Hurdle: The jump to the end of the springboard taken from one foot following the approach or walk down the length of the board.
THE COLOR red is everywhere—Sharks, Sharks, Sharks. The extreme display of Andover spirit pulsing in every corner is fueling my red-hot frustration with their front office staff.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Disbelief sputters from my lips as I shove the newspaper article in the school secretary’s face. “She was a student here from 1984 to 1988. Look!”
She gives it another cursory glance and turns up her nose. Probably because all she sees is the part about Mom being suspended for drug use.
“There’s nothing in the system, which means there’s nothing I can do to help.” She eyes my Ellis Hollow jacket before handing back my birth certificate, flashing a quick grin that displays an irregular row of large teeth. Fitting for a Shark.
“So that’s it?” I ask. “As far as this school is concerned Sophia Rogan was never a student here? That’s great. Awesome.”
“Even if there were anything on file, I couldn’t give it to you without the student’s written consent. You can file a request with the Family Policy Compliance Office of the U.S. Department of Education.”
Jeezus.
I spent my entire day in a daze. Waiting to get here so I could find some shred of evidence that my mom was a living, breathing human being who left traces behind only to be met with this crap.
I flip an apologetic look at Chip for wasting his only afternoon off from practice to help me chase another dead end.
He’s leaning on the counter, eyes steady, index finger hooked around his mouth, thumb under his chin. Thinking this through in full Watson-mode. I start to open my mouth and he kicks me with the side of his foot to shut me up.
“We understand it’s not your fault the record was misplaced. But there must be some way we can verify Ms. Rogan’s time as a student here.” He gives the school secretary a smile I’ve only seen him wield around girls he wants to bone: dimples deep enough to hide a marble, a single cocked eyebrow.
The woman cuts me a disapproving glance and turns her attention to Chip, patting her over-dyed blond hair. “You could try the district office,” she says. “But if you’re merely after unofficial proof, our library should have the yearbooks from the eighties.”
“Great idea,” Chip says. “I knew an intelligent, and may I add beautiful, woman like yourself might suggest a suitable solution. Which way is the library?” He moves his arms, pointing in multiple directions.
“Go back through this door and take a left, dear. Then go to the end, take a right, and you’ll see a sign for the library pointing you in the right direction.” Her eyes flick to the clock on the wall. “It’s highly unlikely you’ll find anyone there. We’re a bit short staffed after school.”
“We’ll give it a try,” Chip says. “Left, end, right, sign. Thanks for your help.” He winks at the middle-aged woman and makes a clicking sound with his cheek.
“Are you for real?” I ask once we’re in the hallway. “You called me the Eddie Haskell?”
“Watching you kiss my mom’s ass taught me a thing or two. Plus, haven’t you ever heard you’ll catch more flies with honey?”
“Yes. But the only thing I’ve been getting from office flies lately is shit. Loads of freaking shit. I can’t believe they don’t have her records. What the hell is that? The county clerk didn’t have anything. The school doesn’t have anything. Jeezus! It’s like she…” I stop walking.
“It’s like she what?” Chip asks.
“Nothing.”
“It’s like she what? Say it.”
“Got erased from existence.”
“That’s bullshit,” Chip says. “We’re gonna find something in this dumb school and lay that hang-up of yours to rest.”
I raise my brows. “You think it’s gonna be that easy?”
“I didn’t say it was gonna be easy, bro. But you and I both know this has fuck-all to do with Malone’s project at this point.”
“True.”
“You didn’t come this far to only come this far, did you?”
“Now you sound like my dad.”
Chip shrugs, giving my dad more credit than I ever did.
The smell of chlorine hits us as we round the second corner. Shimmering waves of light seep under the swinging doors leading to the Andover pool.
Chip says, “If I were a bigger dick I might be inclined to take a leak in their pool.”
“Since when are you not the biggest dick?”
“True. Maybe I’ll execute project golden shower on the way out,” he says. “Right now we’re on a mission.”
We find Andover’s massive library at the end of the dark corridor, but the doors are locked, lights off.
“Crap. Why is it always hallways and locked doors?”
“What do you mean?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I’m screwed. Let’s get out of here before I decide to piss in the pool with you.”
“Now you’re talking. Drain the main vein. Point Percy at the pool. Take a Wiz Khalifa.”
“I got it, Chip. Don’t hurt yourself.”
We pass a janitor mopping the floor as we backtrack to the front of the building, followed by a few students still here after school for clubs or sports. Their eyes rove over our black and orange Ellis Hollow jackets suspiciously, but nobody questions our presence.
I stop short as we pass Coach McGee’s office with a change of plan.
“If Coach Porter keeps files on every diver, wouldn’t McGee do the same?”
“It stands to reason,” Chip says. “Go on.”
“If that’s standard practice, then there may be an old folder on my mom in there.” I try the doorknob. Locked. “Shit.”
“Try this,” Chip says, handing me a nail clipper.
“Why do you have a nail clipper in your pocket?”
“I was clipping my nails in the parking lot while waiting for you because sometimes that’s the only opportunity I get between practice and homework and chores. Are you gonna sweat me on my grooming habits or are you gonna pick that lock?”
Good point.
“What about the janitor?”
“He was going the other way. If he turns back, we’ll hear him coming. I’ll stay out here.”
I chew the inside of my cheek and review my options.
“Fuck it.” I crouch and start working on the lock. Heat steams up from my chest as I jiggle the tiny metal file in the lock and feel for the catch. The click is almost imperceptible, but it’s there, and once it catches I turn the knob slowly to the right, keeping the metal shim steady as the lock gives way.
“Holy shit, Sherlock,” Chip whispers. “Go.”
I enter Coach McGee’s dark office with a sideways gait and walk straight into his desk. I curse in a groan as I reach for the light switch on the wall behind me. The first thing I see is a huge white board emblazoned with the names of Andover divers. His seed list. The red dry-erase scrawl mocks me, testing my capacity for doing what’s right. Even though being in here automatically puts me in the wrong. I’m only after one thing, so I avert my eyes. Coach McGee’s desk is strewn with files and paperwork. His silver whistle and red lanyard left in a heap in the center. The tiny office leaves little room for more than his desk and two chairs. But there’s a storage nook recessed into the opposite wall. That’s where I begin my search. Filing cabinets line one wall. Shelves stacked with storage boxes line the other with four feet of space separating them. I open a drawer at random, but the files are too recent. I leave it open and crouch to try another, thinking I’ll find the chronological order that’ll point me to the right set of drawers.
“You find anything?”
Chip’s voice startles me and I stand too quickly, slamming the top of my head into a drawer I left open. The clang gnashes my teeth. “Jeezus! I thought you were keeping watch?”
“I thought it would be quicker if I helped.” He turns the light off.
“We need that. There’s no overhead in here.”
“Chill, bro. This is less conspicuous.” He clicks the small LED flashlight he keeps on his key chain and shines it over the cabinets. “What year was she? What am I looking for?”
“Anything from 1984 to 1988. These cabinets are from the last decade. We should try the boxes.”
“On it.” Chip shines his light over the labels. “Up there. Look: 1987 to 1990.”
Finally.
I stretch high and grab the cardboard file box, missing Chip’s head by an inch when gravity rushes the box downward with a cloud of dust. The onslaught clings to our lungs with the sticky persistence of spiderwebs, making us cough. I lift one knee, balancing the box against the shelf, and remove the lid. Chip shines his flashlight inside and we scan the folders.
“Rogan, Sophia.” Chip says. “Boom! There it is.”
My heart goes ape-shit, pounding hard enough to bust through its bony cage.
I’m pulling out the file when the lights snap on in Coach McGee’s office.
“What the hell are you two doing in here?”
I stumble backward into the filing cabinets, the weight of the file box giving me an extra push, and the bruise on my back takes a wallop from one of the U-shaped handles.
Rocco is standing in the open doorway. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. After you accused me of coming to Monarch Night to spy.”
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“It looks like you came here to steal shit,” Rocco says. His eyes shoot to the white board. “Why are you guys in the storage closet?”
“Theo’s mom used to dive for Andover,” Chip says with a huff. “He’s been running all over looking for information on her for a school project but can’t find anything, so we came here. The front office lady was useless, but we realized Coach McGee might have something.”
“Your mom was a Shark?” Rocco says in disbelief. “As in you’ve been diving with Andover blood in your veins this whole time? Ever think you might be diving for the wrong team?”
“Not even for a second.” I hoist the file box back into the gap on the top shelf.
Rocco points at his cheek. “What happened there? Another dive get away from you, Big Mack?”
“Bite me.”
“Ouch. Looks like somebody needs a Happy Meal.” He scans the boxes. “Why didn’t you just ask Coach Porter to call McGee for what you needed? Or talk to McGee yourself for that matter.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Seems pretty simple to me.”
“Imagine how that might look,” Chip says. “I can see the bogus headline in the school paper now: ‘ELLIS HOLLOW DIVING CAPTAIN IN TALKS WITH ANDOVER HEAD COACH.’ Everyone would assume Theo was a traitor.” Soon as the words leave Chip’s mouth, we all realize what they imply about Rocco, all defector jokes aside. Everyone avoids eye contact for a few seconds.
“If we’re talking headlines, it would look a lot better than ‘ELLIS HOLLOW DIVING CAPTAIN CAUGHT BREAKING INTO ANDOVER COACH’S OFFICE.’ You’re lucky one of the assistant coaches didn’t catch you in here. You’d be toast. Good-bye scholarships. Good-bye swim team.”
“What are you doing in here?” Chip asks. “You guys don’t have practice.”
“No. District coaches’ meeting, same as you. But I have a hookup for the pool after hours. I’m here working on a new dive.”
“Alone? Are you stupid?” I ask. Because I’m picturing Rocco the way I saw him at the quarry, facedown in the swimming hole, motionless.
“I have a training partner with me.” Rocco presses his tongue inside his cheek, scratching his jaw as he walks all the way into the storage closet. He raises his eyes to the one file box protruding a fraction more than the others. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Not exactly,” I say. “But if you’re willing to turn your back for five minutes…”
“You know I can’t let you take anything out of the office. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep my mouth shut about all this”—Rocco waves his index fingers around the closet—“and I’ll make a copy of that file for you. But I want something in return. You still owe me from Monarch Night.”
“Not that you kept your mouth shut about my smack, but what do you have in mind?”
“I’m not sure.” Rocco cuts a quick glance at Chip, even though his satisfied smirk tells me he knows exactly what he wants. He’s gone from copacetic sympathizer to full-fledged turncoat in a flash.
So much for old times.
“Chip, can you go keep an eye out while I talk to Rocco alone for a minute?”
He looks a little offended but says, “Yeah. Okay. Sure. I’ll make some noise if anyone is coming.”
As soon as Chip is out of earshot Rocco says, “A little birdie told me someone on your team is rolling out a big dive on Friday.”
“So?”
“So, that’s what I want.”
“Come on. I can’t give you my mom’s favorite dive. Especially since I barely glanced at McGee’s white board.”
“See, I think you can. And after you give it some thought, I think you will. Because there’s only one optional dive I’m after and it’s not yours. One dive that if given to a captain on another team might keep you at your current ranking at E.H.H.S. Scholarship to Stanford secured.”
Rocco adjusts his glasses, but I’m the one starting to see things clearly.
If I give him Les’s dive, Rocco can come out as Andover’s sleeper. Making Les look like less.
I chew the inside of my cheek. “Does it have to be Les’s dive? What if I give you something equally as solid? I’d even be willing to come train with you at night on a new dive combination.”
“It has to be that one. I have my reasons.”
Part of me wants to give it to him and make Les’s dive this season’s big give instead of its big take. The other part needs to decide what the information on my mom is worth to me. It’s not like Rocco doesn’t know that optional dives are sacred, or that diving is as much about who will perform the dive as the combinations themselves; he just doesn’t seem to care.
“Are you mad at him or something?” I ask. “I saw you two arguing on Monarch Night.”
“Or something.”
I shake my head and chew the inside of my cheek. “This is a bad idea.”
“Oh, man!” Rocco’s face broadens into an ear-to-ear grin. “You don’t think I can pull it off.”
“I don’t think I can pull it off. I need to think it through.”
“Don’t take too long, Mackey. The clock’s ticking.”
“Chip and I will be at the diner tomorrow night around seven. Can you meet us there?”
“Can you throw in a couple Big Mack Attacks? I missed out on Monarch Night.”
“That’s prescribed to me. If you got caught…”
“It’s not prescribed to Chip, is it? Or Ace Coburn. You don’t seem to have a problem giving them an edge.”
Shit.
“Bring me my mom’s file and we’ll take it from there.”
“Does that mean we have a deal?”
“That’s depends on whether or not you follow through.”
“I feel like we should kiss on it,” he says. “To seal your deal with the devil properly.”
“Still a hard pass, Rocco. But thanks for asking this time.”
He shrugs. “We all live and learn.”
That’s the most either of us has ever said about that subject. Maybe that’s all that ever needed to be said.
That ease is short-lived once I file out of Coach McGee’s office and see Chip waiting.
“Hasta el viernes, muchachos,” Rocco says. “I’ve got a date with the pool.”
“Buenos nachos.” Chip gives him a bro-hug, totally clueless about what went down in McGee’s office.
And something tells me to protect his plausible deniability in case there’s any blowback.
We go our separate ways. Rocco heading to the shimmering light of the pool, Chip and me into the nearly empty Andover parking lot. Neither of us looks back.
“What did he want?” Chip asks as we climb into my truck.
“He was looking to settle an old beef between us.”
“Did he hook you up with your mom’s file?”
“Not yet, but he will. He’s gonna meet us at the diner tomorrow night.” I start Bumblebee’s engine and let Chip pick the music.
“See. I told you he was one of our boys,” Chip says.
Was is right.