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Rowen wanted to hear all about my ride in the Ferrari. Kinzy demanded panoramic photos of the coast, which I was able to provide right from my balcony. Raj was thinking about running for class president for senior year and was already working on his campaign. Brieana, in true Vegas style, lied about her age, entered an online poker tournament, and came in third.
What could I say? I had no one to talk to. My new stepbrother hated me. My mom was on the other side of the planet, and oh, the guy I wanted to take my virginity was still icing me out.
When my friends asked me about Malibu, though, I made it sound like everything was perfect, except that Matty was mostly a dick. Rowen objected to this solely due to the Ferrari, which made me laugh.
Did I cave and text Drew back? Yes. I wrote, Malibu is treating me well. The estate is so enormous I’m afraid I’ll get lost in the main house. Stefon has me staying in the guesthouse alongside his son, Matty. He’s a few years older, but has been showing me around. I keep hearing about the housekeeper, Miss Paulina, but have yet to meet her. I’m secretly terrified. Haha. Let me know if you want to video chat. I’m usually done with schoolwork by three. xo Ciar.
Drew read it, but never replied.
How was it possible to live in paradise and continuously feel like shit?
26
MATTHIAS
Everything was going to shit.
“What the hell to do you call that, Vaulteneau?”
“Swimming, Coach,” I answered.
“Like hell it was,” he exploded. “My hundred-year-old nana can swim faster than that, and she’s fucking dead, Vaulteneau.”
Coach Anderson was yelling at me daily. During swim practice, my times were getting worse and it got to the point where he started throwing things at me—his whistle, pens, goggles, and once the telescopic pool cleaning pole, which managed to hit several of us in the water.
My teammates started avoiding me, lest he transfer his transgressions to them.
“Do you think that was a Nationals-worthy lap just now, Vaulteneau?” Coach Anderson chided multiple times during each practice.
“No, Coach,” I said each time, because to say anything else might have him jumping in the pool to pummel me about the head and shoulders.
“Do I need to send you back to a Water Bugs class?” he taunted at the edge of the pool. He was making it clear that he thought toddlers could swim better than me before making the entire team swim laps to the point of exhaustion as punishment.
After a few days of this, my brothers-in-swim-arms were giving me hell, especially after Coach seemed to be on a warpath. “Breathe less or we start over!” Coach would yell in order to put the fear of God into our tired asses.
“Dude,” Filipe said Thursday after a particularly brutal practice where three people threw up afterward. “Coach just might kill us all. Did you sabotage Zoey’s acting career or something?”
“No,” I said from the showers, wrapping a towel around my waist. She’d texted a few times to plan our outing this weekend, but I hadn’t been in the mood to reply. “But I’ve been meaning to reply to her, but haven’t.”
“Dude,” Filipe repeated with meaning as he got dressed, wincing as he threw a shirt over his head. “Tell him about the injury, por favor. I’ve been falling on my face the second I get home. Joan has needs, Matty, and she’s been threatening to leave my ass to find comfort in Ciaran’s bed.”
I laughed but Filipe gave me a quizzical look, as if he didn’t believe my laughter rang true.
I’d done my best to avoid Ciaran all week, but he’d been coming down to the kitchen every morning just to witness me grunt at him in passing, even though I didn’t think he needed be up that early.
“The world cannot withstand an unsatisfied Joan,” I teased.
Even Jason, who’d been avoiding me like the plague since the fiasco at Pirate’s Cove Saturday night, pulled me aside for one of his pep talks.
“How are things at home?” Jason asked as we left the gym and stumbled with dead muscles to the student parking lot. He was an excellent swimmer and on his own path toward Nationals. He also had this annoying ability to instantly turn on his “captain’s” hat for moments like these. “Getting enough sleep? Eating enough?”
I could have said that my home life had been disrupted, that I was not sleeping well, and no, I probably was not eating enough. I was doing the best I could under the circumstances.
As much as I believed Jason was being genuine, I instead said, “Things are fine, Jason. I’m off my game. It happens to all of us.”
“Getting in your own head?” he asked. He tried to put an arm around my shoulder but I moved out of the way.
“Probably.”
