Page 83 of Breathing Under Water

He blinks hard, clearly shaken by this revelation. “I would have helped you. I would have done something if I’d known!”

I don’t respond because I’m not sure I believe him.

“Listen,” he says. “I’ve talked with the people at Hollyhock, confessed what my daughter did. I’m reimbursing them for all the repairs, so now I’m out several thousand dollars. Told Vanessa she’s going to be working to pay us back until she’s a senior citizen.” He shakes his head because we both know the girl’s probably never going to pay her parents back the full amount. “She’s a minor, so they’re not going to press charges. The club revoked our family membership, so Paula’s obviously not happy about that.” He stares off into the distance, and I catch a slight shake in the hand by his side. He’s clearly rattled. “Losing our country club membership is hardly as bad as being homeless for eight months. I’m so sorry things went down how they did, Sonny.”

There’s regret etched into each line on his face, and I do appreciate it, but there’s so much I still don’t understand.

“Why’d she do it though? It doesn’t make any sense.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if searching for answers within himself.

He rubs a hand over his face and lets out a long breath. “I didn’t know it was even possible to feel this much guilt. The ways I’ve neglected her over the years and didn’t even see it. Always putting the team first. Constantly crowing about the achievements of other young women, while ignoring my own kid’s interests. This whole thing, all of it is my fault. I have a lot of work ahead of me with her. So much I have to fix.”

He doesn’t look at me, keeping his eyes pointed toward the grassy quad beside the building. I wait for him to say more, about how he feels guilty for what he did to me too, but he’s still focused on Vanessa.

“It’s no secret I wanted my child to be an athlete. Got myself a theater kid instead. She spent years being jealous of the girls on the team. When I got attached to you, gave you a nickname like you were my own kid, she got so angry. Add to that how Paula and I have been having problems recently, maybe separating, and Vanessa blames me. They both do. Something inside her just snapped. It’s all there in the letter. It was always about hurting me, not you.”

“And yet I’m the one who’s been suffering all these months.”

“I lost my star swimmer,” he says, “and I had to put up with all the questions from the administrators and the NCAA, trying to protect you. It hasn’t exactly been a cakewalk for me either.”

“You’re serious right now?” Comparing what we’ve been through feels too ridiculous, which I think he realizes too.

“I’ve been in touch with the scholarship committee. I’m pretty sure they’re prepared to give you back everything they took away. When you meet with them tomorrow, you might even push for a little more if you tell them how hard you’ve had it in the interim. Fuck, McKenna. I would have helped you.” It feels like he needs to convince himself of this, repeating it so vehemently. “You need somewhere to stay in the meantime?” he asks.

I rise to my feet, feeling a lightness as I say, “I’ve got some people looking out for me now. I’m good.”

We’re meeting at the financial aid office in the Union building. There are five of us seated around a large mahogany conference table—besides Coach Cat and me, there’s Greg Bianchi, the director of financial aid, Bob Palmer, the athletic director, and a woman named Keisha Winthrop who introduced herself to me today as “both counsel and conduct officer,” whatever that means.

Berry offered to come with me as my representative. From working at a school, she said she knows a lot about how these committees function. As much as I appreciated the idea of having someone in my corner, she’s already doing so much just by letting me stay in her house. I told her I could handle this on my own. Though now that I’m here in this stark, sterile room, with the hard plastic of this cheap chair pushing against my back, I kind of do wish I’d brought her.

Once we’re all seated, Greg Bianchi speaks first.

“Good afternoon, McKenna,” he says, behaving so formally that I feel certain I’m not going to like what he has to say.“Coach Catapano advised us that there have been some new developments regarding the circumstances that resulted in your removal from the women’s swim team before the start of last semester.”

“Yes,” I say, nodding. I have my hands clasped on the table in front of me, hoping I won’t start shaking.

“We have here your academic record as well as the record of your enviable athletic performance.” He motions to the laptop that’s open in front of him. “In light of the new information we’ve received, it seems we have sufficient grounds to approve Coach Cat’s request to have you reinstated on the team.”

“Yes, and I concur,” says Bob, the bald athletic director. “You were one of the brightest stars of the team. Of course, it’ll be an uphill battle getting you back into shape, but I believe an athlete of your caliber understands what’s required and will make every effort to return to your previous level of fitness.”

It’s not just the physical fitness, but also my technique, my muscle memory, my water sense. All of that will have suffered from the time off. It’s exhausting just thinking about how much training I’ll have to do to get myself even close to where I was before getting cut.

“And the scholarship award?” I ask.

“Well, we would of course reinstate your award. Same terms as what you had before, with an additional grant to compensate you for the errors that were made on our end.”

“Wait, you’re giving me money? Over and above my original award?”

“It seems only fair after the way you’ve been treated,” says Bianchi, glancing at the conduct officer. That’s when I realize he doesn’t feel guilt. He’s afraid of liability.

Suddenly, I can see everything so clearly.

All that pressure, the constant struggle to be good enough, how easily people were willing to discard me.

I take a few deep breaths while they wait for me to answer. On the tail end of the last inhale, in just three-tenths of a second, I’ve decided.

“Here’s the thing,” I say. “I don’t want my spot on the team. It was a toxic experience for me. The physical demands, academic demands, service demands, the social media requirements, being the face of Meadowbrook athletics, living up to everyone’s vision of the perfect girl, the role model, everything you piled onto me when I was first granted my scholarship. How can you expect so much of people, kids who are just becoming adults? It was always too much. Maybe getting booted from the team was a blessing in disguise that helped me finally see the truth. So yeah, you can take your offer and you can shove it. Thanks but no thanks, folks.” I start to stand, still in shock that I’ve voiced the thoughts I’ve only just begun to admit to myself. “I’d rather keep living out of my car than subject myself to all that again.”