| photo by z-pm from Unsplash|
Conner is already in the pool when I arrive. His pace is slow, graceful, cutting through the reflection of the high, narrow windows that line the east wall of the basement. He does an underwater flip at the far end and pushes his feet against blue tile, propelling himself several feet before he comes up for air. He's doing the sidestroke, I think.
Whatever it is, it's effortless, mesmerizing. I don't think I'm going to get much studying done.
When he gets to my end of the pool, he draws a breath and dips under but he doesn't flip. He surfaces at the edge and hoists himself out of the water. His smile erases the reservations I had about coming in early this morning. The cut of his swimsuit raises new ones.
"It's standard issue," he says. "Hydrodynamic."
Heat rushes to my face. I've been caught staring at the cut of Conner's swimsuit.
"Did you know Speedo once hired NASA to conduct research on drag reduction of test fabrics for their competitive swimwear?" I ask him.
He quirks his brow and the corners of his mouth twitch but he manages to say, "No, I didn't," with a serious tone before he touches the back of my hand with one wet finger. "Thanks for coming."
"Thanks for inviting me. But you should get back in the pool now. You were looking kind of slow out there."
"It's called warming up."
There's a glint in his eyes, and maybe it's just a reflection from the morning sun but it feels like an invitation—or a challenge. It makes me want to rise to my toes, steady myself with both hands against his damp chest and give him a very warming kiss.
"Will you time me?" he asks.
"Of course." I reach into my purse and extract my phone.
"Four laps for the 100 meter," he says. "Last year I won State with a 45:12. Right now I'll be happy to break 50. But that will only happen if you sit on the bleachers, out of my line of sight."
I grin and walk around to the side of the pool. Conner dives in and swims freestyle to the other end. He climbs onto the starting platform and I give him the thumbs up. "You say when," he yells.
I hover a finger over the button on my screen and yell, "Go!" as I press. He dives, glides under the water for a quarter length of the pool and comes up swimming hard.
Glenn played football in high school. I went to all of his games but never practices. He didn't ask and I didn't volunteer. I wasn't interested in watching a herd of stinky boys tackling each other. But watching Conner speed across the pool—and knowing he's counting on my help—is exhilarating. I'll have no problem getting myself up early for this every morning.
"Thea?"
The tentative voice registers in the pit of my stomach. I turn my head toward her, my jaw slack. "Paige," I say, but it comes out in a whisper.
"Paige, hi," I say again, loud enough for her to hear me over the sound of Conner, splashing through the water. "I can't believe you're..." Out in the open. Well, almost in the open. She hasn't stepped past the threshold of the gym door.
"Yeah," she says. "I'm surprised to find you here, too."
"Oh, um, yeah. Conner asked me to come—so I could time him."
Could I sound any guiltier?
Conner approaches our end of the pool and we both watch him flip, kick off and speed away. I turn my attention to the shifting numbers on the clock—as if I have a clue what they mean. As if I care about anything right now other than getting out of here.
"I've always wanted to watch him," Paige says. "There's too much going on at the afternoon practice, too many people."
"Well...this is perfect, then. You can take over my job. I'm not really a morning person."
Paige nods and almost smiles. Then her hand flutters up to her hair—her gorgeous mane of reddish-brownish-blonde hair. I can't believe I haven't thought of this before. Even her golden-green eyes are liony.
"Thank you so much for finding the dress," I tell her. "Bethany, the woman from the shop, said she could replace the blue sash with white so I could wear it to the Allemande."
"That's a great idea. Kind of a shame, though. The blue sash is my favorite part."
"Mine, too."
"Tell her to save it," Paige says. "You can have it put back on for the prom."
Her tone has completely changed. She's more relaxed now, maybe even a little confident?
Yes. This is the girl who made me blush the first day I met her, when she made sure to tell me that Conner said my accent was adorable.
He flips at the far end and comes toward us. "He said four laps," I say, showing her the clock. "Is a lap one length of the pool or two?"
"One. He's doing well, but I don't think he'll break 50."
Paige sounds like an expert. No doubt she knows all of Conner's hopes and dreams. She's read all of his stories. They have years of history together—like Glenn and me. Conner and I have days.
"You could wear the shoes then, too," Paige says.
I'm pretty sure then equals prom. "Which shoes are those?" I ask.
"The red ones."
Oh, good. I won't have to kill Conner for divulging more of our secrets.
"Here he comes," she says, stepping out from the doorway. "Get ready."
I can't compare Conner to other swimmers because I've never really paid attention before, but he looks like he's really moving. She's right, though. He touches the wall at 50:78.
"He should be happy with that," she says when I tell her.
Happiness is not the emotion that registers on his face when he turns and sees us both waiting for him. Conner is shocked. He lifts himself out of the pool and walks around the side.
By the time he reaches us, he's more than happy. And he doesn't even know about his time. All he can see is Paige. "Look at you," he says, reaching for her hands. "You're..." He shakes his head. "I'm speechless. That's got to be a first for me, right?"
I get it. It's a big deal that Paige came out of her room but I can't stand here and watch Conner worship her.
"Okay, well, I'm gonna head out." I edge myself around Paige. "My head is killing me," I tell her—because I can't look at Conner. "I guess I forgot my caffeine fix this morning."
"See you at lunch," she calls, but I don't respond. It would be impolite to say, "There's no way in hell I'll be seeing either one of you at lunch."
* * *
Conner rushes through the door as the first period bell rings, with his wet hair and furrowed brow. I don't look at him after that. I have ensconced myself in a Conner-free fortress on the opposite side of the classroom from where we normally sit. There are no vacant chairs around mine. My phone is turned off. And his ex-girlfriend, Jasmine is my gatekeeper.
So there.
Ms. Young starts the class with another reading from Beowulf—the part where he battles the dragon and receives his fatal wound. She looks at me while she reads, like she knows my interest in the poem is waning and she's chosen this particular verse to inspire me.
Wait. Did Ambroise hire Ms. Young because she's a little person?
No, Thea—god. She's at Zachary because she's an amazing teacher. And I need to stop obsessing over these stupid Oz coincidences. I skim the pages of the open book on my desk, trying to find the passage she's reading now, but I can't concentrate. It feels like someone is staring at me.
I glance at Conner and yeah. He looks totally devastated and maybe a tiny bit pissed. There's no way I'm getting to second period without explaining my behavior. My fortification has a fatal flaw. Conner is closer to the door.
He takes hold of my arm when I walk out the classroom and leads me toward the stairs. "I need to exchange this for my French binder," I inform him, indicating my English notebook. He doesn't respond, nor does he stop at my locker.
We descend one flight of stairs in silence but I yank my arm out of his grip when we turn toward the library. "You are not taking me to see her."
"No, and I didn't invite her to the gym this morning—if that's what this is about. But the fact that she was there is kind of a miracle, so..." He blows a breath of frustration. "Am I supposed to apologize for something I had no control of?"
Jasmine is on the landing above us, leaning against the wall. She's not trying to hide the fact that she's watching. Did she follow us out of English?
"People are staring," I whisper.
Conner gestures to the library door. "That's why I was escorting you to the back stairwell."
Oh.
I clutch my notebook against my chest and lead the way, veering down the east wall—far away from the study room—to a seldom-used stairway that takes us to a private landing on the first floor.
"Why did you run away?" he asks, giving me as much space as the cramped room will allow.
"You know why."
Conner shakes his head. "I swear, Thea. I don't."
"Well that's just..."
Shit. Did I imagine the whole thing? The electric hum that passed between us when he threaded his fingers through mine? The seriousness of his tone, the longing in his eyes when he said, "This goes on the list of things that keep me up at night?"
"I had to make up an excuse for your behavior," he says now. And it almost sounds like a reprimand. "You know how Paige is about us."
"Then you should probably stop flirting with me."
"I wasn't."
"Yes, Conner. You absolutely were."
"Well..." He rakes a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to."
My face goes hot. Hotter. "Whatever," I growl, spinning around to reach for the door.
Conner puts a hand on my shoulder. "What I'm trying to say is it wasn't intentional. If I was flirting with you, it's not because I was trying to."
I push against the heavy metal door. My panicky need to get away from him makes me weak and clumsy. Conner reaches around me and turns the knob.
"Thanks a lot, asshole," I say as I make my escape.