If diving over forty meters, you should have neutral buoyancy at ten meters. Check by taking extra weights down to ten meters and gradually offload until you hover.
I feel the jasper quartz in my hand and try to work out how heavy it is. Probably not even a pound. I’m going to need quite a few weights.
I scroll to the bottom of the PDF and read the paragraph about deep-diving ascents. The last few meters of the ascent are the most dangerous, it says. With risk of blackout. But I’m not worried about this—if I get my weighting right, everything will be okay. I note down a few reminders for myself: keep vertical, don’t tilt head, relax.
I feel a wave of determination as I think about how good I will feel when I’m down there, how soft the sand at the bottom will be. I don’t think about how the depth might mess with my mind. I don’t think about the cold and dark.
That night, I dream of rocks and seaweed and Eddie, and I wake up at midnight gasping for air. I’m coming for you, Eddie. I’ll be there soon.
15
THE NEXT DAY, I GO TO THE POOL ALONE AND PRACTICE. I duck dive to the bottom and then dolphin kick back to the surface, and I do this over and over again, using all my power to resurface in one kick until my fingers go wrinkly. My legs feel strong now, thanks to Danny and his incessant squat routine that I’ve been doing every day. I will thank him one day.
When the pool closes, I’m alone in the changing room and take advantage of the huge mirrors. I look at my naked self and notice that my body looks different. I still have large hips. But my stomach is flatter and tighter and my breasts are slightly smaller. They are still not as round and as perfect as Lara’s, but they look nicer, less wobbly, and my hair is so long now that it rests on top of them, just above my nipples. I stare at myself for a long time, seeing what I look like from all angles, what I look like when I hold my breath. When I raise my arms above my head as though I were ascending from the bottom of the ocean, my body sideways to the mirror, I almost look like Scotland’s deepest girl. I’m still in this position when Ailsa Fitzgerald and Lara burst out of one of the dressing rooms, giggling. So Ailsa wasn’t up north for long. They wear matching gold bikinis to show off their slim figures and tiny waists. They must have been in the other pool, or in the Jacuzzi. I wrap my towel around me and turn my back to them, but it’s too late.
“Urgh, she’s so disgusting,” Ailsa whispers to Lara. I cling to the towel with one hand, ready to fight them off if they come near me. Ailsa parades around me, circling like a hyena. Lara watches, her lips tight. When she catches me looking at her, she hangs her head and pushes water into the drain with her foot.
“Are you anorexic like your brother?” Ailsa asks. She runs a bony finger down my cheek. “Have you been starving yourself in a desperate attempt to be pretty? Hmm. Not quite skinny enough yet. Still got flabby thighs. It’s a shame about your brother, though. He used to be quite fit. I saw for myself, you know. And now he’s an ugly mess of skin and bone.”
I pretend I’m not hurt by her comments and hold my head high.
“That’s odd,” I say. “I wonder why you still follow him around.”
“Hey, you said nothing happened between you and Dillon,” Lara says to Ailsa, her tone bitter.
“Relax, dopey. I’m just winding her up,” Ailsa replies. But from the look on both their faces, I’m not sure that she is just winding me up. I’m disappointed in Dillon. But he’s still my brother, and he doesn’t deserve this. These girls are not worth my time and effort. Especially Lara right now. What a bitch. I can’t believe I wasted my blue mascara on her. I start to gather my clothes, but it’s difficult with one hand.
“As if I’d touch him with a barge pole. He’s pathetic,” Ailsa continues. “They both are. Lara, I can’t believe you hung out with either of them. They’re so crazy, they should both be locked up.”
Ailsa swings for my face but misses and grabs my towel instead. She could let go, and we could all go home, but in a split second everything changes. She yanks the towel out of my hand. It falls to the floor and she kicks it away. I am naked, exposed, and livid. I go for her. I push her against the lockers and she slips to the floor, taking me with her.
“Lara, grab the towel,” she yells as I reach for it.
Lara, like a little lap dog, hops over me and snatches the towel, then runs to a dressing room with it. She stands in the doorway, chewing her hair, watching.
“Do you need a towel?” Ailsa teases. “You should cover up. You look like someone’s roast dinner. All lumpy and fatty.” She gets to her knees and looks me up and down. I try to cover myself with my hands.