Secret Lucidity(3)

“That doesn’t sound convincing.”

“He’s proud. And he should be with a daughter who can pull a fifty-yard free in twenty-three point two one.”

“I heard Tulsa got an out-of-state transfer a couple weeks ago,” I say as I take my swim cap off. “Held a record in Arizona at twenty-three point two three.”

He rests his elbows on his knees as he leans forward. “You worried?”

“Dad hasn’t mentioned her to me, so yeah, I’m a little worried. I mean, next year is the year.”

“He probably didn’t mention it because he sees no reason to. You’re the state record holder. Keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll be fine.” I look at him wearily, and his smile widens. “You worry too much. It’s the last day of school, and here you are in the pool, stressing about next year’s competition when you should be out doing whatever it is you kids do.”

“And what about you?” I accuse in jest. “Shouldn’t you be out doing whatever it is you teachers do?”

“You’re right.” He hops down from the block. “Go hit the lockers so I can lock up behind you.”

“No need to wait. I have my dad’s keys.”

He takes a step toward me and rests his hand on my shoulder, igniting my skin in some unknown electricity. “Do me a favor, will you? Have fun this summer. Swim, but make sure to have some fun.”

I give him a nod and watch him like a punch-drunk teenager with a maddening crush as he walks out the double doors.

Once dressed, I run up the stairs to the office to call my dad’s classroom from the school’s phone. I dial his room number and see that Coach Andrews left his portfolio on the desk.

“Coach Hale.”

“Hey, Dad. How much longer till you’re ready to go?”

“Five minutes.”

“Okay, I’m on my way now.”

Grabbing the notebook, I sling my backpack over my shoulder before heading out and locking up.

“How was your swim?” my dad asks as I walk into his classroom.

“Good.” I hold up the portfolio. “Coach Andrews left this in the office.”

“You met him?”

“Yeah. He’s nice.”

“Is he already gone?”

I nod.

As we head out, Dad calls his cell, gets his address, and tells him we’ll stop by his house to drop off the notebook.

We pull out of the parking lot, which is nearly empty at this point, and I turn in my seat. “Hey, Dad?”

“Hmm,” he acknowledges, turning the car out to the main road.

“I was wondering if you would consider extending my curfew tonight.”

“Nothing good happens past eleven o’clock.”

I roll my eyes. “Nothing good happens ever, Dad.”

“Then why do you want to stay out?”

“Because it’s my last summer before senior year. Because I want to hang out with my friends. Because I deserve it. Because I make straight As. Because I never get into trouble. Because you can trust me.” I give him an exaggerated smile when we come to a stop at a red light before adding, “And because I’d never do anything to disappoint you.”

“You know how much I love you, right?”

“So, is that a yes?”

He hesitates and then looks at me with just a hint of a smile.

“You make a compelling argument, sweetheart.”

“I learned from the best.”

The light changes to green, and I keep my eyes fixed on my dad. His handsome face is marked by years of laughter. When I see a truck coming toward us, the lines etched around his eyes splinter into fractals that reflect a kaleidoscope of lights and colors. Tires squeal loudly, piercing my ears like needles. An explosion of glass detonates around us with a crashing so loud I feel the reverberations inside the depths of my chest.

I can’t breathe.

Everything moves in slow motion as metal shears its way off the car, screeching against the pavement as we are pummeled across the intersection. Fire spits its flames through my scalp when my head collides with glass, and I’m thrown through the passenger-side window. My dad blurs as distance grows, and the space between us is severed by a spray of glittering shards that sprinkle all around me like shooting stars through the blackened sky, lighting it only for a moment before they burn into nothingness.

And then everything goes black.





“LOOK DOWN TO THE FLOOR so I can apply a touch of mascara.” My mother brings the wand to my eye. “Blink for me.” She then moves to my other eye and does the same. “Perfect,” she murmurs as she finishes, twisting the top back on.

“Wow,” I exclaim when I see my reflection in the mirror. “Can I have lipstick too?”

“Any color but red.”

“Why?”

I pucker up when she pulls out a tube of lipstick from her makeup bag and twists it to reveal a soft shade of pink. “Because only a certain breed of women smear red on their lips. A lady worthy of respect opts for elegance and subtlety. And you, my dear, are a lady.” She swipes the color over my lips and smiles. “Now, rub your lips together.”

I look at my mother and seek her approval. “How do I look?”