Read Online A Matter of Heart by Amy Fellner Dominy - Free Book Online
Authors: Amy Fellner Dominy
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they’re slow. Then again, this is the slow lane. I wad my hair in a ball and shove it into my cap. I drop my coat behind my bag and jump in after Hannah. The cold steals my breath, but I’ll be warm by the time I finish my first fifty. I fit on my goggles, then push off from the wall.
I stretch my arms in a slow glide, joining the smooth flow of the water. I was born in September, which makes me a Virgo. But I should be a Pisces, sign of the fish, because I belong in the pool.
I want to push it. I want to feel the rush of water when I’m going
fast
. I want to swim right over the top of Hannah and Jessicajust to prove I can. This feels like a punishment. As if I’ve been sent to swimming time-out. Two days, I remind myself. I can stand it for two days.
Connor calls just as I finish dressing. His practice with the club team usually ends a few minutes ahead of ours.
“Hey,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“Crappy,” I tell him. “I had to swim slow.”
His laugh rumbles. “A couple of days won’t kill you, Ab. I missed a week with pneumonia, remember? And I only had one slow meet.”
One slow meet
. Those were Alec’s words. I shift the phone to the other ear, disconnecting that thought. “Yeah, you’re right,” I say. “So how was practice?”
“Lame. I wasn’t feeling it.”
“Yeah?”
“Legs were dead, like dragging bricks behind me. And you won’t believe what happened.” His voice lowers. “That asshole Ainley tried to move up on me. Thinks he can jump to group one.”
“Seriously?” I shrug even though he can’t see me. “Who cares about Ainley. He can’t carry your swim bag.”
“I know, right?”
I can picture him smiling over that.
“So how was your practice?” he asks.
My breath catches in my throat, and there’s a second of silence on the line. “Oh, right,” he says. “Sorry. Forgot.”
If only I could
. I’m tempted to say more so he can reassure me and tell me I’m fine. My mouth opens and closes, but the words won’t come. I picture Connor on the other end of the line,lounging against a wall in a loose tee and worn jeans, grinning his way through a perfect senior year. I close my eyes and draw in a steadying breath. “Let’s talk about something else,” I say, keeping my voice light.
“Yeah. Sure,” he says. “Anything.”
And I hold my phone, knowing he’s holding his, and there’s silence on the line because I can’t think of anything else for us to talk about. My
not
swimming is screwing up everything.
“You know what?” I say. “I’d better run. I’ll see you in the halls later.”
14
T he colors in the cardiologist’s office remind me of Thanksgiving—rust chairs, pumpkin walls, and cranberry planters. Spaced between the chairs are fake leafy plants—are they supposed to make us feel like we’re alone? We are alone, except for an old couple with matching white hair.
Mom and Dad are both here. Mom has canceled her Wednesday after-school group. Dad coaches the cross-country team at his middle school, and he’s missing a meet to be here. Not that they think anything is wrong.
I’m trying to stay focused and positive. I’m not big on praying, but God and I talk sometimes. It never made sense that I should ask God for something that I could work to get on my own. Even now, I’m not asking him for favors so much as explaining how it’s going to be. I can’t be sick now. In a month, fine, but notnow. I got slightly dizzy because I didn’t drink enough. It happens to me every winter. The Phoenix temperatures drop down to normal human levels and I forget to drink enough. Mom is always on me to take vitamins. I silently vow to take my potassium every day even if it does make me burp.
Mom is sitting on my left, a clipboard with a stack of papers to fill out propped on her knee. Dad is on my right, trying to rearrange a plastic leaf that keeps poking his shoulder.
I’ve got my math spread out on my lap, but I can’t
I stretch my arms in a slow glide, joining the smooth flow of the water. I was born in September, which makes me a Virgo. But I should be a Pisces, sign of the fish, because I belong in the pool.
I want to push it. I want to feel the rush of water when I’m going
fast
. I want to swim right over the top of Hannah and Jessicajust to prove I can. This feels like a punishment. As if I’ve been sent to swimming time-out. Two days, I remind myself. I can stand it for two days.
Connor calls just as I finish dressing. His practice with the club team usually ends a few minutes ahead of ours.
“Hey,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“Crappy,” I tell him. “I had to swim slow.”
His laugh rumbles. “A couple of days won’t kill you, Ab. I missed a week with pneumonia, remember? And I only had one slow meet.”
One slow meet
. Those were Alec’s words. I shift the phone to the other ear, disconnecting that thought. “Yeah, you’re right,” I say. “So how was practice?”
“Lame. I wasn’t feeling it.”
“Yeah?”
“Legs were dead, like dragging bricks behind me. And you won’t believe what happened.” His voice lowers. “That asshole Ainley tried to move up on me. Thinks he can jump to group one.”
“Seriously?” I shrug even though he can’t see me. “Who cares about Ainley. He can’t carry your swim bag.”
“I know, right?”
I can picture him smiling over that.
“So how was your practice?” he asks.
My breath catches in my throat, and there’s a second of silence on the line. “Oh, right,” he says. “Sorry. Forgot.”
If only I could
. I’m tempted to say more so he can reassure me and tell me I’m fine. My mouth opens and closes, but the words won’t come. I picture Connor on the other end of the line,lounging against a wall in a loose tee and worn jeans, grinning his way through a perfect senior year. I close my eyes and draw in a steadying breath. “Let’s talk about something else,” I say, keeping my voice light.
“Yeah. Sure,” he says. “Anything.”
And I hold my phone, knowing he’s holding his, and there’s silence on the line because I can’t think of anything else for us to talk about. My
not
swimming is screwing up everything.
“You know what?” I say. “I’d better run. I’ll see you in the halls later.”
14
T he colors in the cardiologist’s office remind me of Thanksgiving—rust chairs, pumpkin walls, and cranberry planters. Spaced between the chairs are fake leafy plants—are they supposed to make us feel like we’re alone? We are alone, except for an old couple with matching white hair.
Mom and Dad are both here. Mom has canceled her Wednesday after-school group. Dad coaches the cross-country team at his middle school, and he’s missing a meet to be here. Not that they think anything is wrong.
I’m trying to stay focused and positive. I’m not big on praying, but God and I talk sometimes. It never made sense that I should ask God for something that I could work to get on my own. Even now, I’m not asking him for favors so much as explaining how it’s going to be. I can’t be sick now. In a month, fine, but notnow. I got slightly dizzy because I didn’t drink enough. It happens to me every winter. The Phoenix temperatures drop down to normal human levels and I forget to drink enough. Mom is always on me to take vitamins. I silently vow to take my potassium every day even if it does make me burp.
Mom is sitting on my left, a clipboard with a stack of papers to fill out propped on her knee. Dad is on my right, trying to rearrange a plastic leaf that keeps poking his shoulder.
I’ve got my math spread out on my lap, but I can’t
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