A Cold and Quiet Place, Page 3

  “Thought you were about to taper?”

  “I thought so too. Tell my coach, okay?”

  Her meager attempt at a joke doesn’t make him laugh or even smile. James pats her arm and gets to his feet, an awkward process for such an athletic kid. She squints up where he’s outlined blue against the sun, and he stares back. “Guess I get it,” he says in a soft voice. “See you later, Lily.” The damp blades of grass stay flattened under his Nikes as he walks toward Bryce Hall.

  “Damn,” Lily whispers. Later, she promises herself, she’ll call him and make it right. She’ll buy him cookies or offer to take him out for a sandwich at Tribeck’s.

  It’ll be fine.

  3

  Propped up on her narrow dorm-room bed, Lily scrolls through the pictures of Erica on her phone. A selfie at a birthday party: Lily sits on Erica’s lap, Erica sticks out her tongue. Their faces are smooshed together in a fierce hug.

  Pictures after their practice when they were still on the same team. Later, Erica at one of Lily’s events – her first club Nationals.

  More selfies at parties, the mall, and concerts. Their faces are lit by green light from the cheap glow sticks Lily’s dad bought them from a street vendor.

  The high-contrast Compton meme Erica made for them: Straight Outta Swim Practice. Most recently are a few pictures Erica’s mom took at their beach house, silhouettes of their skinny frames pressed side by side on the sand surrounded by the final red and orange of a perfect summer day.

  ◆◆◆

  “Got laundry?” Staci slouches against the doorframe of Lily’s room, swinging her own bag from an index finger.

  Lily looks at the floor. Clothes are piled up in wrinkled heaps, discarded as soon as she gets back from class. There’s a pile in the corner of jeans, underwear, and socks, all in a wrinkled pyramid where she pushed them off her legs and left the garments on the floor. At the time she was too exhausted to put them away. She had just enough energy to fall on her bed and pass out.

  “My roommate’s a slob,” Yasmin comments from the corner of the room. She wrinkles her nose and snorts.

  “Shut up.” Lily grins. “Bet half of this stuff is yours.” Yasmin extends one long arm to point at her own laundry bag, limp on the door hook. “Guess I’ll have to catch the next one,” Lily adds.

  Staci disappears, and Lily slumps into the hard chair by her desk. She should read European History. The wind swirls around the top floor even in spring and batters the window. Outside the leaves toss against the glass panes.

  A light touch rouses her, and Lily looks up. “I’ll help you clean up if you want,” Yasmin offers. “Maybe you just need a new start, you know? Has to be tough to getting up and running off at the crack of dawn each day.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Lily gets up and helps Yasmin pick up the piles of denim, cotton, and silk. A few shirts cover a forgotten bathing suit, musty and still damp. It smells like chlorinated hot dogs. Yasmin claps her hands over her nose and backs through the door Staci left open, eyes wet as she retches.

  With a long line of embarrassed apologies, Lily scoops up the disgusting suit. She throws it into the trash and sprays the container with Lysol from the stash her mom buys her each semester.

  The suit has left a Rorschach mark of mold on the floorboards. How did her life get to be such a mess?

  “It’s okay.” Yasmin cautiously enters, grabs her laptop, and retreats to the hallway. “Mold makes me gag, though. Sorry.”

  Lily’s been a swimmer for so long she doesn’t register chlorine any longer. Her sense of smell has narrowed to food and Tyler’s aftershave.

  She slumps onto the desk chair. If she gives up swimming, she could keep her room neat enough for Yasmin. There’d be more time to study, to play other sports, to just be a girl. No more 5AM wake-up calls, no more scrambling in the dark as she searches for her athletics bag. No more homework under the sheets with her phone as a study lamp. No more impossibly long laps, 200’s on an empty stomach with a low-grade headache from hunger and oxygen deprivation.

  Swimming is what she does – it defines her in ways Yasmin and even Erica could never understand. Ever since she was four, Lily’s been trolling the black line to chase a stronger, brighter version of herself – one who can swim the 50 freestyle in under 24 seconds.

  The thought of breaking the 24-second barrier makes her turn back to the huge pile of work beside her laptop. When her phone chimes, Lily shoves it under a legal pad without a glance at the text. If it’s from James, she’ll have to turn down another coffee date. If it’s another hate-text from Erica, she’ll worry about her friend instead of studying. Erica, Lily’s best friend. Her homegirl. Her bff, who helps herself to snacks in multiples of nine, who can’t enter a room unless it’s been swiffered and cleaned with bleach wipes.

  Erica has a dry wit no one else seemed to notice. “Got your holy water?” she used to murmur whenever they saw the mean girls in middle school. “I brought extra wooden stakes. Here, have a silver bullet.”

  Lily turns away from the phone, pulls her hair back, and secures it with the elastic around her wrist into a messy bun on top of her head before she opens her laptop and dives into physics. Lips firm, she attacks the shopping cart problem until the equation yields itself with lovely simplicity.

  The text waits until she puts a dent in her pile of project work. Lily picks up the phone and reads the message, coming from a phone number she doesn’t recognize.

  Fuck you. We’re done.

  ◆◆◆

  “Hi, Mrs. Winslow. Is Erica there?” Lily tries to speak calmly. Inside her stomach flutters with anger, cold rage at the line of insults held in talk bubbles under Erica’s name on her phone.

  “Well, hello! Is this Lily? How are you?” Mrs. Winslow’s voice is warm, low-pitched and husky. “We miss you so much. When will you come back to New Jersey for a visit?”

  Lily picks one toenail with her thumb as she explains the swim schedule, how preparing Nationals eats up all her free time. “I hardly have time to get my homework finished,” she adds.

  “Get it done, Tigerlily,” the husky voice says. “Your grades are still good, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure. I’m able to schedule my time to make sure I keep on top of everything.” Lily switches into polite mode, her auto-response to Erica’s mom. The woman is friendly – affectionate, even – but the Winslow family’s wealth is a stone obstacle, a massive pyramid made of stocks and buyouts and corporate bonds.

  “Good luck. Now, what did you want?”

  Lily repeats her request. She can’t wait any longer to talk to her friend.

  There’s a pause before Mrs. Winslow says to hold on while she sees if Erica’s at home. Lily jiggles one knee and resists biting her thumbnail.

  After what seems like hours, Erica’s mom picks up the phone again. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Erica’s gone out – it slipped my mind. Life is so crazy lately, you know? I mean, Rory just started travel soccer, plus we’ve got swim practice and another round of private school applications. You know how tough it is.”

  Unable to listen to more news from a world where she’s no longer welcome, Lily interrupts. “Could you please tell Erica I called? And ask her to call me back?”

  “Absolutely. You’d better go and study, right? Keep those A’s for your fancy school.”

  Mrs. Winslow adds a goodbye and hangs up. Lily taps her phone against her chin and stares out the window. There’s nothing else she can do except dig back into physics. Get the schoolwork done, she tells herself, and prep for Nationals. Otherwise I’ll be in deep shit.

  In seventh grade she and Erica made a pillow fort in Lily’s room and watched Pretty Little Liars under the blankets. After Hannah and Caleb broke up for the twentieth time, Lily realized Erica had fallen asleep with Ham, one of Lily’s guinea pigs, on her chest. Lily covered them with her warmest duvet, wriggled close, and drowsed on Erica’s shoulder.

  The memory of how warm it was under the blanke
ts with her best friend makes Lily shiver in the shadowy dorm room, even though she’s wearing her warmest sweatshirt.

  ◆◆◆

  Practice after a late night of studying make it feel as though Lily swims through molasses instead of water. Her arms make short, choppy strokes instead of the long reach Robert insists on.

  In order to hit the 51, Lily has to work like a lost soul escaping a demon. As she pulls her body through water, it’s impossible to turn off her mind. Wisps from the night before float back through the bubbles, a horrifying dream about her and Erica pushed off of a ship in middle of the ocean. Heavy chains padlocked them together so they slid beneath the waves, screaming until saltwater filled their lungs.

  By the time she hits the end of the pool, Robert’s already in the middle of a lecture about timing and control. She nods. There’s nothing to say in her defense, because he’s right. Her strokes are crap.

  Lily turns back to the water and forces her thoughts off Erica to concentrate onto the directions Robert gives her, the way he mimes the arm positions he wants from the side of the pool. She catches glimpses of his face, intent on her movement through the lane.

  Halfway back her stomach cramps. Lily tries to push through, but it happens again. Her throat closes with the horrifying certainty that she’s about to get sick.

  Lily flails to the wall, climbs out, and runs to the trashcan. There she vomits what little she has in her stomach with huge heaves that rack her entire core. The stuff splatters on empty Gatorade bottles and power bar wrappers.

  When Lily’s sure she’s done, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Robert crosses his arms and widens his stance. He doesn’t say anything, since words aren’t necessary.

  You know what you need to do.

  Lily takes a deep breath. She goes back to the pool, slides into the water, and finishes her practice.

  4

  “Anything else happen with the hate text you got last night?” Tyler talks around a huge bite of cronut. If it were anyone else Lily would find it annoying, but with him it’s cute. They eat as they walk across campus to their first class, since there’s no time to sit.

  “I tried to text her all last night and this morning. Couldn’t get through. Got nothing in return.”

  He swallows and reaches for another pastry. “I hate to tell you this, but it sounds like your little friend blocked you.” Lily’s about to protest – there’s no way Erica would ever block her – when he interrupts. “So you were texting her the whole time you were with that guy?”

  “Who, James? No, we were in the library. Studying.” She sneaks a peek at him, finds his gaze on her face. It’s intense enough to make her drop her eyes to the ground.

  “Studying, is that what they call it nowadays?”

  “Yeah, since it was actually studying.” The conversation’s gotten weird, and Lily remembers Staci’s warning. “Is there a problem?” she adds.

  Tyler tosses the rest of his cronut to a squirrel and shrugs. “No. Whatever.”

  She should try to escape from the way his green eyes bore into hers, but she likes the way he leans closer as he talks. Tyler touches her without hesitation, long fingers wrapped around her bicep.

  If he just wants sex, he’ll find out soon enough she’s not into it. Lily can’t deny his looks: straight nose, sun kissed skin, full under lip, white teeth, athletic build. He’s the cutest guy she’s ever met.

  James, with his dirty blond hair and ready smile, can’t compete.

  I’m a little freaked out by how quickly you’ve come on to me is what Lily really wants to tell him, although she stops herself in the fear that Tyler would think she’s uncool. But it must show on her face.

  His smile fades. “Don’t think I’m a player. This isn’t a game to me. I’m not one of those guys out for a body count, and if you think that’s what I’m after here, you’re wrong. All kinds of girls come at me at parties, you know? And I’m not into it. I want a real girl, a girlfriend who understands me.” He runs his hand down her arm, firm fingertips painting swirls of electricity onto smooth flesh.

  “Whoa.” Lily holds up both hands and laughs. “How about we take it down a notch? Maybe stick with coffee for a while and see where it goes.”

  He seems to consider. “Hm. How about the guy you met last night, though? Is he going to be a problem?”

  “I already told you his name. James.” Lily chews the corner of her lip. “And he’s just a friend.”

  Tyler beckons for her phone. She hands it over, and he types in his number. As he’s about to give it back, it jangles with an incoming text message. Lily closes her eyes. “Oh, no. Not again.”

  “You need me to take care of it?”

  Lily shakes her head and reads the new text, coming from the same unknown number. Hope everyone finds out what a slut you are, bitch. For a moment shame pours over her, as though somehow she’s done something wrong.

  Please, Erica. Please call me. We have to talk. Lily sends her text to the new, anonymous contact and hopes Erica will explain what the hell has happened.

  “Maybe her iPhone got stolen. Bet your friend didn’t even write this stuff, nope, it’s probably just some fat dude sitting in his mom’s basement.” The warmth of his skin where their arms touch makes Lily feel light, as though she just sucked in a huge bubble of early sunlight.

  She drops her napkin and faces him. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Some lowlife has Erica’s phone, maybe stole it at a party or swim practice. Although she doesn’t usually go to parties, but, whatever. I’ve been trying to talk myself down from a ledge since she first started sending those rage texts, but you just made me feel so much better.”

  He looks down at her with his characteristic arrogance. “Okay.” His left cheek folds into a crease, an elongated dimple: a secret smile. “But it’s weird your friend didn’t get her phone shut off if it went missing.”

  The idea makes her deflate. “Oh. Right. Duh.”

  “But I’m also sure there’s a rational explanation. I want to hear what happens. Keep me posted.”

  It’s a dismissal if she’s ever heard one. Lily looks at her watch – ten more minutes until class starts. “Yup. So – see you later?” She can’t keep the inquiry out of her voice, and his dimple deepens.

  Tyler doesn’t answer. He stands and crosses his arms over the breadth of his chest, a confusing gesture that could mean anything.

  Lily turns away from him and heads towards Walker, the building where physics meets.

  Even though she’s determined to be a strong, independent woman, at the last moment she looks back to see if he’s still watching her.

  He isn’t. Tyler has already disappeared into the crowd.

  ◆◆◆

  Her mom’s navy Volvo waits outside the dormitory building, packed with suitcases, athletic stuff, and some plastic bags marked with the red Target logo. Lily heads out to the mom’s car but runs back when she remembers the Out-of-Town/Overnight forms she has to file in order to leave the school for a long weekend.

  She pushes the pink and yellow sheets get into the dorm faculty’s inbox on the wall beside the communal hangout room. Staci and Yasmin are in there, side by side on a tweed couch, Staci with her feet up on the butcher’s block coffee table.

  Staci looks up to see Lily by the doorway. “You’re gonna kill it!” she says.

  “Kill what?” Yasmin frowns at the laptop screen.

  “Finals. National championships. In Connecticut,” Staci explains. “Wish I could go. Say hi to everyone.”

  “Oh.” Yasmin purses her lips. “Good luck, or break a fin, or whatever they say.”

  “Bye, guys. Don’t have too much fun without me.” Lily waves goodbye to them and heads out to the car.

  “We had to be on the road an hour ago.” Her mom’s voice is filled with dismay as Lily buckles up.

  “Did you get my new tech suit?”

  The car shifts into traffic. “Yes, I did, for 400 dollars. Can’t be
lieve those things only last for 15 swims.” Competition tech suits shed water instead of absorbing it and allows for faster swims. Despite Mom’s complaint, there’s no other choice.

  “I really need two,” Lily complains. “Did you get me two?”

  “You did hear the part about 400 bucks, right?”

  “How do you expect me to get a 23 in the 50, then? Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re welcome, since I picked you up and gassed up the car and bought all the gear. And packed your stuff. And got you this.” Mom hands Lily a bag, grease-stained and still warm from the ovens: her favorite grilled cheese from Tribeck’s.

  “Awesome.” Lily tears open the bag and sinks her teeth into buttery sourdough.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Mm-hm.” It’s their usual snippy conversation, filled with insults and demands to mask Lily’s fear of the upcoming Nationals meet. “Did you talk to Erica’s mom yet?”

  “Yeah, it was weird. She blew me off, but in a nice way.”

  “Right? The whole thing is so weird.” Lily puts down the rest of the sandwich. Already the nerves have started to kick in, and the conversation about Erica isn’t helping.

  “It really is. We’ve all been friends forever.” Mom flicks her a sidelong look. “Going to eat your sandwich or not?”

  “I don’t feel good.”

  “Oh, please, not this again. Every meet, I swear to God. I’m not listening to you complain about another stomach ache before you go and swim.” The car winds through lanes of stubborn traffic, and Mom sniffs to punctuate her disapproval. “I did buy you another tech suit, by the way.”

  “Oh my God. You’re the best.” Lily balls up the bag in one greasy palm. “Got wipes?”

  Without a word, her mother points to the glove box, and Lily finds a plastic brick of damp cloths. She cleans her hands, leans back, and resists the urge to check her phone. Instead, Lily stares out the window and thinks about the cronuts she finally had in town with Tyler a few days earlier, his handsome face bright as he described new warm ups Coach Robert had made for the meet.