Beyond the Point(41)
“Here,” he said. “I think you’re ready for one thirty-five. Do a clean.”
For the last few months, Locke had made it his personal mission to help Dani fully recover from her injuries. He told her what to eat, how fast to run, how much to bench-press. And now he was monitoring how much weight she could lift from the ground to her shoulders. With a heave, she completed the move, in one snap of the wrists and hips.
She hadn’t told him that the old familiar twinge was back again—that ache in her right hip. But it was possible that the discomfort was just residual scar tissue from last fall’s surgery, or a by-product of doing cleans with the wrong form. Plus, if she ignored the static in her joints, she could lift nearly as much weight as she had this time last year, and that was something.
Three months earlier, at the last practice of the season, the entire women’s basketball team had written the name of the player they wanted to serve as captain next year. Coach Jankovich read the votes out loud with growing disdain.
“Dani McNalley . . . Dani McNalley . . . another for McNalley . . .”
Normally, the team chose a rising Firstie to be captain. And since Dani had truly only had one season on the court, this vote felt particularly kind. So she had to be better by next season—there were no excuses.
Releasing the bar, Dani looked at herself in the mirror. Her muscles had returned, arms sculpted, quads toned and strong. The scar on her hip had faded from red to dark brown, just a few shades darker than her skin. She finally looked like an athlete again, and not a moment too soon. This summer—in fourteen days, in fact—she and Hannah were headed to Airborne School. At times, the image of her body falling out of a plane with nothing but a parachute made her shiver with nerves. According to Tim, the biggest obstacle to overcome wasn’t getting used to the height, or the equipment, or the risk. It was getting used to the fear.
“Everyone’s scared,” he’d explained a few nights earlier, while cooking a pot of spaghetti for Hannah on a hot plate in her room. “Everything in your body screams at you to step back from the edge—your palms sweat and your heart rate goes up, and everything in your head shouts that this is suicide. But once you’re actually in the air—once you’ve jumped—all that fear goes away and you just fly. It’s crazy. Most people never step over the boundary of fear.”
Dani liked having Tim Nesmith around. Ever since ballroom dancing, he and Hannah had been inseparable. West Point’s newest poster couple were nothing alike, of course. Tim was loud, opinionated, and spontaneous; Hannah was quiet, reserved, and thoughtful. But somehow, together, they were like opposite sides of a magnet that refused to separate.
“They’re so attractive, it’s annoying,” Avery had whispered to Dani a few days earlier when they were passing between classes. Tim and Hannah were ahead of them, allowing the backs of their hands to touch every few steps. Academy rules prohibited holding hands.
“It’s like, I can’t decide who to look at,” Dani said. “Him or her? They’re both so beautiful.”
They’d cracked up, mostly because it was true. The lovebirds looked like a Hollywood couple that had accidentally put on uniforms, and while Dani could admire their newfound love without growing a root of jealousy, she was pretty certain that it was becoming a difficult feat for Avery. It seemed hard for Avery to be content when faced with evidence that Hannah was happier with Tim than Avery had ever been with her fleet of boyfriends. Three weeks earlier, disregarding Hannah’s new relationship status, Avery had planned a girls-only trip to New York City.
“We deserve this,” Avery had said. And knowing it was their last B-weekend of the year, Hannah and Dani had complied.
Wendy Bennett had dropped them at the Garrison train station, and they’d taken the commuter train into Grand Central Terminal, stepping off the train and into the dirt, grime, and electricity of the world’s most beautiful city.
“Soho,” Avery had said decisively while they were on the train, pointing to the southwest corner of Manhattan on her map. “Then Greenwich Village or midtown. There are supposed to be some great clubs around there.”
“The clubs all ID,” Dani had said.
In response, Avery displayed a collection of freshly laminated driver’s licenses like playing cards. “Here you go, Agatha. And you.” She passed one to Hannah. “Juliette Ramsey.”
“I don’t know about this,” Hannah had said. She turned her head to the side to inspect her alias.
“We won’t use them unless we have to,” Dani had said to Hannah, warding off Avery’s annoyance. “And if we get some better clothes in Soho, I’m guessing we won’t have any trouble getting into the clubs.”
After a hearty brunch of French toast and coffee at a bakery on Bleecker Street, they’d meandered in and out of the stores in Soho, purchasing clothes that they’d later change into in the bathroom of a Starbucks in the Flatiron District. At Express, Avery had chosen a slinky black dress. Dani replaced her jeans with a tight miniskirt, to show off her newly sculpted legs. A fire-engine-red dress had called Hannah’s name, and even though she’d cringed at the amount of skin it exposed, the girls had forced her to carry it to the checkout line.
They spent the night dancing, and when a limousine of FDNY firefighters pulled up next to the club they were trying to get into, Avery had talked her way into their party, securing their entry into every club for the rest of the night. Because of their heroic efforts after the attacks on September 11th, the city still treated firefighters like celebrities, keeping their drinks full and their tabs on the house. At two A.M., Hannah had started to grow weary, rubbing her heels and staring at Dani pleadingly.