“We were just wondering aboutThe Affiliatephotoshoot. That’s all. Coach mentioned it—”
“Uh, that’s a lie. I spoke to Coach, and you two overheard it. It isn’t a secret. Most of the team overheard it. So go ahead and ask me. What are youwondering about?” I add my brand of sarcasm to my question, feeling my backbone grow.
“We weren’t reallywondering.More curious, or . . . uhm . . .” The taller one, Jade, fumbles her words. I have a feeling she’s the follower in their friendship. McKenna’s the one who said I wasn’t very good.
“Go on,” I press.
Jade looks to her friend. McKenna looks down then pops her gaze up to me, that Welles style of entitlement hazing her eyes.
“It would be nice if they paid attention to the team. You’re not even . . .”
She trails off but I finish for her.
“Very good, yeah. I heard that little bit from before.”
She swallows but sits up straight, hardening her position. I wonder how much money her family gives to this school. I’m guessing a good chunk of change. Money buys that level of cattiness.
“I guessThe Affiliatewas really drawn to my character. You know that thing that sets you apart from others? Like, for example,you’rea bitch. You whisper behind people’s backs, and probably not only mine. In fact, I bet you do it to her, too, when she’s not around.” I waggle my finger between the two, and Jade looks horrified. McKenna, though? She looks pissed. I think that means I nailed it.
“That’s your character. The kind of person who picks at any acknowledgement someone else gets after they’ve survived a life-altering trauma, one that involves fucking swimming, and yet they are still willing to get their ass back in that pool. Not sure there’s a media outlet looking to cover that. Perhaps you can start that magazine—Entitled, Inc.”
I twist my lips and blink slowly, leaving my verbal smackdown as it is. I’ve said enough.
“Whatever,” McKenna finally says, standing and pushing her feet into her slide shoes. She leaves her “friend” behind, and when she’s out of earshot, Jade looks up at me.
“I’m really sorry,” she mutters. Her eyes resemble those on a beaten puppy. I let my arms fall to my sides, softening my stance. When Jade drops her chin, I reach out my hands and call her in for a hug.
She clings to me. And as much as I don’t love hugging people I don’t know very well, Jade’s embrace feels nice. Her apology felt nice.
* * *
I brought Morgan and Brooklyn up to speed before I messaged Abby that I would do the story. Now they’re fully engrossed in this project with me. Probably because I’m digging my heels in and deleting every sentence after I type it.
“Maybe you should write it like a journal. Or even better, do youhavea journal? Maybe you can plagiarize from yourself?” Morgan suggests.
I lean over my bed and pull out my rainbow kitten backpack and slide out the spiral notebook that is full of my journal entries. I toss it over to Morgan.
“Knock yourself out. If you think there is anything worthwhile in there, tell me. But those are all assignments from my telemedicine robot psychologist, and I don’t recall being honest about real shit in a single one of them.
Morgan skims through and pauses about ten pages in, flipping the book around and holding it open to face me.
“Is this a picture of a duck?”
I squint to see what she’s pointing at.
“Oh, yeah. No, that’s how I draw cows.”
She spins the notebook back around and stares at it.
“Lily, that’s not a cow,” she says, shutting the book and tossing it back to me. “And you’re right. This is useless.”
I flop back in my bed and shove my laptop to the side. I’m not sure staring at the blinking curser on the blank page is going to motivate me.
“Would it help if I interviewed you? We could record it and maybe you can listen back and find some words to use.” Brooklyn sits next to me and pulls my computer into her lap. She begins typing so I prop myself up on my elbow to read.
“What was that headline you said the first time? Fish something?”
“Fish out of water,” I answer.