Page 22 of The Last Five Yards

“Nope.”

“Jules!” Maren’s voice is more firm now, louder.

“Nope, I’m not saying anything.”

Maren folds her arms across her chest as she stares Jules down.

“Oh my God!” Jules exclaims “You like her.”

“Oh no,” Maren says softly as she sinks into her seat a little further.

“No, seriously. You like her, don’t you? Like you like like her.”

“Stop,” Maren commands

“Maren…”

“I said stop,” Maren repeats “She is my friend, that’s it.”

Jules folds her arms tight over her chest.

“Right. And that’s why you look like somebody just kicked your puppy because she is going away to college.”

Maren looks away quickly, trying to calm her breath and her heartbeat. “People leave for college every year.”

“Yeah.” Jules nods. “And most people don’t stare at them like the world is ending.”

For a moment, they are both silent. Then Jules’ expression softens.

“Oh, Mar.”

“We are not doing this.”

“Okay. Fine. We are absolutely not doing this.” Jules pauses, but adds under her breath, “Right now.”

Jules raises both hands up in surrender as Maren steps into the aisle and heads towards the doors. Behind her, Jules calls out quietly:

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you are nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

Maren keeps walking heading towards the doors. She knows if she turns around, she might have to answer her friend. Maren stood too fast, and her legs wobbled. The room spun again with noise and movement, banners and flashes. There was a haze of Axe body spray that clung in the air heavy like humidity in August. She followed the athletes out on autopilot, the hallway buzzing with voices and laughter from the other teams.

Maren goes through her day on autopilot. Being where she needs to be, saying the things she needs to say, but never really being present. At practice, she slips into the water with the same energy. Today, it’s just about the yards. She needs the pool to make it all silent again. Her body moves out of instinct, each stroke mechanical. The water feels heavier than usual, the lane lines warping in her peripheral vision. It isn’t the good kind of tiredness that settles in after a long set. It’s the hollow kind, where effort doesn’t burn away what’s left in her chest. She keeps her eyes on the black line, following it like it might lead her somewhere else.

As she finishes her last set, a loud commotion breaks out on the deck. Maren pops her head above the water to see her teammate. A handful of parents and some of the age-group kids all gathered near the diving well. Someone had even gone and made a “Tar Heels” banner and hung it on the wall. She pulls off her swim cap and pushes herself out of the pool. Walking over to the whiteboard, she starts erasing the day’s sets.

Reese walks over, standing next to her. She offers Maren a cupcake. “You should come join us, Mini-Coach. I couldn’t have gotten here without you.”

Maren looks over at the group crowded by the diving boards. Reese’s parents are there, Coach Hensley is giving an interview, and the rest of the team fills the space with laughter. Way too peopley over there, she thinks.

“It’s your day. You don’t need me over there getting in the way,” Maren says, dismissing her.

“Well, if you want to come over, you know where we are.” Reese sighs and sets the cupcake down on a stack of kickboards.

Maren finishes cleaning off the board, gathers her things, and heads toward the locker room. The noise of the party is still bouncing off the tile as she turns the showers on.

The parking lot is nearly empty by the time Maren walks out. The sun has already dropped behind the trees, the air is cooling fast, and the end of the team’s laughter drifts through the open doors. She pulls her hood up, clutching her swim bag and her backpack like they are armor.

She has just opened her car door when Reese jogs out, hair still damp, cupcake frosting smudged on her UNC hoodie sleeve.