Breathe by Melanie McCullough Page A

tell from his sloppy technique and his bright orange cap that it was Jeff Walker. Normally Jeff only practiced in the afternoon when the entire team trained. The fact that he was there now meant that he was Garrett’s replacement. It all seemed so final. Weighed on my heart. Felt like it might crush it.
    I stepped out of my clothes and shoes, donned a cap and goggles, then dived into the pool. I swam for a few minutes until I heard the sound of garbled and raised voices coming from above. I stopped and pushed my goggles back so I could see what was happening.
    “You’re not welcome here no more,” Coach Scott was telling Garrett.
    Garrett folded his arms across his chest. “I just want to talk to Abby. Then I’ll go.”
    “She’s training. Something you’re apparently too good for. She doesn’t need you distracting her.”
    “That’s not for you to decide.”
    “You already fucked up your own life, boy. You think I’m going to let you screw hers up too?” Coach Scott signaled for the other coaches standing nearby—drawn to the sound of raised voices and the promise of a good show—and together they escorted Garrett from the building.
    I started climbing the ladder to get out of the pool but a hand on my wrist stopped me. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Jeff told me. “You’ll just make it worse.”
    I didn’t see Garrett for the rest of the day—we had no classes together and I ran during lunch to make up the half hour I’d missed that morning—but he was waiting for me when I emerged from swim practice that afternoon with Jeff Walker by my side telling me something about the homecoming dance.
    He was parked in his usual spot and sat on the rear bumper. I almost wanted to run to him, throw my arms around him, but I didn’t know where we stood. Saturday night we’d fought and yesterday he’d ignored me. So I walked calmly over to him and he stood as I approached. I could see Jeff stalling by his car, waiting to see what would happen.
    “I called you,” I said.
    “My phone privileges have been revoked.”
    “Because you quit swimming?”
    He gave a short laugh. “So you did notice?”
    “Of course I noticed. We’ve been swimming together every day for five years. You think I wouldn’t notice when you fail to show?” He looked down at his feet, kicked a rock with the toe of his boot. “What’s gotten in to you?” I asked. “Huh? What were you thinking?”
    “I was thinking you better get used to swimming without me. You won’t have me with you next year and I can’t keep doing something I hate just to make you happy.”
    I wanted him to stop. To stop telling me that I’d be alone next year. To stop telling me that he’d hated the last five years he’d spent with me. It was too much. Like I rushing downhill with no brakes. I couldn’t stop it and I was bound to crash.
    “I never asked you to,” I snapped.
    “I never said you did,” he replied, finally raising his head to look into my eyes.
    “You’re not supposed to be here,” Coach Scott’s voice boomed from behind me and I turned to see him speeding in our direction. When he reached the spot where we stood, he yanked me by the arm away from Garrett and planted himself between us.
    “I’m a student. I’m welcome on school grounds.”
    “But you’re not welcome near my swimmers,” Coach Scott shot back then to me he said, “Abby, Jeff will give you a ride home. Won’t you, Walker?”
    “I can drive you home, Ab,” Garrett assured me, keeping his eyes locked on this father. “You can get in the truck.”
    “Not if she wants to swim for me, she can’t,” Coach Scott replied.
    And there it was: The choice I’d been avoiding. Swimming or Garrett. Penn State or Little Bend. Having a life or having a reason to live.
    “Get in the truck, Abby,” Garrett said again, ignoring the ultimatum his father had just issued. Or maybe he knew what it meant. Maybe he knew that if I got in the truck, I’d finally picked him