Breathless by Jessica Warman Read Free Book Online

caps with big white W ’s printed on the side. Even the lining of their goggles is maroon.
    There are sixteen members of the coed varsity swim team this year. Everybody looks at me—my black one-piece is worn thin and doesn’t say my name anywhere, and my swim cap is pink, with tiny white elephants all over it—but nobody says anything. Our coach, Mr. Solinger, waits with his hands clasped behind his back while we all line up along the wall facing the shallow end of the pool.
    His face is dead serious, even stern, for a good long minute, before he breaks into a grin. “Hey, team,” he says. “Everyone have a nice summer?”
    We all nod.
    “Ready to work hard?”
    We nod again. Does he even notice me? He doesn’t make eye contact, just strolls up and down the maroon-and-white tile in his bare feet, hands clasped behind his back.
    “Ready to win the OVACs again?” He’s talking about the Ohio Valley Athletic Conference. From what I understand, it’s a big deal.
    This time, nobody nods. “Yes!” they all shout, their enthusiasm overwhelming, and when I look at their faces, there’s an obvious ferocity in all of their eyes. The girl beside me catches my gaze. Her eyes flicker up and down my body, taking it all in. She whispers, “What’s your name?”
    “Katie,” I whisper back.
    “I’m Grace. I’m captain this year for the girls’ team.”
    “Oh.” I try to smile. The last name on her swimsuit reads “Waugh,” and I wonder if she’s related to the admissions director.
    “Solinger told me you’re good. What do you swim?” she whispers.
    I hesitate. “Everything.”
    She pauses. “Yeah, but what’s your best stroke?”
    I hesitate again. From the side of her swim cap, I notice a few blond hairs peeking out. She has the same long legs as Dr. Waugh, the same sleek confidence.
    “Everything,” I say.
    Her grin disappears. She stares forward, and I watch as she bites her lower lip and gazes at the water, shoulders creeping up just a bit toward her ears.
    “I’m sure you’ve all noticed we have a new face this year,” Coach Solinger continues, and all of a sudden all eyes are on me. “This is Kathryn Kitrell.”
    “Katie,” I say. Like I said, nobody calls me Kathryn except the Ghost. I’m determined to keep it that way.
    Solinger nods. “Okay then, Katie. So, kids, Katie here comes to us from Pennsylvania. She’s a sophomore, and last year she broke more than a few records in her state finals. I think you’ll all be very glad that she’s decided to join us.”
    He looks at me, gives me a lopsided grin. “Katie. We have only one rule for our practices. Somebody want to tell her what it is?”
    Almost before the words are out of his mouth, Grace’s hand goes up. She gives me a deliberate, icy look, and says, “Practice isn’t over until someone pukes into the gutter.”
    Solinger nods. “Right-o. Okay kids—drills are on the board.” He nods at a chalkboard behind him, four columns of writing divided into four strokes, each stroke divided into a series of different drills. It’s going to take all day.
    Before I know what’s happening, everyone around me is in the water, goggles on, shaking their arms and bouncing up and down and shuffling into place. Within seconds, I’m the only one left standing on the ceramic tile deck beside the pool, and everyone is staring at me, half smiling. I know what they’re all thinking: she’ll be the one who pukes.
    Solinger gives me a gentle push toward the water. “Go on, Kitrell. Lane one.”
    I get in. Even though the water is much colder than I’m used to, it’s the first time since I’ve gotten to Woodsdale that I can feel myself relax, from my face to my stomach, right down to my toes.
    Sure enough, around 11:45, after almost four hours in the water, a girl in lane 6 whose swimsuit reads “Dodd” hoists herself over the edge of the deep end and loses what’s left of her breakfast.
    For the past half hour, the boys’ varsity water