Deep End

IT’S HOMECOMING WEEKEND, AND THE ANNUAL ALUMNI MEET IS scheduled for that Friday night at five.

I never enjoyed it. Seems pointless, being pitted against old-timers, most of whom last dove competitively before I was born. More of a canine agility exhibition than real sport. It always has me wondering whether I’m supposed to respect my elders enough to let them win, or peacock my skills in the name of institutional pride. Not to mention the pseudo-mandatory post-meet tailgating that always follows.

So on Friday afternoon, I don’t head for the aquatic center anticipating to have fun. Still, my expectations aren’t low enough, and need to be dunked further down the toilet bowl.

The first blow is the email I get around four, informing me that my MCAT results are available. I stare at it, letting my thumb hover on the link, trying to come to terms with the bed-wetting prospects that the scores might be even lower than I’ve prepared myself for.

Rip the Band-Aid, I order myself. Click on it.

But I can’t. That simple tap is as impossible as all the inward dives in the world, and fifteen minutes later, when Bella asks if I’m “having a special moment with your phone, or something,” I shake my head and stuff it in my duffel bag. It’s a problem for later—unlike my other one, which is present in flesh and blood.

Mr. Kumar.

My high school coach.

Who is married to Clara Katz.

Who, a couple of decades ago, dove for Stanford.

They were instrumental in me getting on the team, which means that I should have known that this would be a possibility—and yet.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I’m still wearing my warm-ups when I see them enter the unusually crowded diving well. They pause to shake a few hands, then head straight toward me.

It’s been two years since we last met in person. Coach Kumar’s hair is grayer than I remember. Mrs. Katz’s, blonder. They have always believed in me. So much.

And I . . .

“Vandy!”

I hug them one after the other, exchanging pleasantries, barely aware of my mouth and arms moving. Did I know they were going to be here? Did Coach Sima say anything about it? So glad it could be a surprise. Do I like Stanford? Am I recovered? Has the preseason been treating me well? Did my stepmom relay their well-wishes? Do I miss Missouri? It’s okay if I don’t, we all become California girls when we’re in college, don’t we?

“I cannot wait to see you dive, Scarlett,” Mrs. Katz says, both hands cupping my shoulders. “You remind me so much of myself.”

“I’m so glad your surgery was successful,” Coach Kumar adds. “We kept saying how a talent like yours would have been a catastrophic loss.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Katz interrupts, glancing behind my shoulder, “I know you! Penelope Ross, right? You dove beautifully at the NCAA last year. That gold medal was earned.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” Pen comes closer, giving me a curious look, expecting to be told who her fan is, but I’m too sluggish with surprise, and panic, and something that feels too much like shame.

Mrs. Katz picks up the slack and introduces herself, and then Bree and Bella join, and the more people are around us, the easier it becomes to make myself small.

A drop of water, lost in the chlorine.

And that’s when I murmur a low “Excuse me,” even though everyone around me is too busy laughing and joking and commemorating to hear, and march to the chair where Coach Sima sits with a couple of assistants, cross-referencing diving sheets and lists of names.

It’s the most cowardly thing I’ve ever done; I know it even before opening my mouth.

But I cannot, truly cannot go through with this.

“Coach?”

“Yeah, Vandy?”

“I . . . don’t feel well,” I say, not meeting his gaze. I should have planned my excuse. Come up with an ailment that’s equally sudden and debilitating. I’m not ready to field any kind of question, but it turns out that I don’t need to.

Because Coach Sima gives me a single glance, a glance that feels like his voice sounded a few days ago, in his office. All he tells me is “Then you should go home, kid.”

My heart is full of thanks, but I cannot bear to say even one before I leave.