“I handled it fine,” I say, but I can tell he doesn’t believe that, thanks to his quizzical look. He knows me probably as well as my parents and Levi.
Coach slips his pen behind his ear. “So you’ll be going to college with her?”
“Looks like it. Ugh.” I bury my face in my hands.
“It’s not surprising,” Coach says. “You’re both good enough to get into the best swimming school in the country.”
“I wish I’d known before I signed with them.”
“Did Roxy bother you?” Coach asks.
“No, not really. She didn’t seem to want to talk to me.”
Coach sighs and adjusts his visor. “Just remember, you’re a better swimmer than her. Your record’s stronger. Don’t let her get to you.”
I always try to maintain a strong and steady pace, but when I see Roxy going faster than me out of the corner of my eye, I go too fast and burn myself out early in the race. Coach keeps telling me my times are better than hers. And he’s right. When I’m not up against her, I swim faster. So I know it’s all in my head.
I guess we’ll find out for sure next month at the high school state championships.
? ? ?
I’ve been giving Levi the silent treatment all day.
Normally he and I are fine with quiet, but it’s been hours since I’ve spoken to him, and he totally knows something’s up. During study hall in our corner of the library, he side-eyes me as he reads his Harry Potter book.
“What gives?” he finally asks.
“Why’d you tell Coach about Roxy?” I complain.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t.”
“God!” I snap.
The librarian points a finger at me and goes, “Shhhhhhh!” like air leaking from a tire. Levi gives her a little wave, and she smiles because he’s her best customer in the library.
“See, this is exactly why I told Coach,” Levi says. “She spins you all out of shape. Last year you lost the damn high school championship to Roxy in 200 back, which is nothing compared to those long course races you won last summer.”
I grumble. It’s true. Roxy had a strained shoulder most of last summer and took some time off. Meanwhile I swam the best meets of my life. I set the Tennessee record for 200 back at the Summer Sizzler. Coach Josh and Levi are right to be worried, but their concern makes it feel like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Levi drops me off at my parents’ business after weight lifting. I go inside King’s Royal Engagements, the party planning business Mom started right out of college. The company is located in this fancy Victorian house down the street from where I live. Mom and Dad had massive kitchens built out back, so it’s a full-fledged catering operation, and they do almost everything in-house. Their pastry chef even bakes wedding cakes.
When you first walk inside, there’s a chic waiting room filled with books of fabric samples and suggested menus. A TV plays videos from weddings and anniversary parties. The flower arrangements are fake, but it mysteriously smells like roses in here.
I say hi to the receptionist and continue back to where Mom sits, passing by the offices of the junior event coordinators. Mom has a staff of six event designers, a director of marketing, an executive chef who we all call Chef, and a ton of kitchen staff. They cater two to three events every night of the week. Mom’s the brains and the logistics behind the operation, while Dad is the creative arm.
He loves coming up with party themes and weird names for foods. For instance, he just planned a Broadway themed wedding. The programs looked like Playbills, and the wedding cake featured a red and gold marquee with the bride and groom’s names. He even set up a photo area where guests could pretend they were walking the red carpet.
I’m glad my parents are able to do what they love, even if it is stressful at times, like when one of our ovens broke the day of a wedding with two hundred guests. My parents’ hard work has allowed me to do what I love—to pay for expensive pool time and my coach so I could become the swimmer I am today.
I walk into Mom’s office and plop down in a chair. She’s typing on her computer and talking on her headset at the same time. “It’s not too late to change the place settings,” she says cheerfully, but I can see the horror in her eyes.
Clients are always making last-minute switches. One time a bride switched menus three days before her wedding, and somehow Mom and Dad made it work.
“Thank you,” Mom tells the person on the phone. “We can’t wait to see you on Saturday.” As soon as she hangs up the phone, she drops her headset on the desk and rubs her eyes.
“Gina!” she calls, and her assistant comes running with an iPad. “Can you call Southern Rentals and switch the ivory silk linens to the blue damask?”
Gina nods and rushes off.
“Ivory to blue damask?” I say. That’s a pretty significant change.
“It turns out the bride recently attended another wedding that was in ivory, so naturally she needs something different.” Mom rolls her eyes, even though the client is always right. She stands up, smoothing her bushy brown hair back into a ponytail like mine. “Let’s eat.”
Most days I join Mom and Dad for an early dinner here before I walk home to do my homework and they leave for whatever event they’re doing that night. I sit down with them in the dining room where they do tastings for potential clients. They often test their new creations on me.
“What do you think of the King’s cashew chicken?” Dad asks me.
“It’s good,” I say, biting into it and chewing angrily. I’m still pissed at Levi for telling Coach about Roxy. I’m still angry about Roxy in general.
Mom keeps shooting Dad looks. Dad, meanwhile, is jotting notes about the food. I peek over at his notebook. Needs more flavor. Cook it in garlic butter?
“Pass the bread, please,” I say.
Dad gives me the basket of rolls. “I’m calling them ‘perfect pumpernickel’ rolls.”
“Hmph.”
“Maggie, Coach Josh called,” Mom says.
Coach Josh is such a busybody.
“Do you want to talk?” Mom goes on.
“I’m fine.”
“What’s going on?” Dad cuts in.
“Nothing!”
“Why didn’t you tell us Roxy is going to Cal?” Mom asks, and Dad pauses with a forkful of chicken halfway to his mouth.
“It’s no big deal.”
My parents glance at each other. “Are you sure you still want to go there?” Mom asks, concerned.
I don’t want to let my parents down or cause them any extra stress. They’ve sacrificed so much for my swimming career. Until Levi and I could drive, my parents were often catering events until one or two in the morning, and then they’d wake up at four to drive me to practice. And don’t even get me started on all the times they would rush straight from a Saturday meet to finish setting up a lavish wedding. Take tonight for example. They’re catering the mayor’s cocktail party in honor of his eighth year in office.
“I’m not giving up Cal,” I say. “I’ve worked my whole life for this.”
“Damn right,” Dad says with a smile, giving me a fist bump. “Now tell me what you really think of this chicken.”