Breathing Underwater by Abbey Lee Nash

Author:Abbey Lee Nash [Lee, Abbey Nash]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Holiday House
Published: 2024-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

In the days that follow, Dr. Cappalano’s words cycle through my brain on repeat: We just don’t know if you’ll have another seizure until you do. No matter how hard I try to focus on training, my mounting anxiety is a constant distraction. It’s like I’m carrying around a ticking time bomb set to whenever, and I’m just holding my breath until it detonates.

On Friday, Coach meets me at the end of my lane after practice.

“You feeling okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I peel off my goggles, run my hands down my face. “I don’t know.”

“You need to tell me if training is too much.”

“It’s not that. I’m just off this morning. In my head, I guess.”

Coach folds her arms across her clipboard. “You’re already going to be swimming with a handicap at Nationals. Mentally, you need to be on your game.”

The word handicap bows my head like a heavy hand. “I know.”

“I expect you to be focused at tomorrow’s meet.”

I tell her I will be, but doubt has taken root and it festers through the night. Worst-case scenarios play out in my dreams: demotion to the C Finals at Nationals, humiliating myself in front of the entire swimming community, my scholarship yanked out from under me. Each loss a domino that knocks down the next.

Saturday morning, Dad finds me in the kitchen, making breakfast before the meet. He’s dressed in jeans and an Oakwood Academy T-shirt, the softly lined skin around his eyes creased with sleep.

I spread creamy avocado on a slice of toast. “Want some?”

“Coffee first. Always coffee.” Dad fills a travel mug to the brim. “You feel ready?”

“I guess.”

“Every win counts,” he reminds me.

“So does every loss.” The food feels like concrete in my throat. “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“To the meet?”

“To Nationals.”

Dad lowers his mug. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You heard what Coach said about modified training. There’s no way I’m going to make the A Finals now.”

“C’mon, Tess. One bad test result and you’re ready to give up on your dreams?”

“You did.”

“That was different,” Dad says, his voice tightening. “You can’t play ball with a blown knee.”

“You can’t swim with epilepsy—not really.”

“Maybe some people can’t, but you’re a fighter, kid. You always have been.”

I raise my brow, not so sure.

“Even when you first learned how to swim—it was like you belonged in the water, like your body just knew what to do.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t forget,” I say dryly. For the first time in my life, I can’t trust my body; it could betray me at any time.

Dad pushes a travel mug across the counter. “We’ve got this.”

I force a smile, thinking if things go south, it won’t be “we” gasping for air on the pool deck. It will just be me.

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