El Niño, page 2
Spinner paced at the curb, his swim bag on one shoulder and a bulging drawstring sack on the other. He was a head shorter than Kai, with yellow hair that always had a greenish chlorine tint.
Mom lowered the passenger window. “Hi, Stephen.”
“Hello, Mrs. Sosa.”
In third grade, Spinner had spent more time in the hospital reading than at school due to asthma. His doctor recommended swimming to improve his health, and he became so strong and fast in the water that his first coach called him Spinner, after the dolphin. The nickname stuck.
“It seems like just yesterday I was dropping you two at the park for Little Minnows Swim Team. And now, here you are, almost in eighth—”
“Mom, you okay?” Kai slid from the car, then looked back.
She nodded and blinked back tears before she waved and pulled away.
“What was all that about?” asked Spinner.
“I don’t know. She’s been getting all sentimental lately.” Kai was beginning to wonder if this team brought back a lot of memories and emotions about Cali for her.
“Weird,” said Spinner. “But we are hitting a milestone, and if we medal at regionals in September, then our standing in the unnatural but all-important hierarchy known as the middle school pecking order will rise to the celestial galaxy. This is sort of a defining moment.”
Kai shook his head. “You spend way too much time reading.”
“I know. Hey, is your dad driving this year? I heard there’s a new smoothie place in Cardiff.”
Whenever Dad had picked them up after practice, they always stopped for smoothies, the three of them singing oldies in the car all the way home. Kai ached for that version of Dad.
He shook his head. “Sorry, Spin. He still … he mostly drives Abby now.” He changed the subject. “So, what’s in the bag?”
Spinner patted the sack. “Water footballs, basketballs, a volleyball setup, and water gushers. I heard last year’s coaches let the team play games between drills.”
“I heard they ordered pizza every Friday and sometimes took the team to bonfires at the beach.”
“Let’s go!” said Spinner.
Kai raced to be first through the door and was met with warm humidity and the smell of chlorine.
He and Spinner walked toward a reception counter. The hallway was lined with framed posters of swimmers who had once competed for the club: state champions; national record holders, including Dad; famous Olympians; and Cali, a half-dozen medals dangling from her fingers, two gold cuffs circling her wrists.
Something welled inside Kai.
“Remember how she used to let us play with her trophies?” asked Spinner.
Kai swallowed the lump in his throat. He remembered. He’d had to dig them out from a box under her bed. The only award on display in Cali’s room was a blue ribbon draped over a framed watercolor she’d entered in the Del Mar Fair Art Show—Glistening Tide Pools at Swami’s Beach. She’d been so proud of that first place.
The evening she’d won, they sat side by side on the landing of the beach stairs watching the sunset. “We should always applaud the sun’s magnificent performance,” said Cali, clapping.
Kai shook his head. “Today we should clap for your blue ribbon. It’s a big deal.”
Cali smiled. “I just hope it impresses a college fine arts program.”
“Every school on the planet wants you to swim for them, so I don’t think you need to worry.”
“It will be the same for you, Kai-boy. Soon, you’ll be the rising star on Aquarius, carrying the Sosa torch.”
“Any advice?” he asked.
“Believe you can do it. I know what you’re capable of. But you doubt yourself. Also, you’re quiet, and that’s okay, but you have to speak up when you need something. Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re less; it means you want to become more.”
Kai rolled his eyes at one of Dad’s sayings.
“I know it sounds corny, but it’s true. You need to up your confidence game because I won’t always be around to cheerlead for you.”
Spinner shook his arm. “Earth to Kai. You listening? I said she was preternatural.”
Kai gave him a little shove. “What?”
“It means supernatural. A swim talent you rarely see. It’s in the family. Abby’s got it. She’s already placing in meets. And you’ve got it, too.”
Kai scoffed. “Have you seen my rankings lately?”
“Just a blip. Think about it. You swam before you could walk. Your first word was butterfly, and not the insect, the stroke. Last year you were on track to break your own national record.”
“Until I didn’t come close.” The breaststroke record he’d set when he was eleven still stood. But that was before. When everyone thought he was an up-and-coming golden boy, following in the footsteps of his legend father and legend sister.
“That’s history. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
Up your confidence game. Kai wished he could bottle some of Cali’s faith and Spinner’s enthusiasm. “Okay, Spin. Let’s sign in.”
At the front desk, a young woman wearing an Aquarius Aquatics sweatshirt greeted them, her blond hair tinted green like Spinner’s.
“Hi. I’m Fiona. You must be …” She studied a clipboard.
“Kai Sosa and Stephen Michaels,” said Kai.
“Everyone calls me Spinner.”
“Welcome. If you haven’t been here before”— she pointed to the double doors next to the counter—“there is a quad area inside between the respective locker rooms. Meet your team there until the coaches call you to the pool deck.” She assigned them locker numbers and gave them combination locks. When Kai signed for his, she studied him. “You look just like your sister. We really miss her.”
Kai half shrugged. He still didn’t know how to respond when people mentioned Cali.
Spinner came to his rescue. “I have that whole chlorine reaction thing going on, too.” He pointed to his own head.
“Story of my life,” said Fiona. “I tried dyeing it, but then it turned orange. So now I stick with green highlights.”
“I can commiserate and empathize,” said Spinner.
Kai tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the double doors.
Spinner waved to Fiona. “We can talk later.”
“Have you ever met a stranger?” asked Kai, shaking his head.
Spinner grinned. “Not so far.”
“Come on,” said Kai. “Let’s get inside. You know, just in case I didn’t peak at eleven and there’s a defining moment around the corner.”
Two boys tossed a rubber-banded towel back and forth across the large square of benches between the locker rooms. Their heads were buzzed—one blond, the other brown—and they had big white teeth, the kind you’d usually see in toothpaste commercials.
The one with a shadow of brown hair caught the towel, then took a step toward Kai. “I’m Nick.” He tilted his head toward the other boy. “That’s my brother Oliver.” He pointed to the end of one of the benches, where a swimmer was reading. “And that’s Lydia Jefferson. Yes, the Lydia Jefferson, the sprinter.”
Kai had seen Lydia at swim meets. In a pool, her body language was loud and clear—she swam as if she was angry at the clock.
Spinner introduced himself and Kai.
Lydia held up a hand and smiled. Her curly black hair was only inches long, her amber eyes a bright contrast to her bronze skin. She held up her book and shrugged. “I have a lot of time in the car to read and was at the end of a chapter, so …”
“No apologies necessary,” said Spinner. “But I reserve the right to query you about your literary choices later.” He turned to Nick and Oliver. “So, you two are twins?”
“Yeah,” said Nick. “Not identical, obviously. I’m two minutes older and two times smarter. He loves boats and I couldn’t care less. But I’m easily entertained and the life of the party and he’s … not. That about sums us up.”
Oliver shook his head, grinning. “That’s Nick’s way of saying he’s full of himself.”
Spinner pulled a football from his sack and tossed it to Oliver, who sailed it across the room. Nick leaped onto a bench to intercept it.
Kai didn’t recognize Nick and Oliver. “Where are you guys from?”
Nick threw the ball to Kai, who shot it to Spinner. “Hermosa Beach. South Coast Swim Club. We just moved to Carlsbad, though. Let your parents know if they want to carpool.”
“The new house has a half-court,” said Oliver. “Shoot hoops sometime?”
Before Kai could answer, the door swung open and every head turned to see Serena Agabashian, wearing hip-hugging sweatpants and a cropped T-shirt that read, I LIKE MY BAD ATTITUDE! Taller than all the boys and with the posture of a ballerina, she tossed her long blond hair streaked with red highlights. She was ranked in the top ten US swimmers for her age group and made sure everyone knew it.
Spinner nudged Kai and rolled his eyes. Serena went to their school but always acted like they were invisible.
As she strutted past, Serena pointed at Kai, bright blue nail polish sparkling from her fingertips. “Sosa, I’m counting on you to pull your weight. Just because your sister was my hero doesn’t mean you are.” She headed into the locker room.
“What’s her problem?” asked Nick.
“It’s printed on her shirt,” said Kai.
“Wait,” said Oliver. “Sosa? You’re Cali Sosa’s brother? Our older brothers know … knew her.” Then quietly, he said, “We were all fans.”
Before the silence became awkward, Spinner yelled, “Incoming!” and threw a bullet to Oliver, who caught it and lobbed it to his brother.
After they stowed their gear in the locker room, Kai and Spinner returned to the quad area where Nick and Oliver still tossed the football. Spinner intercepted it. Kai looked around at, indisputably, some of the best swimmers in Southern California. A knot of worry churned, until a whistle shrieked from the swim deck.
Spinner jumped up on a bench, still holding the football, and raised his arms. “Our magnanimous presence has been solicited by our superiors.”
Kai turned to Nick. “He reads the dictionary. Who does that?”
Spinner pitched the football at Kai, but he batted it down. “Come on, Kai-boy. Let’s make waves!”
Kai grabbed his towel, cap, and goggles, hoping to find the part of him that Cali thought was worthy.
At the far end of the pool near the bleachers, two young coaches in warm-up suits waited, one tall, dark-haired, and brooding with a whistle dangling from his neck, the other even taller, with a cap of blond curls and a clipboard.
Kai nudged Spinner. “Who are the giants with all the muscles?”
Spinner shrugged. “They look like they were plucked from a fountain in Rome. The guy with the clipboard is Neptune and his cohort is Cupid.”
Kai stifled a laugh.
Neptune pointed to the bleachers, where the swimmers settled themselves. He paced slowly back and forth in front of them. “I am the new coach for Aquarius. My name is Dominie. It means ‘teacher,’ so I know you will use it with respect.” He gestured to Cupid. “This is Xosé, my assistant.”
Xosé stepped forward. “Rhymes with José. The first letter, X, is pronounced as a Z. Zoh-SAY.”
Dominie pressed his hands together. “You have all been invited to Aquarius because of your incredible prospects. In this program, you will train and compete individually, and in one-stroke and medley relays. Until the end of August, we train and compete in long course meter, the length of an Olympic pool. That will be different for most of you who are accustomed to short course. If you do not show growth, at least twenty swimmers are on a wait list eager to take your place.”
Kai studied the strap on his goggles. Long course meter meant each length of the pool would be fifty meters instead of twenty-five yards. He’d need to build endurance and speed to get his times up.
“Serena Agabashian, Lydia Jefferson, Stephen Michaels, Nick Mikos, Oliver Mikos, and Kai Sosa. For now, you are to consider the people in this room your pod, no matter their ability. That includes me and Xosé. The eight of us are going to get to know one another well. Some things we teach you may seem unconventional. I hope you will trust us.” Dominie looked at Xosé and nodded.
“Each day will begin with a lecture in the weight room at eight o’clock,” said Xosé. “Do not be late. Stretches, warm-up sets, and the main workout will follow. After lunch, you can look forward to dry-land exercises, individual training, and a cool-down swim. We end at three o’clock. This week, we will be evaluating your strengths and weaknesses. Before you leave today, we will take a team photo. Questions?”
“When is our first meet?” asked Serena.
“Six weeks from this coming Saturday, at the university pool,” said Xosé. “That means just seven weeks of training total. It will be a dual meet against the Sea Wolves. They’ll commute from Los Angeles. Have any of you competed against them before?”
Kai had watched Cali race against them but he couldn’t remember much, except they were the team she most wanted to beat.
Hesitantly, Nick, Oliver, and Serena raised their hands. Nick made a face like he smelled something rotten.
“Then you know,” said Dominie. “They are arrogant and aggressive, in and out of the water.”
“A lot of excessive chest-thumping,” said Serena. “To prove how tough they are.”
“And they’re big,” said Oliver. “Like they should be voting or buying a house soon.”
“They’re also big winners,” said Xosé. “We have work to do.”
“We have a mantra here,” said Dominie. “‘The pod is one.’ I would like you to repeat that.”
Spinner jumped from a bench, faced the swimmers, and raised his arms as if conducting an orchestra. They all chimed in as he chanted, “The pod is one.”
Xosé stifled a smile. “Say it often. And believe it.”
Spinner repeated the gesture and they said it again.
Xosé raised his eyebrows. “I see we have a comedian.”
Spinner bowed dramatically.
Dominie crossed his arms over his chest, his face serious. “The humor is acceptable, but be aware that this maxim is paramount to our success. Xosé will lead you through stretches. After that, you will pick a lane. Start off nice and easy with 200 free. Then 200 each of back, breast, and fly. Finish with another 200 free.”
Xosé beckoned them from the benches.
Kai looked at Spinner. Keeping his voice low, he said, “That’s nice and easy?”
Spinner whispered, “Exactly what I was thinking.”
When they finished the stretches, Dominie blew the whistle and pointed to the pool. Everyone headed to the closest bench to peel down to their suits.
Nick leaned toward Kai and Spinner. “Do you know these guys?”
Spinner shook his head. “We would have remembered. They’re sort of unforgettable.”
Kai and Spinner moved to the edge of the pool.
“The way Dominie speaks is so old-fashioned,” said Kai. “Is he from another country?”
“Maybe another planet! My guess is Krypton,” said Spinner. “And they came to Earth to insinuate themselves into our training regimen, because coaching adolescents is such an altruistic and rewarding way to spend the summer.”
Kai laughed. Then he dove into the pool, working through the strokes and feeling strong. He was beginning to think he could pull up in the rankings until, one by one, the other swimmers finished and he was the only one in the water. Everyone else was already on deck and gathered around the coaches.
When Kai joined the group, Serena smirked. “Glad you could finally make an appearance.”
Nick and Oliver laughed.
Kai’s heart sank. How far behind the others had he been?
“Enough,” said Dominie. “Let’s move on.”
Xosé continued, “During the main workout, we will concentrate on a different skill each day: block starts, turns, underwater dolphin kicks, individual strokes, breathing, and so on. Today, we begin with block starts. Everyone up.”
Kai climbed onto a starting block. After prolonged instruction on setting up, positioning, and reaction time, they dove into the water, again and again, until lunchtime. Finally, a one-hour break. The team ate on the pool deck, barely moving or talking.
The afternoon dry-land exercises seemed to go on forever. Kai was grateful for the cool-down swim because it meant practice was almost over, until he noticed Dominie pacing alongside him on the deck, watching every stroke and making notes on the clipboard. As the team headed toward the locker room, Dominie asked Kai to stay back.
“You lose momentum on the second half of every drill. Do you have a pool near your house where you can get in an extra workout on weekends? Maybe have your father assist you?”
“We belong to the Y,” said Kai. He didn’t mention that Dad hadn’t gone near a pool since he’d trained Cali.
“Good,” said Dominie, handing him the long course time standards for thirteen and fourteen-year-old boys. “I’ll be timing you and will need to see significant progress before the first meet. Do you understand?”
Kai nodded. If he couldn’t swim the minimum time listed for each event—the standard for their division—he wouldn’t qualify for competition. He had seven weeks.
Kai dragged himself to the locker room, where Spinner threw a towel at him. “So, what’s your impression of our inaugural day?”
Kai smirked. “I think it’s safe to say that pizza parties and bonfires are off the table. And we definitely won’t be needing the pool toys.”
After three days of swim practice, Kai’s muscles, bones, and joints complained. When Spinner’s mom dropped him off at home on Wednesday afternoon, Kai shuffled into the house and face-planted onto his bed.
If only Cali could tell him what it had been like when she was on the team. Were the workouts as grueling? Had she known these coaches? How would she handle Dominie’s advice?
Kai felt himself nod in and out, exhausted and restless at the same time. His mind leaped. Swimming. The team. The Sea Wolves. Cali. And the details of that terrible day …
