Meet Me at Midnight - Jessica Pennington Page 0,91
into a spot and cuts the engine, pushing his door open before I can even react. I crane my neck to see him outside his door. “What are you doing?”
“You can’t have a tour of my favorite places without seeing my pool.”
“Your pool?”
“Just get out of the car, Sid. You know you’re going to. The chlorine is calling you.”
He’s right. Of all of the places here, the pool is where I usually imagine Asher. I saw a picture of him once, in a weak moment when I decided I’d look him up online. He was standing on top of a diving block, his arms stretched forward, his legs tensed. That image is burned into my brain, just like the need I’ve always had to see Asher in the pool, racing through the water.
When I’m outside the car, he grabs my hand and leads me up the sidewalk to the brown brick building. There’s something about a pool building that smells like home to me. Every pool is different, but they all smell the same, and the scent nestles into my nose like it’s welcoming me. Telling me I belong here.
You usually get to a pool through the locker rooms, so I wonder if he’s going to drag me through the men’s, until he takes a sharp turn down a hallway and we enter what looks like an office. There are two small rooms connected by a glass window that takes up most of the wall, and beyond that another large window and door lead to the pool area. At the far desk a short round man sits in a white polo and khaki shorts. Beyond the door I can hear the telltale squeals of kids’ swim classes.
“Coach!” Ash yells as we step into the little room. I hang a step back and receive a tug forward, propelling me next to him as the man looks up from his desk.
“Ash!” The man’s eyes are lit up and he stands more quickly than I would have thought possible. “They toss you out of Oakwood before you even started? I’ve got a guard spot open if you’re looking.” He winks and squeezes Ash’s shoulder, and then his eyes swing to me.
“This is Sidney, the swimmer from Eastwood I told you about.”
My eyes go to Asher but he keeps his on his coach, who is stretching his hand out to me. “Nice to meet you, Sidney. I’ve heard great things about you. You’ve got a great coach over there. You and Ash are a big win for Oakwood’s program.”
I don’t know what to say, so I squeak out a thank-you and shake his hand.
“Taking her in to see your pool?” Coach says with a smile.
“That okay? I promise not to traumatize the kids.”
Coach laughs and stretches an arm out toward the door. Asher leads and I follow behind him, out into the humid air of the pool area. Just as I cross onto the tile, he pops his head back in. “You mind if we borrow a few training props? I’ll get them back before school starts.”
“Sure, take what you need,” Coach says, as if Asher didn’t even need to ask. “You using your vacation to train?”
“Sidney has a record to break.” Asher grins.
Coach closes the small gap between us and slaps a hand against Asher’s shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze. “Can’t ask for a better summer coach,” he says, and Asher seems to light up at the praise.
Asher gives the coach another half-hug, and pulls me farther from the door. On the wall to our left, a built-in tile bench stretches across the width of the large space. Asher sits down and motions for me to join him. Ahead of us, six lanes stretch out like watery roads. A row of diving blocks rises up in front of us, and I can’t help but think of that picture.
He stretches an arm out toward the far left lane. “That’s where I broke the school record for the two-hundred-yard fly my sophomore year.” He points to the middle lane. “And that’s where I broke the state record.”
My whole body twists toward him, shocked by this revelation. “Seriously? You broke a state record?”
“Ouch.” Asher throws a hand of mock anguish up to his chest as I turn back toward the pool. “Ouch, Sid.”
I poke him in the ribs with my elbow. “Oh stop, I didn’t mean it that way and you know it. How did I not hear about this? My mom tells me the