Remember When **Under MAJOR Editing**

Chapter 6

Thanks a lot, Mya."

I was shocked to hear Dade's voice. I looked up at him before I could stop myself. I'd been afraid he'd have words with me tonight, after I turned him in and Coach talked with him behind closed doors in the office. That would never have prevented me from coming to the football game to cheer Zack on and hang with the rest of the swim team in the crowded stadium. Still, I'd felt relieved when Dade didn't show up quarter after quarter. And now here he was in the fourth, typically late, typically wandering in for free after the booster club abandoned taking tickets at the gate.
"Coach didn't kick you off the team, did he?" I hoped I sounded surprised Dade was upset. He was the best swimmer we had, too good for Coach to kick off for minor infractions. He wasn't in any real trouble, and I hoped by pointing this out, I would take the edge off his anger at me.

Avoiding his gaze, I turned back to the game far below us on the spotlit field. I looked for Zack's white 24 on his red Bulldogs jersey. He nabbed the ball and plowed his way upfield. "Go, Zack!" I screamed. "Go, go, go—ouch!" He slammed into an enemy player even bigger than him and stopped short. Whistles blew, the refs gestured toward a penalty somewhere downfield, and the game paused. The marching band broke into "Who Let the Dogs Out?" for the third time in the fourth quarter. My excuse was gone to ignore Dade.

He stared down at me, waiting for me to give him my full attention before he answered my question with an insult. "No, Coach didn't kick me off," he sneered. "But that's what you wanted, Mya. You can pull that sweetheart act with anyone but me."
The sneering made me uneasy. I hoped my mother's secret was still secret. And I found it hard to remember what I'd planned to say next with Dade glaring at me.
Finally I managed, "I have nothing against you, Dade. Nothing except you've been late for practice every day this week. It's my job to mark you tardy."

"And point it out to Coach? He never would have noticed I was late if you hadn't told him." Dade's voice rose as he spoke. Mike and Ian, standing on the row below us, heard him even with "Who Let the Dogs Out?" still blasting through the stadium. They turned around to look at us. Mike blushed red —which wasn't unusual for Mike, but indicated he could hear Dade clearly. Ian, with sandy brown hair, stayed sand colored, as if he were trying to blend into his beach surroundings. But his eyes met mine for the briefest moment. This argument between Dade and me was bound to stir up talk again that something had happened between us.

My heart sped up. I could feel it knocking against my chest and hear the blood pumping in my ears. I said, clearly and reasonably, so maybe he'd think twice about raising his voice to me again, "I have to point things out to Coach. Nothing would get done otherwise. If I didn't remind him, he'd show up late to swim practice himself."
"Exactly," Dade said just as clearly, imitating me. "And now Coach is watching me. You've got him thinking he shouldn't give me special favors—"

"But he shouldn't give you special favors," I protested.
"—which is not for you to decide. He was going to recommend me for a swim scholarship to Texas State. Do you understand? This is not about your
stupid team."

Mike and Ian looked at each other. They were both on the stupid team too. Dade didn't glance at them or slow down. "I'd have zero chance of getting a scholarship to TSU if I got kicked off the team and I didn't have Coach to
help me. It's not like I'm coming from a long line of Olympic athletes here, Mya. My dad is a freaking fisherman."

Oh. For the first time I realized what I'd almost done to him. A bigger town would have had a swim club that we all could have joined in elementary school and competed in ever since. When Dade started to show real potential last year, different parents might have moved to a bigger town with a swim club just so he could train with Olympic-caliber coaches. But Dade lived in this town with this father. The team was all he had, and I'd nearly taken even that away from him. I hadn't been thinking of him. I'd been thinking of the team breathing down my neck.
I put my hand on his forearm. The heat of his skin surprised me. It shouldn't have. Mid-September in Texas was still summer. Though my palm started to sweat, I kept my hand on his arm, hoping my touch would help me connect with him.