Deep End

MEI TAKES ME ASIDE BEFORE THE FLIGHT HOME, EYES ALL business. I brace for a lecture on the ways I disappointed her, but she surprises me.

“Here’s what I’d do if I were you, between now and the Olympic trials. Stop wasting your time on the springboard.”

I blink. “I . . . what?”

“No offense. Actually—full offense. Take this as the harsh reality check it’s meant to be.” She shrugs. “Unless the Three Wise Men visit you bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, and a spanking new hurdle, you’re not going to win three meters. The ten-meter platform? When you’re good, you’re fantastic. But you make too many mistakes, and there’s only one way to beat that out of yourself.” I’m so terrified that she’ll bring up corporal punishment, the conclusion is almost underwhelming. “Train smarter. Be more selective. And you could stand to lose a couple degrees of difficulty.”

I scowl. “My degrees of difficulties are already lower than before my injury—”

“Guess what? You have a different body now. Stop living in the past. You’re less flexible but have better control. What you need is consistency.”

I hate that there’s no magic button, no sleight of hand except for hard work. I still thank Mei for everything she’s done, which is a lot.

“And, Vandy?” she calls after me.

I turn around on my way out.

“Send me your TiVos if you need pointers. I love telling people what they’re doing wrong.”

Lukas wins three golds, a silver, and two bronzes.

The airport in Amsterdam is leather-market crowded, and his fingers hook into the belt loops of my jeans to keep me as close as possible. With the aquatics-loving population denser than usual, people recognize him every ten steps. Other athletes, but also a couple of families, and a group of American girls who look at him like he is, in fact, an underwear model. He’s pleasant about it, but I can tell he hates it, so while he’s at the ticketing desk, I buy him an orange Netherlands hat and the douchiest pair of sunglasses I can find.

I snicker at his Are you for fucking real? frown. Hoot at the challenge in his expression as he puts both on, and snap a picture to add to his contact.

“You have me in your phone as Lukas Penelope?”

“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t sure how to spell your last name. There are some backasswards q’s and v’s in there.”

He gives me an unimpressed look and holds out his hand, demanding, so I give him my phone.

“Write your name, though, not dumb stuff. Maryam checks my notifications if I leave my phone out. She found out that Barb had broken up with her boyfriend before me.”

“What’s dumb stuff?”

“I don’t know. Sex god. Master. Daddy Dom.”

His mouth twitches. “Can’t hide from the truth, Scarlett.”

“I hate you.”

“Of course you do.” A kiss, warm against my forehead.

My ticket was for basic economy, while Sweden sprang for one of the fancier sections that live between first class and the plebs. I don’t know how Lukas pulled it off, but when we board, I find myself miraculously seated next to him. I lean against his shoulder and half nap, half watch The Office while he reads a book in Swedish. His hand never leaves my thigh.

“Stay with me tonight,” he asks when we land. Except that it’s not a question. We’re jet-lagged and exhausted, and I’m still a bit fucked out from last night, but I nod, and my heart cartwheels at his pleased smile.

We’ve spent the last ten days together. Why not one more?

When we get to his house, all the lights are off. “Where are Hasan and Kyle?”

He shrugs. Before he can stick the key into the hole, the door springs open. “Surprise!”

The loudest voice is Pen’s, but the entire swimming and diving team is here, clapping and cheering, startling my half-asleep brain. Some bass-heavy music is switched on, and a blue and yellow balloon lands at my feet. The homemade banners are a particularly tasteful touch.

CONGRATS!!

FUCK YOU SWEEDY IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN TEAM USA

PLS BREAK A LEG BEFORE THE OLYMPICS WE LOVE YOU

And my personal favorite:

U GUYS ALREADY HAVE IKEA AND LIVABLE WAGES,
LEAVE US SOMETHING

Lukas reads them with a deepening scowl, then crosses his arms. “Really?” Judging by the roar of laughter, his stern tone is a hit. Pen presses a giggly kiss into his cheek, and I clench my fist. There are high fives and backslaps and lots of congrats, man, bro, dude, a glass of something pushed in his hand. Before Hunter whisks him away, Lukas turns back to me with a wistful look. I cannot help a smile.

If people think that it’s weird that we appeared together, no one mentions it. Maybe they assume I knew about the surprise. Maybe I’m just invisible. Pen, the twins, and Victoria give me long, warm hugs. We’ve been texting back and forth in the team group chat, but I hadn’t realized how much I missed them.

“Was Europe cool?” Bree asks. “Were there lots of castles?”

“Um . . . not that I noticed.”

“What about shoe cobblers? Horses? Carriages?”

Victoria pats her back. “Babe, it’s not the Oregon Trail.”

I can barely keep my eyes open. I drift away as soon as the opportunity arises, brushing past people mainlining beer. What day of the week is it? “Have you seen Lukas?” I ask Hasan, who points to the ceiling.

“On the phone with his dad.”

I find him sitting on the edge of his bed, right as he hangs up. “Hey.” Being with him is a second wind.

“Hey.” He reaches for my wrist and pulls me between his legs. “Thoughts on how to get rid of them?”

“Hmm.” I pretend to think. He runs his palm over the back of my thigh. “Do you have a turnip cart on hand?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’m not—”

“Hey, you.” We turn, and Pen’s at the door.

Instinctively, I try to put some distance between Lukas and me, but his grip tightens. “Hey,” he says, relaxed, like this is not weird, and we aren’t doing anything wrong.

And we aren’t.

But it is.

Pen’s eyes travel over the place where our bodies make contact, but her smile betrays nothing. “Do you need a ride home?” she asks me.

I freeze. Do I? I assumed I wouldn’t, but . . .

“She doesn’t, Pen.”

“Okey dokey. Luk, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, what’s going on?”

“Alone,” she adds.

His eyes narrow, but I take a firm step away.

“Let’s talk tomorrow,” Lukas tells her. Not a suggestion. “Scarlett and I—”

“It’s okay. I need to use the restroom.” I smile, too, and exchange another hug with Pen on my way out.

“So happy that you’re back,” she whispers.

“Me, too.”

The door closes behind me, and I tell myself that there’s no reason for the nausea floating in my stomach. They’re friends. Lukas has made it clear that he’s no longer romantically interested in her.

I snake my way through the crowd, but there’s lots of alcohol flowing, and no one notices me. I’m zonking out. Swaying. When I close my eyes, waterfowl honk into my ear.

It’s shitty, leaving a party without telling anyone, but I call an Uber. In the back seat, I shoot Lukas a quick text, and that’s when the floor flips out from underneath me.

His renamed contact reads LUKAS SCARLETT.