Page 6 of Into the Deep Blue

There are only five minutes left of kinder gym, but when you’re surrounded by a group of six-year-olds on a Friday afternoon, it feels like forever. On pointed toe, I take swift steps across the high beam with my shoulders pulled back, and my head held high. Balancing is easy for me. I could do this blindfolded.

When I pivot, a shrill “Hey!”

echoes through the gym. I wobble, and there’s a collective “Whoa,”

from my group when I nearly fall off.

I never fall off.

Once I’m steady, I search for the source of the yell. It’s May, my best friend since sixth grade, in a standoff with a boy sitting in the middle of a wall-length trampoline.

“You can’t sit there, dude. You have to go all the way down.”

She pushes the air with her hands as if he needs a visual.

May is the image of perfection. Her silky black hair is pulled into a polished bun, and she carries herself with poise, as if she’s always on the world’s stage. I, on the other hand, am practically invisible in my oversized Gym Rocks Coach T-shirt and track pants.

May glances over her shoulder and sees half the gym staring.

“It’s okay, jump around him. Keep going, everyone. When you get to the end, you can go,”

she calls out to her group in a much sweeter tone.

I dismount and tell my group to do a single pass on the beam before they leave.

Sarah, one of my private-lesson students, tugs at my arm.

“, can we do walkovers?”

She’s giving me her best puppy-dog eyes.

“You know what? We don’t have time, but how about on Wednesday when it’s just you and me, okay?”

“Yay!”

she shouts, racing out of the gym after the others.

A weekly private lesson pays twice as much as group, and they’re the only real shot I have at making money with this job. I have four students, and May has eight. The kids seem to like me more, but the parents love her.

May walks up beside me. We wave with our super happy goodbye faces until the gym is nearly empty.

“Little assholes,”

she mutters under her breath with a smile.

I don’t know why she works here. Her family is gross rich, so it’s not like she needs this job, but she loves the constant adoration from the parents.

“They’re not so bad.”

I say, pulling the scrunchie from my hair.

“You’re too nice. It’s the only reason they like you.”

It’s a classic May comment. The compliment dig. She’s a real pro. Sometimes it takes days for me to unpack the insult from the compliment, they’re so tightly entwined.

I pull myself onto the high beam to do one last pass before we leave. May strolls beside it.

“What’s the plan for tonight? Wanna go out and grab a bite?” she asks.

“Raincheck? I’m tired. I just want to go home and veg.”

May cranes her head up.

“Why are you always tired for me and never for Nick?”

“Not even remotely true,”

I say as I take a small leap.

“It is true. When’s the last time we went out?”

I glance down at her.

“I don’t do this to you when you’re busy with Jaden or whoever.”

“Yeah, because you’re secretly grateful you don’t have to go out.”

She’s right, and we both know it, so I don’t say anything.

“At least tell me you’re hooking up with him.”

There’s that wobble again. I dismount, pulling my shoulders back. May has a solid two inches on me, but her perfect ballerina’s posture makes it seem like so much more. I feel like a tree stump next to her.

“Nope. Not hooking up.”

“And he doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

Also, ninety-nine percent sure of this.

“No. Unless he has a secret life I don’t know about.”

“I don’t get it.”

May blinks at me as if it’s a question I’m supposed to answer.

She never will get it. Nick doesn’t need a relationship, he has something else—a loss—and it’s as real as a body in the room, always imposing, always pulling your heart away, all-consuming.

“I told you, it’s not like that. We’re friends. It’s like AA, and aren’t there rules against that kind of thing?”

“Please. People in AA hook up all the time.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re supposed to.”

She twirls in front of me.

“It’s forbidden fruit, Fi. That’s what makes it soooo hot.”

“Nick is nothing like forbidden fruit. He’s like . . . an apple. A good old Granny Smith. Or a banana. Run-of-the-mill fruit-bowl kind of fruit. No passionfruit, no kumquat, no prickly pear . . . ”

It’s a revelation. My eyes widen.

“I take it back. He is a prickly pear! That’s Nick in fruit form!”

May side-eyes me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Okay . . . because you’re clearly bananas.”

“Ohh, ba dum dum tsh. Nice one!”

May curtsies.

“Thank you.”

We pick up some stray cones and brightly colored floor mats and bring them to the storage room.

“We know each other too well. It’s . . . different.”

It’s hard to find words to describe our relationship.

“He’s familiar.”

“Wait. Didn’t you say he writes?”

I don’t think I want to know where she’s going with this. “Yeah.”

“Why don’t you snoop through his notes folder? That’s where they put all the good stuff.”

A few balls roll out of the storage room, and I toss them back inside, quickly closing the door before they can escape again.

“Why would I do that?”

“To see what he’s into. Who he’s into.”

She gives me a mischievous grin.

“To see if he writes about you.”

“No! No way.”

It’s crazy, and I hate that now, I’m thinking about it. We make our way back across the gym.

“Can you at least invite him to hang with us? I think it’s the only way I’ll ever see you in the wild again.”

And there’s no chance in hell of that happening. My life is perfectly compartmentalized. Nick, Dad, work, school. Everything works within the parameters of its box. Mixing boxes is a recipe for disaster. I’ve already mixed the Nick and Dad boxes, and that still feels like a work in progress.

May will never understand. Post-Mom is a different person. One who doesn’t want to hang period, but it’s easier to blame it on Nick.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d be into it.”

“Half a year, Fi! I’ve listened to you talk about this guy for half a year, and I’ve never met him. I’m not even sure he’s real. It’s weird that you’re hiding him from me like this.”

“I’m not . . . ”

“Bring him out. He’s probably lonely and desperate for some company like you! Invite him to Jaden’s party. I’m not going if you don’t.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll ask him,”

I say as if it isn’t a big deal, but Nick and I don’t hang out in the wild, so it’s actually a huge deal.

“If he’s as cool as you say, maybe I’ll hook up with him.”

She shimmies her shoulders, and her tone is playful, but it feels like a threat. I add it to my stack of May comments to unpack later.

“I thought you and Jaden were together?”

Across the gym, Jaden swings back and forth on the parallel bars, giving a kid an after-class demonstration. Jaden is always happy to demonstrate. His muscles bulge through his fitted Gym Rocks Head Coach T-shirt. He’s so built his muscles would bulge through twenty layers of winter wear. He’s a total goofball, and the kids go crazy for him. He’s nineteen, and this is it for him, his dream job. He sees us watching and ups his performance by two hundred percent. When he hits the mat and sticks a perfect landing, he turns to us and makes a ridiculous face like he’s singing opera or something.

May squints at him.

“Yeah, no, that’s over.”

This is something I should know.

“Since when?”

“It was never serious and kind of a total disaster.”

Jaden is trying to wrap up and come over, but May is eager for that not to happen. She tugs me toward the changing room. I give Jaden a wave before we crash through the door.

“Uhh, cliffhanger line if I’ve ever heard one.”

Although not a surprising one. Disaster is a fitting label for all of May’s relationships. We pull our gym bags down from our lockers.

May kicks off her sneakers and slides on her rhinestone-studded Flip-flops. She leans closer and whispers.

“He wanted to eat meatloaf off my abs.”

My mouth falls open, but no words come out. Sometimes, I’m not sure anything May says is real. All of her stories seem wildly unlikely. There was one about her parents’ Airbnb being burglarized, and she had to hide in a closet in her underwear. And one where she was caught in a hotel fire with her older sister and had to flee wearing nothing but her underwear. And the time she was trapped in a car by a bear when she went camping (I want to say in her underwear). Every story goes the extra mile. It’s hard to believe so much can happen to one person when nothing ever happens to me.

What am I supposed to say to this? We grab our bags and head into the gym atrium. It’s almost empty now. A few kids huddle around the candy machines, carefully choosing where to spend their quarters.

A blast of warm, humid air hits us as we exit through the sliding doors.

“Why meatloaf?”

She shakes her head a little like she’s annoyed, and I’m not sure if it’s because I questioned the food choice or because she didn’t get a bigger reaction from me.

“Is there some other food that makes more sense?”

I think for a second.

“Jell-O maybe?”

Her eyes grow wide.

“Omigod, yes. Jell-O sounds like almost normal!”

We burst into laughter as we weave through the lot to our cars.

“Anyway, it was with gravy and everything, but it wasn’t that bad.”

It takes a second for the words to catch up with my brain. I stop.

“Wait. You did it?”

She grins. That’s the reaction she was waiting for.

“Technically, he did it. I kind of just laid there.”

“Wow. I don’t know what to do with that image.”

“Yeah, it really embeds itself up in there.”

“Is this what relationships are now? It’s been a while, but I’m so confused.”

“Oh, , you’re such an innocent,”

she teases, and it chafes me again. The compliment dig.

Behind her, Jaden runs through the parking lot, waving wildly for our attention.

May turns. “Shit.”

He doubles over, out of breath, when he reaches us. It’s hard to look at him the same way now.

“Ladies, whoa. Where’s the fire? Let’s go out, get some dessert or something.”

May shifts her gym bag in front of her like a shield. “I can’t.”

She feigns disappointment.

“My parents are doing a FaceTime thing with my cousins, and I’m already way late. You two totally should, though.”

I look up at her. I can’t believe she’d throw me under the bus this way, but yes, yes, I can. I try to think of a fruit for asshole.

Jaden looks at me, expectant.

“Fi? You in?”

My mind goes blank as I search for an excuse.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t think I can either. My dad’s home, and he’s . . . really sad . . . on weekends.”

Jaden’s face softens. Grief is like a free pass. It gets you out of everything. He lowers his head and puts some solid effort into trying to act somber.

“Oh, yeah, I totally get that.”

He totally does not get that. I nod, trying to act as bummed as possible.

He brightens again after the obligatory five seconds of sad face.

“At my party next Friday, we’ll make up for lost time, yeah?”

May nudges my shoulder with hers.

“Assuming Fi doesn’t bail. Yes, definitely.”

“Can’t wait,”

I say, but my mind is already racing for a way out of this.

“Awesome. It’ll be awesome,”

Jaden calls out as he bounds across the lot to his truck.

Stale, hot air oozes from inside my car when I open the door, so I lean against it, giving it a chance to escape.

May throws her bag into her back seat. She closes the door and faces me.

“I know you don’t want to go, but it’ll be good for you.”

Jaden drives past us, music spilling from his open windows, and honks. We wave.

She stares after him with a hint of a smirk.

“Besides, it’ll be fun.”

I know that look. Whatever they’re doing, it’s definitely not over.

A long raven strand falls from her bun, and she smooths it back to re-secure it but then pulls off her elastic instead, shaking her newly formed waves free around her shoulders.

“Don’t overthink it, Fi. I mean, why is it always so hard for you to be happy?”

She says it like it’s nothing, like it’s so easy.

She flashes me a wave, gets in her car, and doesn’t even wait for an answer, and I’m so relieved, because I don’t have one.