Bitter rivals.
Dark outside, the windows of Celebrity are all fogged up and the fans are turning in the rafters something furious. The place is so quiet, everyone so focused on the meet that the sound of the fake waterfalls spilling their guts onto fake rocks is deafening. It’s us against George Washington and Coach has me swimming in the first lane, the outside one, where the slowpokes loiter. There are no carrots here, no fine Beverly Morrison asses to follow.
I’m on the block and tensed to jump, my muscles all pulled to their limits.
On the chairs across the pool, Vauxhall and Paige and my mom are sitting with their hands in their laps, necks stretched out, none of them talking now, but when we first got to the meet my mom was going on and on about Vaux’s documentary. I think she just liked seeing me in it. The film debuted at a student film festival in Boulder and what’s funny is that Vaux dubbed over all my lines, all my brilliant lines. Like the reverse of some comedy flick, she dubbed in Chinese from a kung fu movie. Funny, really. But right now, they’re not thinking movies, just thinking about me. I’m watching Vauxhall and her eyes, the way she’s holding herself. Sitting there she looks comfortable. She looks tamed in some way.
And then the gun goes off and every cell in my body jumps.
I don’t feel the water going into it. Suddenly it’s just there all around me. There’s the whoosh as I push and pull, the bubbles of legs kicking out in front of me. The beckoning of the black cross painted twenty-five meters away. Then I’m at the wall and I’m turning and I don’t see anyone else. The pool, it’s empty beside me.
I feel no strain. My breathing is so tightly controlled.
Everything in me sings in time, perfectly tuned. How good this feels, I know already why in the future I’ll be jumping off of buildings and surfing. It’s the adrenaline rush. It’s just the replacement of the Buzz.
A minute.
Two minutes.
The race is over and I come up for air and hear the roar of the crowd, only it sounds like thousands of people. Taking off my fogged-up goggles, I look around to see that I’m second to last. Lane two, that guy’s out of the pool toweling off already. He’s shaking hands. Fact is: This has been the best swim of my life and I’m in fifth place.
Vaux waves. Paige waves. Mom smiles.
Two nights ago I saw my dad in a dream. He wasn’t young the way he was in my future visions when he was wearing the mask. No, he looked like the same guy parked in the hospital bed only moving around, only talking. The setting was a park bench near a lake. It was fall and the leaves were spinning down. We’ve met there like seven times over the past few months and had pretty good conversations.
This last time I told my dad more about my mom, how she’s gotten a bit better and put the Revelation Book away. I told him that she’s still super Churchified but now she doesn’t look at me the same way. “It’s not like she’s disappointed,” I said. “Just like she’s moved on. It’s like, and this is kind of strange, she’s even more confident in what she believes. Doesn’t have to look for it anymore. Also it’s nice that the freaks have cleared off our porch.”
My dad, the old him, said, “That’s good. That’s very good.”
“Sorry I haven’t stopped by to visit you in a long time.”
He smiled. “I haven’t noticed.”
I told him more about Vaux and me. Told him that I’m thinking of going to college and that my grades are actually better than Ds now. I said, “I’m thinking of majoring in psychology or something. Though maybe physics.”
“That’s excellent. How’s Jimi?”
“Good. He transferred schools. Last time I saw him he was in a play downtown. Funny how it’s changed him; the cockiness is still there, but he’s actually not as good an actor anymore. Forgetful too. How crazy would it be if somehow getting my childhood he got my memory with it? I heard he’s getting his tattoos removed.”
Dad, and this was right before the dream dissipated, said, “I’m proud of you.”
Today, at the swim meet, I pull myself out of the pool, the water beading and melting off, and walk over to where everyone’s sitting. Some of my teammates, they pat me on the back. One of them says, “Good try, dude.” Vauxhall kisses my cheek and hands me a towel.
What no one else realizes here, what most of them will never know, is that I’m operating on a whole other level now. The Buzz is gone, I’m getting high from life just like the rest of the losers around me. And I’m loving that. But what I’m really loving is what none of the people here, well, almost none of the people here, can see.
Vaux sees it. She knows it too.
We are so brilliantly awesome right now.
The two of us, me and Vaux, after blowing kisses to Paige and my mom, are on our way to my car after Mantlo’s won the swim match. Celebrity’s has cleared out, the lot is pretty much empty save my car, and it’s getting dark. We’re speaking loudly as we walk. Vaux is making some cracks about my stroke and then talking trash about one of George’s swimmers, a dude with man tits who probably has an adrenal problem. I’m laughing not because it’s that funny but because it’s so inappropriate.
We’re almost to the car when he appears.
Not the man-tits guy but another George Washington swimmer. This guy is beefy and blond and he is wearing his letterman jacket. He’s holding a beer and smoking a cigarette. This guy, he’s standing between us and my car.
Doesn’t look like he’s gonna budge, either.
This is going to get exciting.
What happened over the last six months is that both Vaux and I have had our energies changed. Our bodies have healed, the highs have been replaced with what I imagine most mountain climbers feel, a kind of ultra-human zing. The sick energy of the Buzz is gone and now it’s just this beaming love, it’s this clean feeling. Incredible really.
And sure, in me, the rage is still swirling, but all the memories associated with it have been erased. The Metal Sisters did some trick and even though it felt like a psychic lobotomy the nastiness is gone. I might have Jimi’s childhood, but I can’t recall a single second of it. Clean and clear. The Diviners, of course, were still trying to talk me into helping them. Grandpa Razor, they’ve told me, is a changed person. Also I’ve seen the Diviners’ sigil, that clumsy spray-painted hand, nearly everywhere I look.
Tonight, in the parking lot, I call out to this moron blocking our way. “Hey,” I say. “Need something?”
I am not stressed. If anything, I’m kind of giddy inside. Vaux is too. It’s the way she’s squeezing my hand.
“Yeah,” this guys says. “I heard your girl there, that she might be…”
“You heard what?” Vauxhall asks.
This guy sips his beer and laughs. “You know, looking for some.”
“Some what?” I ask.
This asshole’s eyes narrow down, his face puckers, he says, “Look, dickwad, I think it’d be best if you just stepped back and let me have a conversation with your bitch here.”
And he steps forward, trying to spook me. Vauxhall touches his hand, just lightly, almost like she’s pushing this dude backward, only she isn’t. The touch is sudden and then she turns to me and smiles, says, “Ask him about his dog.”
I look to the dude. “Tell me about your dog.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, son?”
Vauxhall says, “Ask him to tell you about how he lost his dog. About how he’s really broken up about it and worried his mother might find out about how he used to kick the dog.”
Still looking at the dude, I say, “That true? Did you kick your dog?”
The guy is confused. Stumbles forward. “What?”
And I let him hit me. He’s sloppy and just barely connects. I don’t move, not even a hair, and his loose fist smacks up against the side of my head. Ear stings a bit, is probably red, but it’s what I wanted. After he hits me, I say to Vaux, “About six feet to the left and in front of the driver’s side door. Quick. And I’m guessing a broken nose.”
“Ouch,” Vauxhall says, cringing.
What happened over the past few months is that my ability changed, just the same as Vauxhall’s did. And then the both of us, we got even more powerful. It’s like the ability knob got turned up to eleven. The longer we’ve been
