Ariel and Tarzan

Coach Josh is all about keeping us lean.

He has us do a lot of high rep, low intensity weight lifting. When we were younger, we only swam and did cardio, but once we turned fourteen, Coach made us start working out with trainers twice a week at a Nashville gym.

At first, I hated it. I worried lifting would make my shoulders huge and that cute dresses wouldn’t fit right anymore. But once I saw how much it toned my body and slimmed me down, I fell in love with it. On top of that, it stripped away the body issues I had in middle school. My butt looks great in a suit, and I know it.

During training, Jason is spotting me on squats. With both hands I balance a bar holding two weights across my shoulder blades. Up I go. Down. Up I go. Down.

I can see Levi in the mirror. He is lying on a weight bench, doing chest press with two big barbells. I try to avoid noticing how great his chest looks in that snug T-shirt.

Coach worries about swimcest because we’re often in the water wearing little more than a scrap of bathing suit. But to me, the weight room—where guys act like cavemen, throwing weights around and grunting, is a lot sexier than Speedos.

“Roxy was bragging online again,” Jason tells me. He still follows her on Snapchat and Twitter. “She posted a picture of you at state. Do you want to know what it said?”

Part of me does, part of me doesn’t.

Levi sits up on the bench, resting two free weights on his thighs. “Maggie doesn’t want to know, idiot.”

“I can answer for myself.” I finish my twelfth squat and place the bar back on the rack. “And no, I don’t want to know.”

“Are you going to tweet or compete?” Coach Josh asks from across the weight room. He hates social media almost as much as swimcest, so we have to suffer through his corny catchphrase lectures.

“Don’t mention Roxy again,” Levi tells Jason.

“Levi, seriously,” I say.

“Less talk, more reps,” Coach Josh calls.

Keeping our mouths shut is the hardest part about lifting weights. You can’t talk under water. It’s easy to get lost in conversation on dry land. But you should always focus in the weight room; someone could seriously get hurt if you aren’t paying careful attention.

Jason adds more weight to the squat bar and moves into position. I spot him from behind. He makes it through six reps, then puts the bar down with a loud grunting sigh.

“You okay?” I ask. He was supposed to do twelve reps. “Dehydrated?”

“My heart’s not in it today.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.

“Dad got pissed I came in second at state to Levi and didn’t place in my other events. He said I’m a fuckup.”

“But you beat Levi at regionals. Your dad was happy about that. I saw him slapping your back and celebrating.”

“He was happy, and now he’s not.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jason does the same workouts we do every single day but has never seemed as focused as Levi and me. Sometimes I wonder if his heart is in it at all. It has to be, to compete at this level. But I’ve often thought it was his father who was invested, not Jason. I mean, I’d never tweet something like, “God I hate swim practice!” which Jason has been known to do.

Nobody’s forcing me to swim. I love it. I want to keep doing it in college and maybe even professionally—if I’m good enough.

“Jason,” Coach Josh calls. “Quit dogging it. Get back to work.”

With blank eyes, Jason finishes the other six reps.

After removing the extra weights he used, I step back up to the squat bar. Through the mirror, I can see Levi still sitting on a weight bench staring my way.

He watches me as I go up and down.

I tell myself he’s probably watching my form, making sure I don’t hurt myself.

Secretly I wish he was staring at me for more romantic reasons. It’s been two weeks since we last kissed. I miss it. I miss him. But I care more about Junior Nationals in Huntsville next weekend than romance.

I’d been willing to figure out how to balance swimming and a relationship, but Levi wasn’t brave enough to even have that conversation. I’m not putting myself out there again for someone who wasn’t willing to simply talk.

I finish my reps and set the squat bar back on the rack. Breathing deeply, I catch my breath and wipe the sweat off my forehead with a towel.

Our eyes meet in the mirror.

I can’t let him distract me, no matter how much I wish he would.

• • •

It’s five days until Junior Nationals.

My first opportunity this year to get an Olympic trial cut and Levi’s first opportunity to prep for the trials in a long course meet. We both have a lot at stake.

Monday afternoon after practice, Coach calls me into his office to watch a video. He makes me sit in the chair behind his computer as he works the mouse beside me. Footage of a meet appears on the screen, but I don’t recognize any of the swimmers.

“Who’s this?” I ask.

“This girl won the Indiana 200 back state championship. You’ll be up against her at Junior Nationals.”

I watch the video. She’s on fire, tooling across the surface of the water, but her finish time was an entire second slower than mine!

The next day, Coach calls me in to watch another YouTube video. It’s another swimmer, the girl who won the Washington state 200 freestyle race. My time was half a second faster.

Coach keeps up this routine all week, including during our van ride to Huntsville. Seven of us qualified to compete in this meet, so it’s a rowdy trip with the guys telling raunchy jokes and threatening to moon other cars and Susannah and me yelling at them to stop. From behind the wheel, Coach tells me to look up a particular swimmer on YouTube who lives in California and did very well at her state championships. I watch a couple of her recent videos. My times are comparable to hers.

“Okay, I get it. I’m good.”

Coach Josh smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “I’m glad you believe it.”

When we get to Huntsville, Coach checks us into our hotel rooms and tells us to meet in the lobby in fifteen minutes for dinner and a team meeting. As far as hotels go, this one’s pretty nice. My bed looks comfy and clean. I should sleep well here.

After Susannah and I finish getting settled in our room, we take the elevator back downstairs. With so many teams here, there’s a lot going on and plenty of people to check out. Guys from other teams say hi to Susannah and me as we walk by. I smile, feeling more confident than I used to around boys. I’m not interested in hooking up with anybody—this meet is way too important to me, but my lessons with Levi paid off in terms of my confidence. Physically, I know what I’m doing with boys now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I keep a look out for Roxy. Then I shake my head and think about the videos Coach showed me and my new gold state championship medal for 200 free that’s hanging from the vanity in my bedroom. I’m not going to concentrate on her anymore.

I’m going to focus on the qualifying cuts for the trials: 2:02:39 for 200-meter free and 2:16:59 in 200-meter back.

On top of that, Coach Josh is putting me in the prelims for 50/100/200 in free and back, just to see how I do. I am pumped.

Coach drives us to a nearby pizza place for dinner, where the waiter is thrilled to serve a bunch of boys and girls who eat entire pizzas on their own.

While waiting for our food to arrive, Jason decides to conduct a Twitter poll on his phone. He posts: Which Speedo should I wear tomorrow?

• Red

• Black

• Purple

• Pink

We all get out our phones and start voting for pink. By the time our pizza comes, he has three hundred votes, and pink is winning at 90 percent.

Once we are carbed up for tomorrow, it’s team meeting time. Otherwise known as a lecture on common sense.

Coach looks at each of us one by one. “You’ve worked hard to get here. Don’t screw it up. Everyone better be in bed by nine o’clock tonight. I’ll be checking your rooms. And no sneaking out.” Coach looks pointedly at Jason, who’s rooming with Levi.

Back at the hotel after Coach does his room checks, Susannah climbs out of bed. She strips off her pajamas and wiggles into a black mini dress.

“Are you really going out?” I ask.

She slips on a pair of strappy black sandals. “Did you see that guy from Dallas? Jon? He is so hot. He said his team is sneaking out to a club.”

“Wouldn’t you rather wait until the meet is over?”

“That’s four days from now! He might meet someone else.” She spritzes perfume on her neck and checks her lip gloss one last time. “Wish me luck!”

“You’re out of your mind!” I call as the door clicks shut.

Shaking my head, I turn off the lights, fall backward onto my pillow that I brought from home, and stare at the ceiling. Sleep. I want to sleep. But I’m totally amped up. I didn’t work out today and have way too much leftover energy. Maybe I should jump on the bed or something. Coach would probably say that’s an unsanctioned activity.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Levi: What are you doing?

Me: Lying here trying to fall asleep. Susannah snuck out.

Levi: Oh yeah? Jason invited some girl over and now they’re in bed.

Me: With you in the room?

Levi: He is an exhibitionist.

Me: Ick.

Levi: You’re telling me. It’s like Cirque du Soleil over here.

I cringe.

Levi: Can I come over?

His words shock me so much I accidentally drop my phone on my face. It hits me in the chin. Ow. I scramble to pick it back up. Does he want to come over to get away from Jason? Or does he want to spend alone time with me? The romantic part of me wants that; the realistic side says nope.

Dad always says “Don’t plan to serve a Baked Alaska when an ice cream sundae will do.” In other words, sometimes the simple solution is best. Levi probably only wants to get away from Jason’s sexual circus.

I text him back. Okay.

A minute later, Levi appears at my door, barefoot, wearing a comfortable gray T-shirt, track pants, and a ball cap flipped backward. He’s carrying his own blue pillow from home. I let him in. I’m in a stretchy tank top and pajama shorts. I notice that Levi goes out of his way not to look directly at me.

We’ve hung out alone in our hotel rooms on trips before, but not since we started hooking up. How do I make this less awkward? Offer him a snack from the minibar? Isn’t that how people come on to each other in movies? I can’t do that. Plus, when Susannah was rooting through the minibar earlier, she found plenty of options for contraception. I decide not to explore the minibar.

“Want to watch something on TV?” I ask with a thick voice, and he nods. I flick on the TV and scroll through the guide. I stop on Tangled, my favorite Disney movie.

We lie down on the bed next to each other, like we used to at his house. After tossing his cap on the foot of the bed, he stretches an arm behind his head, propping himself up so he can see the screen. I lie on my side. Two feet of space stretches out between us, but it’s not far enough. I can still hear his steady breathing. If I listened hard enough, could I hear his heart?

He yawns. I yawn. It’s eleven o’clock. This is way later than we normally stay up at home. It sucks that Jason and Susannah are messing up our schedule.

“I can’t sleep,” I say. “I need to get some rest or I’m gonna be a wreck in the morning.”

“Me too… C’mere,” he says, reaching out to me.

I stare at his extended arm. “What are you doing?”

“Let me try to help you get to sleep.”

We’ve done this before. When my cat died a couple years ago, Levi came over to comfort me while I cried, and he held me until I finally dozed off. We’ve napped together too. But this feels different. He’s not simply a human pillow. He’s a human pillow with whom I recently got very physical.

I curl up in the crook of his arm, resting my cheek on his warm chest, shutting my eyes.

“If you could be any Disney princess, which one would you be?” he asks softly.

“Ariel, obviously. I’d be a great mermaid. Which prince would you be?”

“Tarzan, duh.”

“Tarzan isn’t a prince.”

“But he’s a Disney hero. And he wears a loin cloth, just like me.”

I snort, and snuggle closer to him. A few weeks ago, I would’ve been taking off his clothes and kissing his neck. This would have been our first time alone in a hotel room since I propositioned him. I probably would’ve been thinking about bananas and condoms from the minibar and whether I was ready for that.

But now—I think back to the ice cream sundae and forget the Baked Alaska. I clear my head, warm and relaxed in his arms, and drift to sleep.

I wake up to the door slamming shut. My eyes blink open to find Susannah standing there in her black dress with mussed hair and smeared mascara.

“Holy shit,” she says, gaping at us, wobbly in her heels.

Levi and I are completely wrapped around each other like two starfish. We sit up, sheets falling down around our waists.

I rub my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Two thirty.” Susannah reaches for the doorknob. “Did I interrupt you guys? I can come back.”

“We were sleeping,” I say.

“I’ll go back to my room,” Levi says, yawning as he rolls out of bed cradling his pillow in his arms. “Maybe the circus is over now.”

After waving bye to him, I curl up under the covers and shut my eyes. With the TV off, the room is silent—until Susannah goes and breaks it.

“Seriously. Did you guys do it?”

I sigh, desperate for some rest. “No.”

“Have you done it?”

“No,” I say a little more forcefully.

She squeals a little and kicks her feet up and down. “But you’re totally going to! I always knew you guys would get together.”

First Georgia, now Susannah. I don’t even bother telling her been there, done that, and it’s over.

Because it is over.

But God, did it feel good in his arms.

It takes a long time for me to fall back asleep.

• • •

Morning comes way too early. Not as early as I normally get up for the drive to Nashville but still early. We don’t have a practice—it’s straight to the races.

As I’m putting on my blue and white New Wave sweats, Levi texts me, asking to meet up. I finish getting ready, grab my bag, and take the elevator downstairs, trying to ignore the knots in my stomach. This is a big week.

In the lobby I find him sitting on a sofa, bent over tying his tennis shoes, a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth.

“Morning,” I tell him quietly.

He takes a bite of the toast and smiles at me. “Sleep good?”

“Not my best.” I sit down next to him and check my phone. “You?”

“I slept better in your room. Once Jason got rid of the circus performer, he fell asleep and started snoring as usual.”

“Hey, Maggie! Hey, Levi!” a voice calls. I look up, and Roxy is walking across the lobby with the Memphis Marines in their green sweats. She gives me a smile and a wave.

I ignore her. So does Levi. He glances over at me and swallows.

Whatever. I can’t let her—or him—affect me today.

Coach Josh drives us to the Huntsville Springs Natatorium, where the four-day meet is taking place. This meet is longer than the high school meets back in Tennessee because a lot more people will be competing in the preliminary heats. First up today are prelims for breaststroke, which I’m not swimming, so I have some downtime. I stand at the end of Levi’s lane and cheer for him during the 100 preliminary, where he breaks his seed time and gets put into a faster heat for the semifinal. That is amazing considering the level of swimmers at this meet.

These are the best young swimmers in the United States.

Later in the day, he comes in fifth place at the final. Club swimming is a whole lot tougher than going against kids back in Tennessee. Plus, he complains that his ankle is tight. Levi’s disappointed; he swam the race of his life but didn’t get cuts to qualify for 100 breast at the trials. He is hoping to qualify for more than one event at the trials in Omaha. At least he’ll have two more tries in Atlanta and Cincinnati.

Coach has me do prelims for butterfly that afternoon, but I’m not competitive in the stroke. I don’t even qualify to move on to the A final. I’m placed in the D group.

That evening, I have way too much energy. During free time, Jason and Susannah convince me to walk down the street to play minigolf. Minigolf is a sanctioned activity because, according to Coach, very little can go wrong in minigolf. I mean, unless somebody rockets a ball at your forehead.

Levi is too tired to go along and wants to ice his ankle. Truth be told, after last night I’m relieved to be apart from him. At least for a little while.

Of course, as I’m aiming my golf ball down the green past a little windmill, Susannah brings up last night. “So what were you and Levi doing in bed together?”

I lose control of my club, and the ball goes way off course, missing the hole and bouncing off the brick ledge.

“Just sleeping,” I say.

“You and Levi are sleeping together?” Jason blurts.

“No! I mean, yes, we were sleeping together, but not sleep sleeping together. Resting.” Aggravated, I shake my head. “Look, we’re not doing it.”

Jason makes perverted movements with his golf club. “Bow-chicka-wow-wow.”

I roll my eyes.

After one game, I regret coming out with them because they suddenly appear to be the horniest people ever. They will not stop making comments about mine and Levi’s nonexistent sex life. So I decide to head back to the hotel on my own while they stay for another round of golf.

The hotel lobby is filled with swimmers gossiping and having a good time. I pass a group of guys who say hi, returning their smiles, but continue on to the elevator and ride up to my floor. I need some sleep. My prelims for 100/200 backstroke start tomorrow morning at nine.

As I get off the elevator, I see movement down the corridor from my room. Levi is standing outside his door with an ice bucket under his arm, chatting with a pretty girl who has long black hair and swims for the Atlanta Bullets. I think her name is Kara. He’s smiling at whatever she’s saying. He didn’t play minigolf because he wanted some rest…but he has the energy to flirt?

She leans closer to him, and he doesn’t stop her. I can’t watch this. I shove my key card in the reader, push my door open, and shut it quietly before he sees me.

Shaking with disbelief, I let out a sob into my hands. I never expected to become jealous like this—a girl who cries over a boy. Then again, I didn’t expect to grow feelings for him. My chest hurts so much my heart must be breaking in two.

After putting on pajamas and climbing into bed, I work to keep my tears at bay by biting on my lower lip. I can’t cry. It’s too dangerous. My tears might drain into my throat and chest, causing me to get sick before my races tomorrow.

Maybe he’s not hooking up with her. Maybe he went into his room and she went back to hers, and now he’s reading that urban fantasy novel about werewolves using a dating service in New York that he was so excited about, and she’s calling her boyfriend back home because she was never interested in Levi in the first place.

I need to know.

So I send him our usual bedtime text: Good night

My phone rests on the bed next to me. I keep waiting for it to light up. But the text doesn’t come for over an hour.

Good night, M

He could have been doing anything in that time, I tell myself, but most likely he was kissing a girl who is not me.

I can’t fall asleep for hours. It’s not his fault I developed deeper feelings for him. He is allowed to live his life, and that means kissing whoever he wants. Still, it sucks big time. It also sucks that I’ve been obsessing over a guy when I should be focused on my sport. What was I thinking?

The next morning in the lobby, I read my parents’ encouraging good luck texts while I pick at my protein bar. It tastes like dirt. Levi joins me right as I’m finishing the food I’m not hungry for. He has bags under his eyes. Was he up all night with that girl?

With ginger movements, Levi lowers his bag to the floor, sits down next to me, and starts rotating his foot in slow circles.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

“Stiff. A little sore, but not bad.”

“Are you going to swim today?”

“I dunno. Doesn’t seem worth it to swim free and butterfly since I already swam breast yesterday.”

I get that. Rather than risk further straining his ankle, it may be better to start fresh in Atlanta in a few weeks.

He lets out a long sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I’m sick of Jason. He had that girl over again last night.”

“Didn’t you have somebody over too?”

He gives me a look of surprise. “No. I didn’t. Why’d you think that?”

“I saw you in the hall with that girl from the Atlanta Bullets.”

From his bag, he passes over a carton of chocolate milk he picked up for me. “Oh. Yeah. We were just talking.”

“Oh. It took you forever to answer my text last night.”

“I was exhausted because of my foot and passed out early without meaning to. I answered your text when Jason woke me up.”

My face flushes. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

“I haven’t been with anybody, Maggie.”

I’m so relieved, I let out a big sigh, and he totally notices.

Levi’s eyebrows pinch together as he studies my face. “You were scared I was with her?”

I nod, muttering, “This is weird.”

He hasn’t slept with another girl. Yet. But it will happen. He won’t stay celibate forever. Leaning my head back against the couch, I stare at the ceiling.

Levi scooches closer and pats my hand. “We’ll figure it out. You’re my best friend, okay?”

Susannah comes and flops down in a chair across from us. “You two doing it yet?”

Levi starts coughing into his fist.

“I told you,” I reply. “We’re not doing it.”

Coach Josh appears behind us. “Nobody is doing anybody—it’s time to go. Get in the van.”

As we’re carrying our bags outside, Susannah elbows me. “If I were you, I’d be hitting that.”

“Seriously, stop,” I say, and she nods, hopefully understanding that she’s hurting me.

At the pool, I take a shower and start stretching. I have my prelims for back this morning at nine, and if I qualify for any finals, they start tonight at five. This is what I’ve been working toward my whole life. All that matters is how I swim today.

Levi and I cheer for Jason and Susannah during their prelims, and then it’s my turn to warm up. I splash into the practice lane. Coach Josh walks along the side, watching my form. I’m feeling good, especially since this is long course, and I have room to stretch out and increase my speed in the middle of the race when other swimmers start to fade. This is my favorite.

For 200 back prelims, I’m put into a very fast group thanks to my seed time. I hop into the water and reach up to grab the bars so I can launch myself into the race.

I’m in lane seven. Three lanes down in lane four is Katarina Ericson, who is only nineteen but already had a spot on the Olympic team four years ago. I can’t believe I’m swimming against her. This race is simply a warm up for her, as she prepares for the Olympics in August. I’m sure she’ll get a spot on the team again. It’s humbling that I’m simply working to get a tryout for a tryout for the US Olympic team.

Don’t drag your feet, don’t drag your feet, I chant to myself.

The buzzer sounds, I launch backward—toes pointed, and swim my heart out. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Katarina pulling ahead. Nothing’s worse than seeing people go by you when you can’t make your legs go any faster.

After four lengths of the pool, I finish the race and swirl around to check my times on the scoreboard. I come in third behind Katarina and Roxy. My time is 2:17.30. Seven-tenths of a second behind what I need to qualify for the trials. I groan under my breath. It’s not terrible, but not good enough either. I need to shave off almost an entire second if I want to be competitive. And the swimmers at this level are insanely competitive. At these elite long course meets, you’ll often see three or four swimmers get their cuts in a single race.

Later that day at the A final, it’s basically a repeat of that morning’s heat. I manage to get a 2:17:25, which is slightly better, but I come in third place again. In addition to winning the race, Katarina’s time qualifies her for Omaha, even though she already probably qualified in an earlier race. I lean my head against the wall, panting hard, pissed at myself. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person not getting my cuts. That’s not true, but still.

“Wooo, Maggie!”

I look up to find Coach, Levi, and the rest of my team cheering me on. I beam up at them.

I climb out of the pool, and Levi sweeps me into his arms. “Third place!”

“You’re getting better and better,” Coach says. “We’ll shave that time off.”

Eventually, I think. But will it be in time to qualify?

Outside the locker room after a shower, I meet up with Levi so we can grab the van back to the hotel. That’s when someone touches my shoulder. Katarina Ericson. “You’re good. Great race.”

I beam at her, and Levi goes all wide-eyed as she walks off.

“Wow, none of the big guys have ever said something like that to me,” he says. “We should celebrate.”

“With a pizza party?” I tease, mimicking his grandparents.

Levi smiles easily. “If that’s what you want.”

“What I really need is a nap and a smoothie.”

“You got it, boss.” Levi picks up my bag to carry it for me.

It’s not until I’m back at the hotel, changing into jeans and a long-sleeved tee, that I realize I haven’t thought about Roxy once.

I smile at myself in the mirror and dry my hair.