Page 4 of Breathing Under Water

“That was a hell of a race you swam today,” he says as the bus jerks forward, maneuvering out of the lot.

“Thanks, Coach. I thought so too.” I smirk. The streetlamps lining our route create a glow around him as he speaks. His normally neat brown hair is sticking out at odds and ends, which isn’t surprising after the high-suspense races. But he’s relaxed now as he pushes his eyeglasses onto the top of his head andleans his head back against his seat. His stubble has grown so thick since the morning that it obscures the usually obvious divot in his chin.

His eyes shift toward me, but he doesn’t turn his head. “Gonna be a lot of work to get ready for Nationals, a lot of extra training over the summer.”

“Of course.” I’ve spent years in the unforgiving world of competitive swimming. I can’t start complaining now, not when I’m reaching higher levels than ever before. If I do well at the next meets, it could result in sponsorship opportunities and real money from sites like Influxer and Fanatics that let college athletes sell branded gear displaying their names.

“Might want to think about cutting down your hours at that diner.”

“It’s all good, Coach. I’ve got it.” I hope I don’t sound too prickly, but I need the extra cash I earn at the Scoop & Sizzle, an all-day brunch spot near campus that everyone affectionately calls “the Sizz.” For almost two years, the job’s been helping me pay for so many things I’d never ask my grandmother to fund—like nights out with my teammates, extra Meadowbrook swag, or salmon rice bowls from the poke place, which are definitely not part of my meal plan. I already had to drop two shifts when I started clinical hours for my nursing program this semester, and come next year, I’ll probably have to quit entirely. I need to save as much as I can before that. When I accepted the full scholarship at Meadowbrook, I didn’t expect I’d be the poorest one on the team. Having a little cash in my pocket goes a long way toward helping me fit in.

“Even if you keep at it for the rest of the semester, you ought to come over to my country club for the summer. I’ll get you apart-time position on staff. You’ll earn double what you’re making at the Sizz. Plus, you could pick up private swim lessons on the side.”

“Wow” is all I manage, as I’m temporarily blinded by the dollar signs in my eyes. I know what my teammates charge for swim lessons, often making more in a couple of hours than I earn in a full day. “I mean, yeah.” Glory would be thrilled too. She’s been doing her best to provide for us both since my grandfather died, but I’ve seen her poring over the utility bills at her little writing desk in the evenings. Every penny counts for us.

“You still have to finish your community service though.”

Coach has been riding me about my service hours all month. As part of the generous scholarship I was awarded, which includes free room and board, I have to complete forty hours of community service per semester. I’d been training so hard for this meet that I haven’t done any of the service hours for this semester yet. I figured I could get away with pushing it off until summer. But now—between training for NCAAs and Nationals and working at the outpatient clinic where I’m doing my rotation—I’m pretty sure doing anything more this summer would be impossible.

A familiar bubble of anger starts growing inside my belly as I’m reminded yet again of all the ways they make me prove, over and over, that I’m worthy of the full ride I get. I have to be a model NCAA athlete, keep up my GPA, attend other school sporting events, stay in line, and complete those service hours each semester. This isn’t the time to let my temper get the better of me though, so I force the rage back down.

I think Coach is the only one keeping track of whether I really do the community service anyway, and now that I’veunequivocally become one of his best swimmers, I doubt he’ll hassle me too much if I don’t get every last hour done.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say, telling him what he wants to hear.

“Great. I’ll take care of things with the club.” He nods as if our business has been settled, and neither of us realizes all the ways my life is about to change.

3

Berry

May 2023

When my phone starts blaring in the middle of the staff meeting, nobody seems surprised to see me snatch it from the conference table and hustle out to the hallway.

“Hello?”

The caller ID shows the main number from the high school. I’m hoping it’s only the nurse calling about another minor issue and not a teacher or administrator. I can hardly believe the number of times I’ve had to defend my son to higher-ups at that school, to explain to them that everyone would fare better if the school would just make a greater effort to respect Leo’s particular needs. He’s not trying to make trouble. I brace for whatever might be coming.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Becker. It’s Brian Chung.”

Yup. Here we go again. I don’t take the opportunity to remind the principal that my last name is Selinger. As much as I’d love to share a last name with my two sons, the name Berry is ridiculous enough on its own, though I prefer it over my full name, Bernice.Thanks, Mom and Dad.I glance heavenward, as I do every time I have an internal dialogue with either of mydearly departed parents. Berry Becker would be even worse, so I’ve stuck with my maiden name.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Chung?” I ask, trying my damnedest to put a little sugar in my tone.

“We’ve had an incident with Leo.”

“Oh?” I learned long ago never to say too much. You’ve got to take time to digest, to reflect. And you certainly never want to give people anything they can use against your kid. I hold my breath and wait for the principal to start telling me, yet again, how difficult it is for them to have Leo, and all his sensitivities, in their perfect little school.

“Leo didn’t do anything wrong, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Well, this is a first.

“Another student, a junior, asked him to be her date to the junior prom.”

“Oh!” I certainly wasn’t expecting to hear that. Prom! It’s all I can do not to squeal. My thoughts flash to tuxedos and boutonnieres. Do kids still do all of that? Harrison wore sneakers with his tux six years ago, but at least I talked him into a bow tie. I’d assumed Leo wouldn’t ever go to a prom. I’m giddy! I mean, it’s no surprise that a girl, even an older one, would take interest in a face like Leo’s. For all the criticism the kid takes, everyone agrees he’s a looker.

“Unfortunately,” Chung continues, bringing me down from my high, “Leo thought it was a trick, that he was being mocked. He got very upset and went straight to Mike Cromwell’s office, but Mike’s up on the roof, doing something with the gutters. Leo insisted on waiting for him to finish, but Mike’s still out there, and Leo’s missed his bus home at this point. We’re going to need you to come get him.”