Midnight Sun(45)

It’s humid and sticky on the pool deck. I immediately start sweating underneath my many layers of clothes. I go to unzip my hoodie.

My dad reaches out a hand to stop me. He points at the wall of windows on the opposite side of the pool. The midday sun is streaming through, splashing rainbow colors onto the puddles of the pool deck. “Don’t. It’s not safe.”

“What’s the worst thing—” I start to say again, but then I notice the worry lines on my dad’s forehead. They seem to have grown in size and number over the past few weeks. “No problem, Dad.”

We climb into the packed stands and take a seat in the corner of the highest bleacher, where the sun can’t possibly hit me. I see Charlie’s parents sitting in the front row. Zoe’s there, too, along with her crew. She sees me and gives me a fake smile and wave. “Hi, Katie Price!”

“New friend of yours?” my dad asks.

“Old enemy,” I reply, waving back and giving Zoe an even faker smile than the one she gave me. So she figured out who I was. I feel surprisingly calm; it’s like Zoe has lost all her power over me. The worst has already happened. Nothing she could do to me would ever compare.

Then I spot the reason we’re all here: a fit-looking man in a Berkeley polo shirt holding a clipboard, furiously taking notes, a stopwatch around his neck. He looks up and notices me noticing him. I give him a smile and a thumbs-up. His lips curve up almost imperceptibly, but I take it as a good omen anyhow.

“Next up, the last event of the day—the finals of the men’s two-hundred-meter freestyle!” the announcer booms. His voice bounces off the tiled walls. Cheers erupt in the stands. The place feels completely electric.

The swimmers file out and take their places next to their respective starting blocks. I silently bemoan the fact that everyone looks the same in their Speedos, swim caps, and goggles. I crane my neck, trying to figure out which guy is Charlie. He texted me earlier that he’d be swimming in lane one, but that can’t be right. The block is empty.

Charlie’s parents clutch at each other. Dad turns to me and raises his eyebrows. I shrug and shake my head like I have no idea. He’s supposed to be there. Berkeley man stops writing and glances down at his watch and then back up impatiently.

I hold my breath. And then, like magic, there he is. Charlie looks so powerful, so strong, so goddamn good, I want to jump out of the stands and throw my arms around him.

The other swimmers are splashing water on themselves, shaking the nervous energy out of their arms and legs. But Charlie just stands there looking cool, calm, and collected. He grins at his mom and dad.

He keeps searching the stands with his eyes, looking through bleacher after bleacher. My dad finally lifts his hand and points down at me. I push the hoodie off my head—Dad doesn’t object this time—and wave. Charlie breaks into a huge smile and pats his heart. I pat mine. It’s our new code: Amor vincit omnia. Love conquers all.

Charlie nods. He’s ready to go now.

“Set,” the announcer rumbles.

The swimmers get into position.

BEEP!

And they’re off. The competitors spend most of the first lap underwater. I’m breathless just watching, so I can’t imagine how they must feel.

Suddenly, they all break to the surface. The graceful silence is replaced by water churning beneath determined arms and legs. To me, it seems like all the swimmers are in a tie. It’s still anyone’s race.

Charlie’s parents grip each other’s hands. The Berkeley coach looks up at the clock on the scoreboard, then back at the pool. The swimmers head into lap number two.

The guy in the lane next to Charlie starts pulling ahead. Everyone else stays in a tight clump behind him. I stick two fingers into either side of my mouth and whistle as loudly as I can, trying to motivate Charlie to go faster, faster.

The swimmers flip, turn, and rocket into the third lap. The guy in the lead puts even more distance between himself and the rest of the pack. Come on, Charlie, I think. This is your big chance. Give it everything you’ve got. Your future depends on it.

One lap to go. Charlie is still behind, in third or maybe even fourth place. I leap to my feet and start screaming, cheering as loudly as I’ve ever cheered for anything in my life. I hope he can hear me. I know how many hours he’s been putting in to get back into shape. I know he’s done everything he can to prepare for this moment. I know he can do it.

And then I see it. He’s surging. He knows he can do it, too.

Charlie’s arms pump harder, harder. He glides through the water. He’s coming on strong. Coming up fast. He passes the guy in third place, and then the one in second. But there’s still too much space between him and the swimmer in first. Winning now seems close to impossible.

But Charlie just keeps on gaining. And then it happens. His hand touches the wall before anyone else’s. He WON!

I keep screaming. That race was probably the most exciting thing I’ll ever witness. Totally worthy of getting hoarse over.

Charlie pulls himself out of the pool, shoulders and biceps and abs rippling. Then he takes off his goggles and heads for the stands. I can’t help myself; I go running down the bleachers toward him. Toward the light. Dad follows right on my heels.

“Stay clear of the sunny spots, Katie!” he reminds me. I stop short of where Charlie is standing.

The Berkeley coach grabs him for a quick talk, then heads out the door. I start toward Charlie again, but then his parents intercept him. So Dad and I hang back, waiting. Finally, Charlie breaks free from all the well-wishers and scoops me up in a hug.