huge scoreboard, expecting to see her name in the top slot.

  Her number is blank. After driving her body to the utmost, her touch-pad has malfunctioned. The wall, sensitive to milliseconds, has failed to register her time.

  Lily blinks away hot tears. She waves to an official, an older woman with a deep tan and French braid. “Excuse me. What was my time?”

  The woman checks her clipboard and raises one eyebrow. “Wow. 24.5, honey. Good race.”

  It can’t be true. Lily knows in her bones she beat almost all the other racers. However, according to the scoreboard, the other competitors have finished under 24 seconds.

  That time knocks her out of finals and the top 24. Numb, Lily listens to the swimmers in other lanes shout and jump into the arms of their teammates. Everything has gone wrong – there’s no way she could be so low in the results, not with the way she just performed.

  “Sorry, kid,” the official says. Lily just nods. Swimmers must be professional, polite, gracious at all times. Even though it hurts like hell, Lily forces herself to smile at the lady and pretend her best event hasn’t just been snatched out of her grip.

  ◆◆◆

  “Maybe I should talk to the coaches.” Mom rummages in a huge bag to dig out another towel, which she hands to Lily over the railing from the spectators’ section.

  “And tell them what?” Fury and disappointment make Lily’s voice crack. “We all have to swim the race again?” She buries her face in dry terrycloth. Half a year of early practices and puking up her guts beside the pool have just been pissed away by a faulty touch pad. Around them the excited voices of other swimmers and coaches echo in the huge space. The air is warm, but Lily shivers. “Got any food? I feel like I need food, but I’m not hungry.”

  Mom tosses a power bar at Lily. “You need calories. Start with this.”

  The bleachers creak under the solid weight of a large body. Lily looks around her crinkled foil wrapper and sees the bright new moon of Tyler’s smile, teeth white against his tanned skin. “Sucks,” he declares.

  “You still have your 100.” Lily’s mom talks louder than usual, probably trying to make certain Tyler knows about her presence.

  Lily clears her throat. “Yeah. Have to concentrate on the next swim, not worry about the last one.”

  “It’s not your best event, right? Just gotta get through it, I guess.” Tyler steps to the top of the bleachers and extends a hand to Lily’s mother. “Mrs. Batista, right?”

  Lily manages to swallow her power bar. “This is Tyler.”

  “Oh, hello.” Mom flicks her gaze over him, too quickly for anyone but Lily to notice. “What are you swimming?”

  “Butterfly.” Lily’s used to cut guys in tiny male racing suits, but Tyler’s body is ridiculous. His large shoulders and tiny waist make him look like a flesh Dorito.

  “I kind of guessed.” There’s a dimple in her mother’s cheek, as though she’s amused by something.

  Lily clears her throat. “Got another event today?” she asks Tyler.

  “Yeah.” She gets the feeling he’s about to say more, when they’re interrupted.

  A short man with slicked-back hair and big ears hangs over the railing next to Mom. “Hey, Birthday Boy!”

  “Ugh, I’m old. Don’t remind me.” Tyler retorts.

  Lily hitches up her towel, and her mother holds out a t-shirt. Lily mutters her thanks and puts it on to keep her muscles warm.

  “Dad, stop.” Tyler’s crescent smile is gone, replaced with his father’s intensity. It’s weird to see the similarities between them: a short, pudgy Italian guy with his tall, athletic son.

  “So!” Mom pulls out power bars and offers them to Lily and Tyler. “Birthday today, huh?”

  Even under the industrial fluorescents, Tyler’s smile brightens the pool area. “18. Finally legal.”

  Her mom doesn’t bat an eyelash. Felicity is the perfect swim mom, pleasant and ready to schmooze at any opportunity. Lily’s annoyed by her mom’s social ability except for moments like this one, when Mom hides awkward situations under a flow of bright chatter. “Well, many happy returns. Get any good gifts?”

  Tyler’s dad pushes forward and offers a hand dusted with black curls over his knuckles. “The usual loot. Right, Ty? Half year’s worth of MRE’s for our underground
shelter – although you need to forget I said that or I’d have to kill you.” He brays with laughter, although it doesn’t sounds like a joke.

  Tyler nods. His dad – Eddie, as he introduces himself – grins. It’s a sweet, happy smile, as though he just bought his son a car for turning 18 instead of six months of survival food in the case of an apocalypse.

  The rest of the swim events crawl by. Lily’s 100 is coming up. She’s not slated as a top seed and most likely will get an outside lane. Still, after the touch-pad fiasco, she has to try her best so she can prove to her teachers four days of missed school is worth it.

  Haddigan is also at the meet, up next for her 100-backstroke event. Lily puts away the power bar when Haddigan’s race starts. She stands, claps and cheers for the first lap of Haddigan’s race on the bleachers. On the flimsy white chair next to her, Tyler jigs one knee and checks his phone.

  At the turn, Haddigan seems to lose focus and over-rotates. Lily can see the extra splash as soon as it happens, a mistimed reach putting her behind the front of the field.

  “Hey,” Lily says when Haddigan returns from the pool slumps beside her, a pile of misery wrapped in a wet towel. “Your time was better than mine.”

  “Thanks, but everyone knows you should have finaled in your first event. That hand time was so off-base.” Haddigan trains her bright green eyes on Tyler. “Right, Tyler? Don’t you think?”

  He shrugs. “It happens. You just have to deal as an athlete and shake it off even when the touch pads screw you.”

  Lily opens her mouth to argue but closes it after a second. He’s not wrong. After all, she knows she swam her best. Each inch of the race from her dolphin kicks to her finish was done with precise muscle memory. Even if the damn touch pad worked against her, Lily has to keep focused on the next event.

  So when her 100 freestyle comes up, Lily is ready. Tyler jerks his chin up at her before she makes her way to the starting blocks.

  Lily is placed in an inside lane. Her dive is timed perfectly with the buzzer so it’s not a false start, but she still gets an extra hundredth of a second.

  Entrance splash.

  Body at the perfect angle for speed.

  Cold.

  Chlorine.

  Bubbles.

  Lily becomes an underwater flying fish, the constant black line on the pool floor guiding her to glory. It all feels good, feels just right. The high-pressure training she’s gone through for years streams her into her race, makes her propel forward with three perfect dolphin kicks. Her muscles pull against the pool water, and she takes a moment to breathe. The quick burst of oxygen takes her into the turn, keeps her going.

  Lily can’t see anyone in front of her as her body tires. This is what she’s used to, the daily fight against her exhaustion and the determination to keep going. Even when her arms feel like they’re made out of iron and her legs won’t move, Lily steals more air and kicks harder into her second turn.

  The 100 yard race is double that of the race of the 50, so she has to keep fighting and swim it all again. Lily forces her mind onto what she’s doing. Stroke, kick, stroke, stroke. Reach out farther just like Robert always yells at her to do. Steal a breath. Streamline and kill the last turn. Make it count. Reach farther. Kick harder. Do it. Just do it.

  And when her fingertips touch the wall, Lily turns and sees her time. After all the drama, she’s placed first in her heat and has made it into finals.

  ◆◆◆

  Lunch is the usual soggy sub served on a too-small plate. Lily wolfs down the limp sandwich anyway, chases it with Gatorade and a bag of chips. Next to her Tyler eats two large helpings. His sharp teeth snap off huge bites of food. They stare at the pool while they chew, watching the hypnotic vista of the first male warm-ups before it’s his turn. It’s an unsynchronized dance of arms and swim caps as the competitors follow each other up and down the lanes.

  “Sure you want all those carbs in your system?” Robert appears next to them and jabs one index finger at Tyler’s plate.

  Tyler wolfs his chips, licks salted grease off his hands, and crumples the plate. “It’s all good,” he says.

  “Yeah. ‘Cause you already got your scholarship, except I still have a team to run.”

  Lily sneaks a look at Tyler. His face is smooth, but she notices a tiny crease between his eyebrows. “When do we come back for finals tonight?” Maybe she can distract Robert from jumping down Tyler’s throat.

  “Five-thirty. Make sure you rest and stretch after the boys swim.” Robert sniffs as Tyler extends long arms, one hand holding out the paper plate. Without a word, Eddie appears over the railing and takes the trash in one furry-knuckled fist. His left hand is folded around a book called “The Terrorists Next Door.”

  “Your dad’s really into survival, huh?”

  “Aren’t we all?” Tyler’s grin is slow, lazy. She’s about to ask him more about MRE’s and his dad’s shelter, but he pulls out his phone and starts to scroll through his Instagram feed.

  Lily pulls out her phone and does the same thing. The flesh on the back of her neck grows cold when she sees there’s another text from an anonymous number.

  You fat bitch. You’re going to lose your race. The only reason you made it this far is people are sorry for you and your slow ass.

  Lily leans forward so her hair covers the screen. It doesn’t work. She feels blunt fingertips tuck the damp strands back behind her ear, and Tyler peers at the words. “Damn,” he states. “Shady as hell.”

  She closes her eyes. The constant floating sensation she has from swimming so often makes the bench underneath her bare thighs sway. It’s not real, she reminds herself. The building is tons of concrete poured into a huge foundation, and the world doesn’t swirl around her. “Why,” she whispers.

  “Bet your friend’s jealous.” Lily picks up her head and stares at him, his chin tilted up at the usual angle. “People are weird. Want to suck the life outta you. To be honest, girls are worse. I hate to say it, but it’s true. They get ideas in their heads, think they’re better than anyone else, want to keep you down in the dirt. We claw our way up every morning, right? Out of the darkness.”

  For Tyler, this is an unusually passionate speech. Behind him swimmers slice through the pool, water splashing into muggy air.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Lily tilts her head to consider him.

  “Let me see that message again.” She hands Tyler her phone, and he bends over it. The drops from his skin spangle the screen like gems. “Kind of formal, right? ‘You’re going to lose your race,’” he mocks. “Who talks like that?”

  “Oh.” Lily cups his hand with hers to reread the message. “Not Erica, that’s for sure. Remember when you told me her phone must have been stolen? Bet that’s what happened.” He doesn’t answer, just slides his fingers until they curl around hers.

  “Hey girl what’s up!” Haddigan bounces up between them, and Lily jerks back with surprise. For a moment, before Haddigan’s arrival, she existed in a pocket universe alone with Tyler and his ideas. “Ooh, sorry. Did I step on a moment?”

  “Nah.” Tyler stands up and lets the towel around his shoulders fall to the bench. “Time for my warm-up anyway.”

  Lily watches him climb down and walk to the blocks. As he gets into line to wait for his turn to jump into the pool and join the pattern of circling arms and kicking legs, the light catches his skin from above. Tyler looks like a young god, his long neck thick with muscle.

  “Lily,” Haddigan sings in her ear. “You with me?”

  “What?” Lily frowns. “I’m right here.”

  “Mm-hm.” Haddigan crosses her arms, and a dimple pops out in one cheek. “Girl, you are in so much trouble.”

  ◆◆◆

  The wait for prelims to be over is pure torture. Lily and her mother have been up since dawn for their final day of competing, and there’s no time for a nap. She dozes on Haddigan’s shoulder as the male swimmers race. At least the butterfly event keeps her mind off Erica and the
hate-texts. When it’s Tyler’s turn to swim, Lily sits up, wipes her cheek, and blinks herself awake.

  “Gross,” Haddigan comments. “You’re drooling over him.”

  Lily ignores her friend and sits forward to watch Tyler’s event. True to his word, he breaks a meet record and is seeded first for finals in the evening events. When he passes Robert, Lily catches Tyler’s smile and the raised middle finger he gives the coach behind his towel.

  It’s mild enough behavior, but the gesture could get him onto probation at Prescot. The school demands perfection from all athletes, especially at off-campus events. Telling a coach to fuck off doesn’t fit in with the school’s squeaky-clean image. “I can’t believe you!” she hisses when he returns from the pool.

  Tyler’s lips part in a snarl. He looks like a wolf ready to tear out her heart before the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. “Just playing,” he grins. “No one saw. Except you. And you’re not telling, right?”

  “Of course not.”

  He tilts up his chin again, his usual unspoken reply. Seconds tick by as they stare at each other. Lily feels he already knew what she was about to say before he even asked. Around them the other athletes chat and the coaches yell at their teams. It’s all outside their little world, as though she and Tyler are back to being enclosed in a tiny bubble. She feels like he’s already inside her body.

  His full lips part, and she shudders, afraid of a demand she won’t be able to decline. But all he asks is if she wants to go get a slice of pizza, and it turns into the typical swimmer’s Well, yeah, of course I’m hungry conversation.

  Except Lily isn’t hungry. But she doesn’t tell Tyler.

  They get into line at the concession stand behind a group of other swimmers. A couple of the athletes wear towels around their shoulders. Others stand in nothing more than what amounts to glorified underwear. Lily’s used to it, she’s seen it all her life, but it strikes her how strange her sport is and how blasé she’s become about skin and nudity.