I’m perched on the edge of the diving block at the end of lane number three. I adjust my swim cap, press my goggles into my eyes with the heels of my hands, and step into my stance. I scratch the tape three times and dive in.
I spent the whole drive here thinking about my afternoon in Poet’s Corner. Sitting on the stage alone. Reading the poems. Writing my own. And AJ, who may not be my friend, but at least he no longer seems to hate me.
But now, everything is so quiet. Not just the pool, but my mind, too. I don’t even feel the urge to swim to the beat of a song. I’m mentally spent. Out of words. Out of thoughts. It feels so good to be this empty. It’s so peaceful.
Is this what it’s like to be normal?
For the next forty minutes, I follow Coach Kevin’s instructions, but I wish I were here alone, without him yelling at me to swim faster, push myself harder. When practice is over and the rest of the team heads for the showers, I hang back in the water and keep swimming a slow freestyle, back and forth.
Fifteen minutes later, the club is clearing out. The rest of my teammates are in their sweats and swim parkas, heading for the front gates, so I pull myself out of the pool and reach for my towel. As I’m rinsing off, I start thinking about what’s next. If I’m serious about joining Poet’s Corner, I’ll have to step on that stage and read next Monday. If they let me stay, I’ll have to read again. And again. I’ll have to come up with an excuse to miss lunch twice a week.
What am I going to tell the Eights?
My heart is racing as I change into my sweats, and my fingers start tingling as I’m heading for the parking lot. I’m almost out the gate when I spot Caroline sitting cross-legged on the grass by my car.
“Hey. What are you doing here?”
She sits up a little straighter and I read her T-shirt: PROCRASTINATE NOW!
“I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I figured you’d be here, and I didn’t get to see you after, you know…what happened at lunch today.”
“What happened at lunch today?” I joke. With a dramatic face palm, I fall back onto the grass next to her.
“I’m sorry,” she says, laughing.
“Did you tell them about my OCD and my anxiety attacks? Is that why AJ apologized and brought me back downstairs?”
“No,” she says matter-of-factly. “I never said a word.”
“You swear?”
She draws an X across her heart.
Then I remember what Sydney said in history when she invited me to go downstairs with her. I meant to thank Caroline when I first saw her in Poet’s Corner, but I never had the chance to. “You know, they let me back in because of the poem you helped me write,” I say, coming up on my elbow.
“You wrote that.”
“Not alone.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she knows it’s true. If she hadn’t helped me find the right words to apologize to AJ, he never would have forgiven me.
“Thank you.”
She grins. “Anytime.”
“I have to get back on that stage on Monday.”
“I know. And you’ll be fine.” She sounds so certain. I wish I felt that confident.
“And let’s just say for the sake of argument, I pull it off. Then I’ll have to come up with more to read. Which could be problematic since, as you know, most of my stuff is about the…” I spin my finger in a circle around my right temple, but I can’t bring myself to say the word “crazy.”
“They can handle it, you know? The…” She mimics my gesture without saying the word either.
I’m sure they can. But it’s taken me five years to tell anyone outside my family about my disorder, and even though I let Caroline in on my secret, I’m not ready to share it with the rest of the members of Poet’s Corner. Besides, I want their vote, not their sympathy. “I just want to keep it between you and me. At least for now. Okay?”
“You got it.” She presses her lips together and turns an imaginary key, locking my secrets inside.
