While that assumption may be flawed, she couldn’t fathom choosing an unambitious or small life. In fifteen years, she would have the things—her own house, car, medical degree, and respect—that would make her life great.
Great medical school, great job, great life. And great friends, to boot.
The morning of Erin’s seventeenth birthday, she found her best friend passed out in a tangerine shirtdress that complemented her deep brown skin and black hair. Reeking of alcohol, Lalitha snored loudly as Erin borrowed clothes from her closet.
Erin showered quickly, taking care to remove the crusty pink vomit adhering to her hair.
When she’d dressed, Erin sat on Lalitha’s bed and attempted to wake her gently. Failing that, she shook Lalitha’s shoulders.
“You’re gonna make me puke again.”
Erin sniffled as tears bubbled in her eyes. “I need you to be awake for a second.”
Lalitha sobered. “What happened?”
“Claire knows. About the party, about the puke, about me passing out—all of it.”
“How?”
“Does it really matter?” Erin shouted.
Lalitha covered her ears.
Erin gently pried one of Lalitha’s hands off her ear. “I’m grounded, and I have to go home right now. I just wanted you to know.”
“Bit of advice?” Lalitha asked.
“Do yourself a favor: drink lots of water and take two Ibuprofen.”
“No.” Lalitha looked Erin in the eye. “Advice for you: tell them today about the Quigleys and swimming. And any other bad news you’ve got. They’ll never be more pissed than they are right now, so go big or go home.”
“Thanks. When are your parents home?”
“Tuesday. You go. I’ll handle the mess once I can stand up straight. Thank god it’s Sunday. I should not get into a pool right now.”
THIRTY-ONE
With only two swim meets before Nationals, Percy was eager to pit Erin against other teams.
Her first kiwi swim meet involved no pep talks, no all-hands-in for a cheer, and no rituals. Unlike crowds in Wheaton, where parents screamed instructions from the bleachers, the riotous kiwi crowd quieted during races.
During Erin’s first-ever swim meet, she’d heard Claire shouting every time she came up for breath. Today, she anticipated utter decorum from the Wakefields. Felicity, Hamish, and Pippa missed her first race, but Pippa gave two thumbs up when Erin climbed onto the blocks for her second.
Staring at her toes, she was in her element. At the gun, she dove into the water and pushed.
Dolphin, dolphin, dolphin, dolphin, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe. Flip.
Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, done.
Percy had been right: she won all three races easily.
Erin’s teammates congratulated her briefly before turning their collective attention to plans for the weekend.
Erin fielded several invitations—for surfing, for Castle Hill, for the beach—and chose mountain biking with Jade. A minute before the relay began, Erin’s teammates offered trail advice and debated the best views in Christchurch.
For a few minutes, Erin and her three relay partners focused intently on the race, in which they set a record, but relaxed completely afterward. The ebb and flow was a stark contrast to the hours-long adrenaline-filled meets of Erin’s past.
The crowd seeped from the bleachers and Pippa ran to Erin, wrapping her in a hug. Pippa’s T-shirt was soaked when she let go. “That looked like fun! Can you teach me how to do the butterfly?”
“I’m sure I can,” Erin said.
Pippa flipped open her steno pad. Upside down, Erin read her scrawl: Swim with Erin. Learn the butterfly.
“I don’t think we’ll forget, Pip,” Erin said.
“We haven’t got ’round to black holes again. I want to be sure we do eventually.”
Felicity said, “That was amazing.”
“You must be stuffed after all that,” Hamish said.
Erin’s brow furrowed.
“Knackered? Buggered? Exhausted?”
“Oh! I’m feeling okay, actually.”
Felicity said, “Go and have a quick change, and we’ll head home for tea.”
Most of Erin’s friends were in the spa, but tea sounded like just the thing.
THIRTY-TWO
Three weeks into her study abroad, Erin accidentally told Claire she was taking art. She woke the next morning to a barrage of texts.
Claire: I’ve been thinking about your elective art class.
Claire: We both know you’re not an artist.
Claire: Would that school let you use the art period on something more important? I think you could compose music for cello to counterbalance the lesser symphony experience.
Claire: An immersive project like music composition would look really good: shows initiative, skills, and perseverance.
Claire: Let me know if I need to lean on the administration to make this happen.
That morning in art class, Erin’s landscape looked like child’s play, literally. She was working from a gorgeous photograph of an ocean storm, but hers looked like blue blobs beneath a wet, gray mess. No nuance. Five years without art had rendered her embarrassingly inexperienced.
Erin maneuvered herself between her painting and Mrs. Campbell, who was critiquing the class.
“I’d like to see your work, Erin.”
She blushed. “It’s just that … it’s very bad. I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Campbell studied it closely. “For a first year, I’d say it’s pretty good. Use the watercolor pencils to draw in the fine details, then flood it with water to get a delicate watercolor look.”
“Thanks. And I’m sorry.”
“You are learning.”
Erin nodded. With blue and white pencils, she differentiated her painted sea before adding water.
The ocean moved. That changed everything.
She kept working.
On her seventeenth birthday, Erin awoke on Lalitha’s bathroom floor, smelling of vomit and feeling as if she’d swallowed a cat.
Still dizzy, she leaned against Lalitha’s bathtub and turned her phone back on. She ignored her mother’s voice mails but read her texts.
Claire: I WOKE UP TO A CALL FROM THE PTA PRESIDENT TELLING ME YOU PASSED OUT DRUNK LAST NIGHT.
Claire: THEN I SAW A VIDEO OF YOU RUNNING AROUND HALF NAKED.
Claire: WHAT THE HELL?
Claire: WERE YOU EVEN AT LALITHA’S HOUSE?
Claire: GET YOUR ASS HOME IMMEDIATELY.
Claire:
