Fire with Fire

I’VE NEVER STOOD ON A DIVING PLATFORM BEFORE. Reeve wanted me to try it, at least once before the test, but I couldn’t bring myself to. My knees are shaking. It’s so high up, and the water looks really deep. There’s a whole line of us on the blocks. People are crouched and poised in diving positions, everyone except me. I force myself to breathe. I don’t have to do a fancy swan dive into the water; all I have to do is jump.

If I can do this, I can do anything. That’s what I keep telling myself.

Coach Christy is giving the instructions that I know by heart—up and down the length of the pool twice, then two minutes of treading water. I fumble with my goggles. They feel so tight around my eyes. I hate wearing them, but Reeve kept saying I would feel more comfortable underwater if I could see, and he was right.

Coach Christy blows her whistle, and I squeeze my eyes shut. The other people jump first; I hear their splashes in the water. I count to three, and then I do it. I jump. I hit the water with a slap. I move my arms; I kick my legs. I try to remember everything Reeve said: Keep your head down, arms against your ears, kick kick kick. I hold my breath for as long as I can before I gasp to the surface; then I’m turning my face back down into the water again. I feel like I’m drowning, but I keep pulling myself through the water until my fingers hit the wall, and then I’m turning around and going the other way.

I don’t look over to the lanes on my left and right, because I’m afraid to break up my rhythm, but I’m pretty sure they’re already done. I can’t care about that, though—I have to focus on myself and not worry about what other people are doing.

You can do it. You can do it.

I feel exhausted by the second time I hit the wall, every muscle in my body is burning, but now I know it’s almost over, only one more length of the pool. I take my time now; there’s no rush, like Reeve said. Take it easy, one stroke at a time.

And then I’m there. My fingers touch the wall. I made it. I come up for air and cling to the side of the pool, breathing hard. I hear clapping, and I look up—there’s Reeve, standing by the bleachers, clapping and whistling. For me.

I can’t believe he came.

Everyone else is out of the pool, so Coach Christy comes over with her stopwatch to time me treading water. I keep my back straight and my knees bent and I do the eggbeater kick that Reeve taught me last week. I swallow some water, but I manage to keep my head up.

“Good job, Lil,” she says, beaming at me.

The stopwatch goes off, and I can’t believe it. I swim over to the pool ladder, and I climb up. My body is so sore, but I feel like a champion. I feel like I can do anything.

Running over to Reeve, I scream, “I did it!”

He’s grinning like crazy. “Yeah, you did!” I launch myself into his arms and he lifts me in the air. I feel deliriously, euphorically happy.

We’re laughing, but when he sets me back down, there’s this long awkward pause of us looking at each other. We both start talking at the same time.

“Thank you—”

“You were awesome—”

We laugh and I try again. “Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have done it without you, Reeve. The whole time, I kept reminding myself of everything you taught me.”

“Aw,” Reeve says, cocking his head to the side. “Look at that, swimming brought us together.” Quickly he adds, “As friends.”

Another awkward silence. “Yup, totally!” I say. “Thank you so much.”

Reeve hands me my towel from the bleacher bench. “Don’t mention it,” he says. “Are you gonna go to the library today?”

I shake my head. “No, I have to be somewhere.” I’m meeting Kat and Mary in the girls’ room at five.

“Ah, okay.” He sounds disappointed, which makes me feel warm inside. He reaches out and gives my wet ponytail a playful tug. “Good job, Cho.”

“Thanks, Coach.” Impulsively I give him a hug, so he knows I really mean it.