Underneath

Начало книги

The whistle blasts three times and Coach Rydell yells, “Take your marks!” Fifteen seconds more. I step up onto the starting block. My feet are poised on the dark, sandpapery surface, toes hanging slightly over the edge, my body tense and ready to dive into the lane.

I take a deep, slow breath and expel it in a quick puff of air.

Looming in my peripheral vision are all of the other swimmers lined up on either side of me. I try not to look at them; instead I focus on the abstract pattern formed by everyone’s legs on the blocks, the different colors of swimsuits, the faint reflection of the cloudy sky in the surface of the water. I look at people’s toes. Cassie, as always, has a perfect, glossy pedicure. Not me. The light-purple nail polish I painted my toes with is starting to scrape off.

Glancing back up, I see my mother sitting on the lowest bench of the small bleachers on the south side of the pool. For some unknown reason she’s on her cell phone. Why now, when my race is starting? I frown.

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