Counting to Perfect Page 2

  “Of course you did,” I said.

  Julia raised her eyebrows at me.

  Mom frowned, looking from one of us to the other. Then she made her I-give-up face.

  Dad had been ignoring us, reading my report card.

  “What happened in science?”

  “Nothing.” To be honest, I wasn’t sure. A couple bad quizzes?

  When he finally looked up, he said, “A fine report card. Well done.” He handed it to Mom.

  She looked it over. “Yes, that’s nice. Well done, Cassie.” She set the report card on the table.

  I looked back and forth between them, waiting.

  A good report card used to get me a sundae out. An excellent report card at the end of fifth grade and Dad took me to the bookstore with fifty dollars to spend.

  All As this time, except the one B in science.

  “Can I have something?” I asked.

  “You want me to pass the chicken?” Dad asked.

  “Salad?” Mom held it up.

  “No, I mean for the report card.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh.”

  They looked at each other, thinking with one mind through their eyeballs. When they did that, the conversation usually didn’t turn out good for me. But Mom nodded, and then Dad said, “Sure. Sure, honey. Maybe…hey, why don’t we go out to dinner? We could go tomorrow night. You can pick the place. How does that sound?”

  “Everybody? Like, all of us?”

  “Sure.”

  “You guys can all go out,” Julia said. “I’ll keep Addie home. Then you won’t have to worry about her making a mess at the restaurant or needing to cut things short so she can go to bed.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Julia, you go, I’ll stay home with her,” Mom said.

  “No,” I said.

  “I’m fine, we can stay home,” Julia said. “It could even be nice to have a quiet night, just us.”

  “No.”

  Mom and Dad locked eyes again. But they weren’t talking about me this time; it was like they couldn’t even hear me. Like we weren’t talking about my celebration at all. They were talking about Julia. Again.

  “We don’t want to leave you guys home alone like that,” Mom said. “By yourselves. At night.”

  Julia stared at her. “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “Forget it,” I said.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” Julia said again.

  “Forget it,” I said again.

  Julia was glaring at Mom, who was looking sternly back, unblinking; they were having the biggest, fattest silent eye-conversation ever.

  When did you learn how to do that? Nobody would teach me. Nobody would even meet my eyes.

  Julia stood up, unbuckled Addie, still all covered in sweet potato, and sat her on her hip. Addie’s eyes were big and a little confused, like she could tell people were getting upset. But she was where she belonged, stuck to Julia, so she was still okay.

  Julia and Addie left. Even though Julia hadn’t gotten around to eating anything.

  After a moment, Dad said, “You and me, kid. Anywhere you like.”

  “Forget it. I don’t want to go.”

  He and Mom looked at each other again, but I don’t know if they were eye-talking about me or about Julia.

  “Something else then?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t want anything!”

  “Why are you yelling?” Mom asked.

  I threw my napkin onto my plate.

  “I’m done, too.”

  * * *

  —

  Upstairs, the bathroom door was open, the light on.

  Julia was giving Addie a bath. She had one hand on Addie’s back; Addie was sitting up in the tub in a couple inches of water. She leaned forward, splashing her hands, smacking them into the water again and again when she realized she liked the splashes. Julia hadn’t wiped the sweet potato off her face yet.

  I stood in the doorway, not sure if it would be right for me to go in.

  In the end, I just went to my own room and shut the door.

  Julia brought Addie by for bedtime kisses, like every night.

  She handed me Addie, clean of sweet potato and smelling like Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo. Then she sat on my bed, leaned against the wall.

  The things we weren’t saying hung in the air.

  You okay?

  You okay?

  “You ruin everything,” I said.

  “Hey! Don’t say that to her!” Julia sat up.

  “I wasn’t talking to her!” I looked at my sister. “You ruin everything!”

  She blinked like she was confused. “Is this about your report card outing?”

  “No! It’s about everything.”

  “Everything? Since when?”

  I studied Addie. Her bottom lip was sticking out.

  “Are you sure you don’t mean Addie?”

  Like it would be somehow easier, if it was just Addie.

  A squeezing heat grew inside my rib cage.

  “Get out! Get out of my room!”

  “What?”

  “Go away!”

  Julia didn’t move.

  “Go away, go away!”

  “Fine!” Julia stood up and left.

  Addie looked out the door after her.

  “You forgot your baby!”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  Addie had turned back to stare at me. She whimpered.

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Sorry…I’m sorry.” I turned her so she could lie down in my arms. I bounced her a little. She got comfy. Sucked on her fingers. Decided she didn’t need to worry. But I whispered some more anyway: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  Julia came back for her later.

  Addie being asleep was a good excuse for us not to say anything.

  Another knock on my door.

  “What?”

  The door opened. Dad.

  “Hey, kid.”

  “Hey.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about science.”

  I stared at him. Not the apology I was expecting. “What are you talking about?”

  “I should have been paying more attention. I should have noticed. Been there. Could have helped you get ready for the final.”

  I stared at him. “That’s…okay….”

  It was just a B. What was the big deal? It was a grade. Why did he care so much about my grades? He hadn’t cared about much else about me over the past few months. But a bad grade made him freak out. Was I only grades to him? Were both of us?

  He came and sat on my bed. Settling in for a longer talk.

  Great.

  “What?”

  “If you’re having a hard time with something, I want you to feel like you can tell me. Us. Me and your mother. Okay?”

  “What are you talking about?” I tipped my head back against the headboard. Why had he even come in here?

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were having trouble in science?”

  “Dad! I wasn’t having trouble! It was just…boring. I got to the quizzes and didn’t remember what I’d read the night before. That’s all. I don’t care.”

  “I care.”

  Then why didn’t he care about the things I wanted him to care about? Why had he missed so many swim meets? Why had I missed April swim camp? Why hadn’t he asked what I wanted to do for my birthday at the end of the summer, so we could plan it? Did he even remember my birthday was coming? Why hadn’t he asked why Liana hadn’t set foot in our house in months, and why me and my friends had to hang out other places?

  “I’m tired,” I said.

  “Of course, it’s late,” Dad said. “Talk more tomorrow?”

 
“Mm.” I let it look like I was going back to my book. He rumpled my hair—which I didn’t like, but I tried not to pull away—and then he left.

  * * *

  —

  I got up and paced, eventually settling on shifting pictures on my crisscross-ribbon bulletin board.

  Maybe I could just mail the whole thing to Mr. Connelly as my project. He could analyze the layering, the pictures I picked to cover others—how that one of me and Julia at six and twelve was buried, buried, buried. How there were more swim medals from other years than from this past one, not because I wasn’t swimming well, but because I’d had to miss so many meets. How there weren’t even many new photos. How the whole thing looked kind of dusty and faded.

  Apparent time spent: years and years.

  But mindlessly. So it looked like I hadn’t spent any time at all.

  I hadn’t known what I was recording.

  I came to a swimming picture from more than a year before. Piper, Liana, our teammate Bea, and I, all in our black meet suits and red caps, smiling big smiles, even though some of us were still trying to catch our breath.

  * * *

  —

  It had been a close meet—we were going to have to win almost every relay. But the other team was really good, and we rarely beat them at relays.

  I’d had a great individual swim earlier—which hadn’t prepared me for what Coach said as our relay team gathered behind the block.

  “You girls get this, and the rest of our relays just have to not disqualify. Piper and Cassie, I want you to switch. Cassie, you’re anchor.”

  I never anchored. Usually I led off to get us a great start, but to close the relay, you had to be so fast.

  Whatever Coach said was what would happen. We couldn’t argue.

  “Okay, Coach.”

  “Okay, Coach.”

  “Safe starts.”

  All four of us nodded.

  As he walked away, Piper said, “You got this.”

  I nodded, dancing on jittery legs, suctioning and resuctioning my goggles.

  “Swimmers, step up.”

  Piper and the other first swimmers climbed onto the blocks.

  Everyone went silent for the start.

  As soon as the starter sounded, the crowd in the stands began to cheer.

  After the third swimmers dove in, I climbed onto the block. Bea, good as she was, was losing our lead. If I knew I was going in ahead, I would know I could do it.

  The cheering and screaming in the stands increased as the spectators stood. They all knew what was at stake. The sound filled the indoor pool, echoing, creating a wall.

  It’s easy to block out that wall.

  My body channeled the sound into a useful ball of adrenaline beneath my rib cage. I couldn’t hear it anymore.

  In the silence I’d created for myself, I took a second to glance at the crowd and saw Mom and Dad. They weren’t looking at me; they were watching Bea. Dad had his arms crossed over his chest; Mom, her hands clasped under her chin.

  I looked back at Bea, heading toward me. In my peripheral vision, our competition pulled farther ahead.

  I wasn’t going to get a lead.

  But it was only going to be a body’s length they were ahead. If I had a great start…

  I can do this anyway.

  I pictured the adrenaline ball, packed it tight into a perfect sphere and wrapped it in a smooth white casing of calm, to save it.

  No more jitters.

  I stretched my arms out, steady, to follow Bea in.

  As her hand extended to hit the wall, I dove.

  One last millisecond of calm and silence as I hit the water, was truly alone but also carried somehow by my screaming teammates and our fans. I broke the surface and with it the adrenaline ball. Tingles hit all the way to my fingertips and toes. And then my arms were flying and my feet fluttering. I hit the turn without a breath—but that was okay, I didn’t need one—and then I saw her, my opponent, hitting the wall at exactly the same time, creating another pretend split-second of calm stillness.

  I got this.

  I burst off the wall and stayed underwater longer than she did, and when I broke the surface again, I was ahead. I could see it, and I could hear it, because the crowd was screaming louder than ever.

  I snatched a breath, because I needed one, but kept my head down after that. Pull pull pull pull pull pull, and there it was: I extended my hand and touched the electric timer three-tenths of a second before she did.

  The crowd wouldn’t stop screaming. Coach was jumping up and down. I climbed out, the arms of my crying relay teammates wrapping around me as soon as my feet had cleared the water, Piper squeezing me hard and Liana kissing me on my cap.

  I looked at the stands: there were our parents, all tangled in a similar hug, other parents reaching to pat them on the shoulders.

  I stood there dripping, unable to catch my breath, but it felt good, like I would live live live forever, my heart was pumping so fast and so steady.

  Then we were walking, the four of us, back to the benches to grab our towels, the next relays getting ready.

  But when we reached the stands, another round of cheering and applause had started. Our parents had rushed down to the front—a standing ovation—reaching to touch each of us, get handshakes and high fives. I swear Mom and Dad had tears in their eyes.

  On the way home, Dad couldn’t shut up.

  “Cassie, that was…the way you just carried all of that, like it was no big deal, you were just so…confident.”

  Mom turned in her seat, put her hand on my knee, looked me in the eye. “Congratulations on a fantastic win.”

  * * *

  —

  There was another swim meet, about a month later but still before Addie, when we needed wins in the relays.

  I was anchor again. Our relay started. We were a little behind, but I was going to get it.

  Only I didn’t.

  My dive wasn’t clean. My strokes didn’t feel good; they felt short and choppy. I breathed a lot, and choked on water.

  We lost.

  I lost.

  After getting in the car, Mom, Dad, and I just sat for a moment.

  Then Dad said, “That’s all right. You’ll get ’em next time.”

  The first official morning of my summer vacation.

  I sat in a lawn chair in the front yard.

  It was hot.

  There was nothing to do before the pool opened. Mom would drop me off to be with my friends then.

  Mornings at the pool: hang out; afternoons: swim practice with the team. Perfect plans for the summer.

  I pulled my baseball cap farther down over my face. Maybe I could nap. Addie had woken me up in the night. Three times. And Julia had brought her in for her morning visit anyway. Even though we sat still and stiff and didn’t say anything.

  Someone plopped into the chair next to me.

  “Hey, Cassie.”

  “Oh, hi Carter.”

  Carter visited every day. I guess he should have, because he was Addie’s dad, but I was sick of him. It had been bad enough before Addie, when he was over every other day. It seemed like he got most of Julia’s free time, and all of her smiles.

  At least he had a summer job at the mall and then he was going to college. Nearby, but still, it would get him out of my space a little.

  “I went to go inside, but Julia told me she’s not ready.”

  Not ready? For what? She’d told him not to come inside?

  I peered at him from under my cap.

  “Hey, Cassie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is Julia…okay?”

  “What do you mean?” I sat up.

  What did he mean? Julia had had his baby when she was seventeen and he was asking
if she was okay?

  “Yeah, Julia’s great.” I settled back down in my chair.

  “Oh, good, because, I thought you would know if something was wrong.”

  Why would I know anything? It wasn’t like Julia told me things.

  “You should check again. She’s probably ready now.”

  “Um, yeah, okay, thanks Cass.”

  I did not like him calling me Cass. Only Julia got to do that. He’d heard her, but it didn’t mean he was invited to.

  I gave him a head start going inside, and then I trailed after and yelled, “Mom? Can you take me to the pool now?”

  * * *

  —

  After a morning in the diving well, Piper, Liana, and I spread our towels on the concrete deck for our picnic lunch. My towel looked like a watermelon; Piper’s had fat rainbow stripes. Liana’s was the faded Finding Nemo one Julia and I had given her for her seventh birthday. Probably the only thing left from that present, which had been her first swim bag, stuffed with gear like goggles and neon practice caps.

  I opened my cooler: three bottles of water and one of sunscreen; a turkey-and-cheese sandwich; a whole bag of Goldfish crackers to share; three cookies, also to share; an apple. I’d packed the whole thing myself.

  I tossed the sunscreen to Piper, who squirted some into her hands and came around behind me to do my back and shoulders. We each contributed one bottle of sunscreen for the summer—after a couple weeks of eight hours in the sun, we’d be so brown we wouldn’t burn.

  Liana picked up the bottle, gave it a squeeze into her hand, and knelt in front of me. “Your cheeks are pink already,” she said, dabbing the sunscreen onto my face. She was so much more gentle than Piper, who was slapping me.

  After we were all sunscreened, we tossed the food we’d brought to share into the middle. We laughed when Piper pulled out cubes of honeydew melon and Liana cantaloupe at the same time. Liana added a bag of baby carrots.

  “Did you write your letter last night, dork?” Piper asked Liana.

  “No,” Liana said. “You know I didn’t.”