Head Above Water

14. Questions

The next morning I awoke feeling like I’d been caught between a dog and a fire hydrant. Crude? Unfortunately yes, but also completely accurate. Thanks to near constant dreams of the dark-eyed vampire who attacked me, I’d had one of the worst night’s sleep of my life.

I shuffled painfully through my pre-dawn routine, wincing at the stiffness in my body. Every muscle felt tense and knotted. My neck was, understandably, especially bad, though the wound itself looked even better than it had yesterday. I covered the wound with a hydrocolloid bandage so it would stay on in the pool and left my hair down to cover it.

I skipped a shower, knowing I’d have to take one after practice anyway, and headed out of the house. The walk took me longer than usual since I was moving at a snail’s pace, but eventually I shuffled into the school. Coach Hawthorne was standing on deck when I walked in, his muscled arms crossed tightly in front of him. He looked grumpy but I knew I wasn’t late, so it wasn’t on my account.

“Sick today, Coach. I need to—“

He cut me off. “In the pool, Stewart. You can still swim sick.”

“What I was going to say,” I said firmly, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice, “is that I need to take it slow today. I wasn’t trying to skip out.”

“Fine,” he said gruffly, though not rudely. “Do a pre-race workout. You can set your own pace.”

“Thanks.” Pre-race workouts were easier and slower paced so that we didn’t get overtired before the event. I slid into the pool and slipped under the surface of the water, pushing off the wall with my legs. I stayed under for longer than usual, enjoying the smooth, cool caress of the water gliding over my skin. Halfway across the pool I finally surfaced and began a freestyle set, keeping my pace uniform and easy.

My hands sliced through the water, carving out an arced pattern near my head, then an ‘S’ shape at my waist. I focused my entire attention on my movements, making sure they were precise and controlled, turning my head to breathe every third stroke. I could feel my muscles stretching and tensing alternately, the stiffness and knots ailing me slowly loosening as I went through my routine.

By the time I finished my swim and a shower, I felt decidedly better; my energy level was higher, my body looser, my mind clearer. The bandage didn’t stay on in the water like I’d hoped, so I removed it carefully and decided to just hope that my hair would cover it. Tomorrow I could wear a scarf.

Unfortunately my newfound peace lasted all of two seconds when I stepped out of the locker room into the middle of a fight. My feet abruptly stuck to the ground and my jaw dropped as I took in the scene before me.

Connor and—after a cursory glance at his eyes to confirm—Rick were full on yelling at each other. A mixture of anger, defensiveness and guilt were written across Connor’s face, while Rick just looked furious. Rick was an inch or two shorter than Connor, yet he seemed to loom over him menacingly, his face thrust forward into Connor’s personal space. I could tell Connor was trying to hold his ground, but he was leaning away from Rick defensively.

I knew I needed to do something to stop them, but I was so shocked I couldn’t get my feet to move.  While I knew Connor could probably hold his own, I was more worried about what Rick would do. He’d always been like a tightly wound spring just ready to be released. With all that pent up anger inside, I was sure he could cause some major damage. I wondered what could have possibly set them off like this.

“What the hell were you thinking? You know our kind like to go to the races! How stupid can you be?” Rick shoved Connor in the chest, causing him to stumble back a step.