Deep End

WE GO TO MY ROOM AND CALL LUKAS FROM MY PHONE.

I wonder if I should text him a heads-up—I know this is weird, pls don’t send me to voicemail, neither of us selected phone sex or long-distance role-play on the list, I’m aware.

“He won’t pick up,” Pen tells me, dejected. “I just remembered. He’s at the US Open. The two-hundred-meter freestyle finals are happening right now.”

“Oh.” I wipe my palms down my joggers and sit next to her on the mattress, unsure what to do. It takes me almost an entire minute to gather the courage to cover her hand with mine. “I’m sorry about Carissa. If there’s anything I can do . . .”

“I can’t believe she actually talked to me this time. Shit.” Pen rubs a hand down her face. “Vandy, I need to explain some stuff to you.”

“She warned me about you last night,” I blurt out. Possibly the wrong thing to say, given Pen’s instantly betrayed look, but I need to come clean. “She was high on the spewing and low on the specifics. Just said you’re a . . . well, a bad person was the gist of it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” I shrug. “I didn’t believe her. What she said made no sense, so I shelved it as bullshit. It didn’t even occur to me that you might want to know, and I’m sorry I—”

Pen’s arms wrap around my neck, holding me so tight, breathing is not the piece of cake activity it used to be. I hesitantly hug her back. A moment later I feel her tears against my cheek.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—” She pulls back with a sniffle, wiping the back of her hand on her face. “She’s poisoned so many people against me, and the fact that you didn’t even hesitate . . .”

My heart squeezes. “I’m sorry she cornered you like that. Maybe we could report her?”

“No.” Pen shakes her head. “This goes way back, Vandy.”

I nod. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I support you no matter—”

“But I want to.” She takes a deep breath. “Carissa and I went to the same diving club in central Jersey, and I cannot remember when we stopped liking each other, or pretending to like each other, or why by the time we were fourteen we were in an all-out conflict. Maybe we were young and competitive? I’m not proud of the way I acted at the time—I’d gloat when I won, seethe when she did. That cringe stuff you think back on and want to drown yourself over?”

I nod, highly familiar. Children can be mean. Athletes can be mean. Mixing the two together . . . an unstable equation.

“Her mom was the director of our diving club. Coach. Former diver. She had a knack for teaching, but over time she went from being passionate and supportive, to verbally abusive. She’d constantly yell terrible things at us, including her daughter. And the younger kids . . . she terrified them. Shamed them about their weight, forced them to train in bad weather, said all sorts of toxic stuff. And I was the one who reported her.”

“Oh.” Shit.

“An investigation was opened. She was suspended. It was for the best, but Carissa remained in the club, and decided that I’d ruined her mother’s career, maybe even her life. And the rest of the club . . . they knew that the report wasn’t false, but she managed to spin the narrative that I’d overreacted out of jealousy, and either they believed her, or they pretended to.” Pen wipes her eyes. “It was miserable. The bullying. The things they said behind my back. To my face. I wanted to find another club, but there was nowhere with a reasonable commute. My parents didn’t care. And Carissa and I were in the same high school. She spread rumors about me, turned friends against me. Not everyone believed her, but it was so hard, going to a party and not knowing if people . . .”

“Would throw a bowl of soup at you?”

She laughs, watery. “Were there many soup-involving parties at your high school?”

“Wouldn’t know, as I was never invited to one. But I think it’d be a winning idea.”

Her amusement lifts some weight from the room. “My junior and senior years were hell. And if not for Lukas, I’d have been totally alone. But he’d call to remind me that I wasn’t an unlovable piece of shit, and . . .” She sighs deeply. “And then there’s the part I hate the most. Stanford was Carissa’s dream school. But when Carissa contacted Coach Sima to express her interest, he noticed that she and I had been in the same club, and asked me about our relationship. I was truthful, and he decided not to pursue her.”

I scratch the side of my head, taking it all in. “I still don’t think any of this is your fault.”

“I know. It’s just . . .” She tips her head back, staring at the ceiling, her eyes once again overflowing. “I hate it. Knowing that she’s here, and still resents me is just . . . Lukas is not around, and I feel so alone all over again, and—”

“You’re not, though.” She looks at me, and I squeeze her hand. “I’m here. I may not be Lukas, but I’m your friend. And if Carissa makes a single wrong move, I’m going to—to glower at her, and hiss—”

“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.