Page 27 of No Capes
I remember when I was in elementary school, Arielle was in high school and pulled her hamstring. Not wanting to miss out the season, she swam through it anyway.
Big mistake. Huge.
Sure, she made the championship team that year, but she didn’t win, and afterwards, her leg was in such terrible shape that her doctor doubted she’d ever be able to seriously compete again. She proved him wrong, obviously. Regardless, I don’t want that to be me; to be as cold and cranky as Arielle is for the rest of my life? No, thanks.
Aaron finishes his freestyle set and rests by me at the wall. The water curls around him, as if it will do anything he wants it to.
“Your strokes are phenomenal,” I say. I’m not lying.
“Thanks.” Aaron casually sips his water, making even the simple act seem graceful. I hadn’t even realized that there was a graceful way to drink water until just now.
“Where did you say you were from again?” I ask, “Your last team must have had an Olympian for a coach.” Okay, that might have been laying it on too thick.
“I didn’t say.”
“Oh. I was wondering why you came to Capital City,” I add. “We don’t have a lot of swimmers transfer here.” If Fox is right, it might have to do with Zane Milligan.
He shrugs. “My family got an opportunity we couldn’t turn down. It’s just me and my mom, so moving wasn’t too difficult.”
I might as well have been talking to the pool wall.
Earlier this morning, I scoured the internet for any mention of our Aaron Ryans. I learned his name means “strong,” according to the baby name sites, and there are approximately 143,452 people with the last name Ryans in our part of the world. I looked through swimming blogs, social media sites, and newspaper articles—there’s not a single mention of the Adonisstanding before me. Unless… he’s the Aaron Ryans who placed fourth in a pickled salmon eating contest, but I doubt it.
It’s weird that he wasn’t flagged in any swimming news. There are 216 internet articles that mention my swimming races. Fox only has 208. Arielle has 385, but who’s counting?
I’m not wasting a clean bathing suit for this. I need a new angle.
“Could you give me some tips?” I ask. Anything to keep him talking to me.
Aaron returns his bottle to the pool deck. When his back is to me, it’s obvious that he’s twice as toned now than when he’d arrived a month ago—his shoulders bulge, arms like a machine. Looks like all his extra practices have paid off.
“You don’t need any help with swimming.” He inflects his answer into a question.Why are you really here, Madeline?
“Arielle would say otherwise,” I push. I try a self-deprecating chuckle. “You know, Arielle almost didn’t let me on the swim team. As soon as she heard that I signed up, she begged our dad to ban me. As if I wanted to swim only to takeherthing.” As if we didn’t both need it.
“Yet, here you are,” says Aaron, not unkindly.
“Our dad reminded her that I could win a swimming scholarship to afford college. So Coach Bridges pretendsIbeggedherto join, and that she intends for me to win as much as she did.”
Aaron treads his arms, stirring quiet ripples around him. The calm waves reflect in his stormy, gray eyes, which he sets on me.
“I have an older sister too. She used to be like Arielle. Competitive and in control of everything. Everyone would compare me to her at school, and at swimming.”
“What happened?” I ask.
His chest tenses. “Things changed. I messed up, and my mom and I had to move away from our old town. That, andmy mom got her opportunity in Capital City. My sister stayed behind, and we never hear from her. It’s hard.”
At least you still see Arielle,his subtext screams.
“It took me a while to realize that people comparing us wasn’t my sister’s fault,” he adds.
I nod, unsure how to respond. My opening up helped him to open up, and he turned it back onto me. I was not ready for that kind of introspection on a Sunday afternoon.
Aaron pushes his electric blue goggles onto his face, putting on his mask. “Your breath could be faster on your butterfly. Here. I’ll show you.”
~
“So, what did you talk about?” D.S. leans coolly against my bedroom window. “What happened next?”
