Treading Water, page 3
Anna claps her hands twice, looking more like a cheerleader than our water polo captain. She moves to stand before us. Emily sighs and I agree with her sentiment as the team moves into a large circle and we lounge on the ground, stretching as Anna leads us through each one.
Fallon and the other coach bring out the caps and balls and start dragging the goals into each end of the deep pool. Excitement hums through me. Fallon has had us only running shooting and passing drills for the last few weeks, outside of the ones he worked with me, but it’s not the same as the motions of the game.
We stand and go through arm stretches before Anna waves us off to strip out of the clothes covering the one-piece suits and put on our thin silicone swim caps. Emily bounces on her feet as she pushes the cap towards me and I hold it open for her as she ducks her head and I snap it over her hair.
“I think I’m going to cut it this week. I’m so sick of the headaches from pushing all my hair into the cap,” she gripes.
I run my fingers through my shoulder-length brown hair with a grin. “I honestly didn’t notice a difference.”
“You mean besides not having a large cone at the back, making your head look all deformed.”
Laughing, I hand her my cap to do the same and gather all my hair into a quick twist before shoving it all into the vital piece of swim equipment. Emily lets the band go as it snaps against my forehead and I hiss, glaring at her. She throws me a wicked grin before skipping towards the pool. I adjust the cap where I want it resting at my hairline, pull it over my ears, and then tug down the tight swimsuit where it has slid up my ass cheeks. For something that is so tight against my body that it makes my breasts nearly flat, it sure has a bad habit of trying to give me a wedgie.
“I didn’t know you were on the team.”
I blink, turning to a familiar smiling face. I can’t remember his name, but I know we’ve practically become unspoken seat neighbors in our English class. “The sweatshirt I basically live in didn’t give it away?”
He laughs. “Clearly, I lack observation skills.”
“So do I since I didn’t know you were on the team either.”
He shakes his damp hair and shrugs. “It doesn’t get me as many cool points with the ladies when they find out I’m in a speedo sixty percent of the time.”
I snort loudly, clapping my hand over my mouth as he grins at me. A laugh only escapes because I’m reminded of a conversation about how uncool water polo was with a certain six-year-old.
“Peters! Stop flirting and get your ass in the pool.”
My cheeks burn in mortification and I glare at Fallon as I walk briskly towards him, the guy from my class following silently behind me. He doesn’t wait for me as he jumps into the pool and I pause, standing a couple feet away from my coach and fixing him with a saccharine smile. I can’t let it go.
“I know it must be confusing for you, getting older and probably out of practice with these things, but that wasn’t flirting. Believe me,” I say, my tone dripping with venomous honey before jumping into the water.
I kick out, swimming on my back as I look up to the man watching me from above. His lips are slightly curled, and his eyes burn with a predatory gleam that makes my heart skip a beat. I turn away like a coward as I hurry to the center where some girls are waiting. Whether or not I imagined that look, it still sears me. I hadn’t been flirting, but I knew the guy was interested in more than friendly chatter. The brief interaction with Fallon has affected me, turning me on, more than anything else. It is dangerous to have a crush on my coach, but I’m not sure I can continue to ignore it.
Coughing up the water I accidentally swallowed, I spin the ball out of reach and throw up my other hand, barely hearing the foul whistle before my head dunks under the surface. The guy that was pressing against me backs away and I pop back up, spitting the water towards his face. He grins, not apologizing in the slightest. I narrow my eyes, getting fed up with how overly aggressive he’s being for a scrimmage. But if he wants to play, then let’s play.
I pump the ball in the air, pretending like I’m going to shoot it before passing to Beth on the side. He’s immediately back in my space the second the ball is moved, pressing closer than he needs to when there’s nothing to defend. I spin and give him my back, suppressing a shudder when I feel the scratches of his chest hair against my skin. Rolling my shoulder in warning to back off, he ignores me and my temper flares again.
Beth passes the ball to Anna who is glancing at me as I tap the water in front of me. Her eyebrows knit in confusion before she trusts me and tosses it over. I pretend like I’m going to lunge forward for it, but throw my elbow back as hard as I can. Searing pain tears through me and the disgusting crack of bone tells me I fucked up more than I intended.
There’s a ton of commotion as the guy behind me howls in pain and I clutch my elbow, letting my face dunk under the water to hide my tears. Rough hands pull me up and I blink to stare at those haunting greens. His eyes roam over my face, and I stare back. The pain is making me dizzy but I’m struggling to believe Fallon jumped in.
“Can you swim?”
I nod, and he lets go of me.
“Alright, clear the way. Let Peters and Durham get out of the pool. Everyone take a few minutes to cool down.”
I cradle my elbow to my chest as I swim to the ladder, pulling myself out one handed. I can tell it isn’t broken or sprained, but something really hurts. A presence behind me tells me that Fallon has followed me up, his hand slipping to the small of my back as he leads me to the small room on the pool deck with the equipment and medical kit.
The men’s coach comes up to us. “I’m going to take him to the trainer. I think his nose is broken.”
Fallon nods. “We might be right behind you. I’m going to check it first.”
When I pull my hand away from my elbow, I gasp at the blood still soaking my fingers and I try to turn to look. Fallon grips my bicep, pulling me into the small room and into a chair as he moves to the side.
“Can you bend it normally?”
Pulling my fist toward my chest, I flex my hand back out and nod. “Yeah, something just aches on the back of my arm. Not really my elbow.”
His fingers gently cradle my arm, lifting it like he’s examining a baby bird’s wing before wiping it gently with a towel.
“I think his teeth got you.”
“Like he bit me?!”
Fallon throws me an exasperated look. “It was probably a reflex of getting hit. Don’t worry, he didn’t take a chunk out.”
I wasn’t worried about that until he mentioned it, and now I pale. “Do I need stitches?”
He shakes his head, his damp hair shaking droplets everywhere. “No, some skin glue should do. Let me just clean it and you’re done with the water today.”
He stands. I try to look away from the way his t-shirt and shorts are clinging to his body like a second skin. The abs of his stomach are clearly visible, and my ears burn under my cap when he turns and I’m eye level with the bulge between his legs. Fallon grabs the plastic container on the small desk, then reaches into a bag on the floor and holds his hand out. I stare warily at the tiny yellow ball wrapped in plastic.
“What is that?”
“You never had a Lemonhead?”
I frown. “No… Who would willingly consume something sour?”
Fallon chuckles and shrugs. “It’s an acquired taste. My favorite candy. I figured it would bring your attention to something other than the burn of the glue.”
Shamefully, I grab it from his hand because of the simple fact he said it was his favorite, but he doesn’t need to know that. He moves behind me, twisting my arm into a position so it’s easier for him to access my injury. Opening the candy, I shove it in my mouth and then immediately spit it out into my hand.
“Aghk! That’s fucking nasty,” I say.
He chuckles, his breath fanning over my shoulder. I suppress the shudder and take in the small room we’re sitting in. It is littered with equipment and trophies from past teams. There is something sad about seeing them, a reminder that time is so fleeting and then suddenly you’re moving on to be replaced by the next set of players.
When he pours peroxide onto my cut, I wince and then suck the candy back into my mouth. At least if I’m trying not to die by bitter lemon, I can’t focus on the gentle hold of his fingers as he takes care of my wound.
“I ate them a lot in college,” Fallon says, rustling through the plastic container. “I gave up my drinking and smoking and turned to a different vice.”
“Candy?”
“Yeah, but more specifically Lemonheads. They are bittersweet, and the aftertaste lingers a while like a constant reminder.”
I grimace when I feel him press my skin together, trying to brace for what comes next. “I’m sure your dentist loved that.”
He laughs, and I can’t control the goosebumps this time. It’s dangerous; I prefer him grumpy and cold. It allows me to easily distance myself from the crush I can’t seem to get rid of, but Fallon is laughing and telling me about his life. It feeds my delusion, that voice inside that says he feels what I feel when we’re next to each other.
His hold tightens as I let out a hiss at the searing burn, knowing he’s applying the glue. My first reaction is to pull away, but the longer it goes on, the more I relax and tolerate the sensation. I see the tube he tosses down, and then both of his hands are cradling my elbow. I can feel his fingers keeping the skin together, and I know we’ll be staying like that for a few minutes.
“Sage…”
I glance down at the man kneeling before me, ensnared in the green of his eyes as my breath catches. I try to focus on the sourness of the lemon burning down my throat as his thumb rubs the back of my arm.
“Did you hit him on purpose?”
“What?” I ask shakily. Shivers break out over my body, the wet swimsuit cold as it sticks to my skin.
“Did you swing your elbow out on purpose?”
I shake my head but his grip tightens.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Huffing out a breath, I swallow and the pulse in my throat quickens. “I didn’t mean to break his nose.”
“But you meant to hit him?” Fallon asks.
I blink, tearing my gaze away from him, and he lets go, standing and stepping back. I guess that was enough for him.
“That was incredibly dangerous and childish,” he says.
My eyebrows knit together then I glare up at him. “He wouldn’t back off, even after I warned him.”
“I told him to press you and not let up. You think another team is going to let up because you ask? You don’t react with violence.”
Guilt turns my stomach. This is why I learned to control my rage, I always hurt someone unintentionally. But now it also flares over his scolding, my pride demanding I defend myself.
“I’ve never had anyone like that. I could feel everything pressed against me. That isn’t allowed in the game.”
Something shifts in his eyes before it disappears in a second, and he crosses his arms. “You played high schoolers who didn’t care about anything but getting out of gym class. You will find more competitive, more aggressive players going forward.”
He’s right, and I’m irritated that he is. I clench my teeth, breathing through my nose to calm my anger before standing to bring us closer to one another. “Then what should I have done differently? If I feel caged in, I’ll panic and react.”
“Out-smart them. Use their aggression against them, play it up. Earn those fouls and penalties. Sage, you have to use your arm to your advantage. One-on-one, you’ll find very few goalies who are a match for you,” he says calmly.
I groan. “I hate that. I’m not a damn theater major, I don’t want to throw my hands out like I’m drowning when I’m not. That’s embarrassing.”
His eyebrows raise. “As embarrassing as losing? Because a difference of one goal is all you need, and why not take every chance you can get to score? There isn’t a sport out there where the players don’t dramatize the penalties and fouls. It’s part of the game.”
“It feels like cheating,” I say begrudgingly.
He nods then shakes out his hair again. He’s been standing in his wet clothes for a while and I feel a little bad, knowing he has to be uncomfortable. Fallon sighs and grabs a towel out of his bag on the floor.
“Trust that the refs know what they’re doing. If they feel it's not significant enough, then they won’t call it. Go sit on the bench. You can observe the rest of the scrimmage and then you’re going to walk to the trainer’s office and apologize to Durham.”
I don’t respond, tightening my hold on the towel he handed me and turning to walk out. Fallon catches my shoulder, and I look up at him.
“An apology, you understand?”
“Yes, Coach,” I say spitefully. I had fully intended to apologize, especially after knowing he was just doing what was asked of him.
Fallon lets go of my shoulder as if I burned him and spins to face the desk. I leave and change quickly in the locker room, thankful for my hoodie and sweats to save me from the cold of the upcoming winter air. When I make it back to the pool, I sit a few feet away from Fallon and ignore his glances. My entire athletic career coaches have praised me for my skill, but with each passing day in his presence, my confidence sinks. Doubts about if I’m good enough to reach the Olympics, let alone achieve state championships, are beginning to weigh me down.
Chapter Seven
Sage
Rolling my shoulders forward and then backward, I crack my neck before stretching my elbow across my chest. The scrimmage a few weeks ago was the start of intense practices, each one more focused on passing, shooting and even breakaway techniques. But it was from the one-on-one weight sessions with Fallon that I could feel the difference with each week. We had even added extra weight to the bar. With the start of the season rapidly approaching, anxiety about our first game increased every day.
Emily flexes her hands out as she paces in front of me. “Gregory said that the men threw up halfway through practice.” Emily had hit it off with one of the guys on the men’s team at the scrimmage. They’ve been seeing each other ever since.
“Well, did Gregory say what the coaches had them doing?” I snicker at her squint and hold up my hands from the way I rolled over his name.
“I’m sorry, the dude is a Greg. He’s gotta accept it,” I say through a few more chuckles.
She shakes her head. “Anyway…They wouldn’t say. Just that it was and I quote ‘putting the hell in hell week’ and that scares me.”
“Coach Amber is still head coach. And last year she didn’t even do hell week,” Anna says across from us.
Gwen nods. “Yeah, so I would stop worrying.”
Emily and I exchange a glance. Something told me that Fallon wouldn’t let us get away with that. My old coach always preached that hell week was a good team building exercise.
A whistle interrupts any further conversation and we stand to face the coaches walking toward us. Amber stops, staying silently behind as Fallon takes a step forward. A taunting grin breaks across his face as he folds his arms against his chest.
“Welcome to hell week, ladies.”
Emily groans and then hisses into my ear. “See. I knew it.”
I push her away slightly, nerves fluttering in my chest as I catch his gaze briefly before he continues.
“I have something special for you guys today. It’s called the Dirty Dozen.”
A few girls inhale sharply around us and I glance nervously at them and the look of pure dread on their faces.
Fallon steps closer. “Let me break it down for you. Fifty meter sprint, get out and do twelve lunges to the deep pool, eggbeater with hands out of water till every teammate is in the pool. Then twelve pull-ups on the side of the pool; waist needs to be coming out of the water. Get out and do twelve lunges back to the lap pool, and a fifty meter sprint back. Rest till everyone has joined you. Then you’ll start over by bringing it down to eleven for each circuit and so on.”
I try not to show my excitement; it doesn’t seem so bad. It actually sounds really fun.
“One more thing. The first person into the deep pool starts a countdown of one minute and if every teammate is not in that pool with them by the end, we start over at twelve. Your hands touch the water, we start over. We see you half-assing the pull-ups, we. Start. Over. ”
Horror crashes through me, and I give Anna a pointed look. We need the slower girls to start the sprints first, the rest of us to take up the end. My attention snaps away from her when Amber tosses something onto the pool deck. Fallon grins, bending over and picking up the equipment.
“If I call your name, come grab a weight. You’ll be wearing it till at least 6. And yes, if you start over, the weight goes back on.”
My skin prickles as I stare at the small waist vest with disdain. Those are devices of pure torture, especially if he wants us treading water without the assistance of our hands. I bite my tongue when he calls my name third and I reluctantly grab it from him, avoiding his eyes as I retreat to my team and stand near my captain.
“Lily, Beth and Ashley need to go first.”
Anna nods. “I was thinking the same. Me, you, and June will take up last on their lanes.”
“Let’s go. Get in the water, girls!” Amber shouts as Fallon moves the pace clock away from the lap pool and to the other end of the pool deck.
Our captain assigns everyone to their lane as we jump in. I shiver in the cold water as we hover by the wall, stretching along the lane dividers in a disorganized line as we prepare to start.
“Is this even legal? Can they do this to us?” Beth says gingerly, rubbing her arms.
Someone snickers, and I lean towards Beth, trying to comfort her. “We could be running. I hate running.”
