Pushing Perfect(50)

“I didn’t know how to tell you I didn’t want to try out,” I said. “Classes are already really hard, and swim team is superintense. I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough time to study, and I don’t love swimming like you do. I’d have to work twice as hard as everyone else if I even made the team, and I didn’t think I could do both.”

“I understand that,” she said, but her voice was hard. “I understand a lot of things.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me. Why you’ve been hiding so many things. We’ve been friends for how many years now? Why didn’t you just say something? I was worried about you.”

“You were?” I’d been so fixated on her being mad that it hadn’t occurred to me. And what else did she think I was hiding?

“I thought something happened. I thought maybe you got into a car accident. It never for one hot second occurred to me that you would just blow off tryouts and not tell me. Do you have any idea how much that hurt, when I realized it? I seriously considered never speaking to you again.”

“I bet Isabel was totally on board with that.” Everything that had happened since we’d started high school only served to confirm my sense that she’d be happier being a duo with Becca.

“Don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t put me in the middle of you guys. Yes, I’ve known her longer, and I get that you and I are closer than you are with her. But I’m sick of being the one in the middle. She’s not the problem here. You are.”

Becca had always been direct; it was something I’d always admired about her. She wasn’t mean like Isabel could be; she just said what was on her mind. I envied her for it, really. Of course, at the moment, I wished she was a little less direct. I was the problem, but hearing her say it made me feel kind of sick.

“I get that,” I said. “Can you forgive me, though?”

“You realize this is the second time you’ve bailed on me,” she said. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the hair.”

I stared at the floor, which made my hair hang in front of my face. Not the best move. “I know.”

“You knew you weren’t going to try out then, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t sure,” I said, but I was getting tired of lying. “I’d started worrying about school, but we hadn’t started classes yet. I didn’t know for sure until later.” It was close enough. “I’m sorry about that too. You know I am.”

“Yeah, I do,” she said, and she finally sounded like herself again. “But we can’t keep doing this. You not being honest with me, and then being all sad and apologetic and asking me to forgive you. We never used to be like this. I don’t want high school to change us.”

I didn’t say that it already had, or that it wasn’t just high school, or any of the things I should have said. I just said I’d never do anything like that again; if I did, I knew I wouldn’t be able to come back from it.

And for a while, we were fine. We weren’t great, or even good, but we were fine. I went to her swim meets when I could, and we met up to go to Isabel’s shows, and once in a while the three of us went out for coffee or even hung out at Becca’s house, like in the old days. But whenever the two of them wanted to go out at night, to parties or clubs in San Francisco, which was their new thing, I begged off. I wanted to hang out with just them, but they were more interested in meeting guys, which I knew was something I should want too. I even had a crush on a guy in my math elective, a junior named Drew who was totally out of my league. The thought of actually getting together with him, or anyone else, was terrifying. What if he found out what was under my makeup? It was one thing to walk the halls looking normal; it was a whole other thing for someone to come close enough to touch my face and feel the roughness underneath the smooth illusion.

Becca kept trying to get me to go anyway. “It’s not like you have to get with anyone,” she’d say. “We’ll have fun no matter what.”

But I went with them once or twice, and it wasn’t fun. I’d end up sitting by myself or dancing alone while they were off with the boys they liked; even worse was when guys I didn’t know would come up and talk to me, or try to get me to dance with them. It made me anxious—not as anxious as the thought of swim tryouts, but I wasn’t interested in learning how much more anxious I’d feel if I kept doing the kinds of things they wanted to do. I didn’t want to meet just anyone; if I was going to get over my fears, it would be for Drew and no one else.

I started to remember how things got really bad sophomore year, but before I could dive back into those memories, people started coming out of rehearsal. I stood up quickly so Isabel wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing me, turning away when I saw Justin. He’d had no interest in being involved in the plan to find out who Blocked Sender was; I had no interest in explaining why I was hanging around outside the auditorium.

Isabel was one of the last people to leave rehearsal. She was as glamorous as ever with her short skirt and high boots, hairdresser-enhanced blond hair falling in waves around her face. She was talking animatedly with a couple of other girls; I hated interrupting, but I had no choice. She wasn’t paying attention to me at all. “Isabel,” I called out just as she passed me by.