Oh, God. I am so in hate with my body right now for being so obvious. “I’m fine,” I say, pulling myself out of the water and sitting on the pool edge.
He follows my lead, kicking out of the water in one deft move and sitting next to me. “I know you played polo at Roosevelt. Even a natural needs to be taught the eggbeater, and you’ve got it down. Did you swim too?”
I nod.
“What events?”
“Not as many as you,” I say, realizing with my words that I’m more out of breath now than I was when I finished my swim. “I’m not an overachiever.”
He laughs, then shakes his head a little. “I’m making you captain.”
Second key to invisibility: Never do anything noteworthy.
I’m momentarily stunned into silence. It takes a minute before I’m able to respond. “I don’t want to be captain.”
“Tough.” He stands from the edge and grabs my towel, handing it to me, then towels dry his hair with his, leaving it spiking up all over his head. I hate that it just makes him look hotter. “You have this insane work ethic, and I need someone out there who can run both sides of the ball. I think that’s you.”
“Does Corinne know?” I ask, gaining my feet.
“She will soon enough.”
The second I’m up, I wish I’d stayed down. Everything spins and I grab onto the starting block for balance. And that’s when I realize I forgot to get lunch before I came over to the pool. I skipped breakfast this morning because Dad overslept his alarm and I had to get him cleaned up and out the door for an interview before I left for conditioning. Adrenaline was the only fuel my body had, and now that it’s spent, there’s nothing left in the tank.
“You okay?” Marcus asks.
When the spinning stops and I look up, I see he’s moved closer. Which makes everything spin again.
“I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. I think I forgot to eat.”
“Forgot to eat,” he repeats. “How can you forget to eat?”
“I just…forgot.” I don’t mean for that to sound as defensive as it does.
He looks at me for another second before turning for his duffel. “Your blood sugar’s low. I’ve got a Power Bar you can have. It should help with the dizziness, but you’re going to need a real…”
His voice fades as stars flash in my eyes. And then I’m vaguely aware of my legs giving out.
“Fuck! Addie!” is the last thing I hear before the side of my head cracks off the corner of the starting block and an ice pick sears though my brain.
The sooty smell of smoke fills my lungs, choking me. I cough and it sends stabbing pain through my chest. Over the sound of a blaring car alarm, there’s a siren in the distance. Closer, I can hear people shouting.
“Mom?” I croak.
I turn my head…and scream.
An ear-splitting screech pierces though my dream and my eyes snap open. With every blast of the alarm, my head explodes. A sick sense of déjà vu rolls through me as I take in my surroundings, and my fingers curl tighter into the sheets.
I’m in a hospital room. The shades are parted and I can see the scarlet and gold of a sunset sky through the sparse branches on a tree outside my window. The lights are on about half wattage, but even that feels like a death ray straight into my brain.
And through it all, off to my right, someone is snoring.
I know it’s Dad, but when I turn my head to look at him, I gasp with the blinding pain that shoots through my brain.
The door across the room opens and a nurse races toward the bed.
“You must have lost your finger monitor, love,” she says to me without taking her eyes off the noisy machine at the head of my bed.
I press the side of my head into the pillow, blocking the sound in one ear until she turns off whatever’s making that god-awful noise.
“Let me check your monitor, sweetie.” She unearths my hand from the blankets. “Ah, see. There’s the problem.” She clips something onto my index finger and grabs a roll of tape, securing it there. “While I’m here, let me check your bandages.”
“Bandages?” I croak.
I start to bring my hand to my right ear, but I get tangled in the IV line taped to the back of it and stop when I feel it yank.
She brings the head of my electric hospital bed up a little and pokes at the side of my head, then starts peeling some tape off my right temple. “Your stitches look good. As soon as the swelling comes down this won’t look so bad.”
“Stitches?”
“You hit your head, sweetheart.” Her brow creases as her face turns all concerned. “Don’t you remember?”
What is the last thing I remember? Half-day…I went to the pool. Marcus. I was swimming with Marcus then…
Crap.
“How many stitches?” I ask, trying to untangle my hand so I can assess the damage. Scars draw attention.
“Six,” she answers, her concern shifting to sympathy. “It’s a pretty good gash, love. But the good news is most of it is behind your hairline. The scar won’t spoil your pretty face.” She pats the tape down. “Do you have any pain, sweetie?”