Prophecy (6 page)

Coach’s whistle blew. Thick block walls muffled the sound, but I’d recognize the sharp warning anywhere. Curious and thankful for the motivation, I closed my locker, spun the lock, and tossed a towel over one shoulder. Electricity zinged through my limbs, carrying me to the pool with haste, anticipating the nearness of a long swim. My heart leapt as I rounded the corner from locker room to pool. The water called to me. Chlorine clung in the humid air of the back hallway linking locker rooms to the pool entrance. I tugged the steamy glass door open and inhaled, enjoying the twitch of my muscles, eager to dive in and swim a mile before contemplating the day’s nonsense.

I threw my towel against the wall and left my flip-flops beside it. Coach stood at the far end of the pool holding a clipboard and nodding at someone in the water. A tendril of frustration drifted up my spine. This was my secret swim time. I liked the solitude. Coach nodded at me as I moved in his direction. I supposed if this other swimmer was any good, I might benefit from a lap partner to push me when I grew lazy or unfocused. Silver linings weren’t my specialty, but a partner had potential.

Long arms cut steady strokes through rippling water as I traversed the pool’s edge to meet Coach halfway.

Coach never took his eyes off the swimmer. “Looks good, yeah?”

“Sure.” We moved to the short end of the pool, watching as the half-human, half-torpedo swam, flipped, and returned again and again.

Pale green and blue glass tiles covered the walls of the natatorium where local and state championship banners hung. I’d been present for the earning of three of the titles. Stacks of bright orange life vests stood beside cubicles of goggles, fins, and water weights. Huge white life preservers with the school logo hung on the walls around the pool perimeter. Swim pride filled my chest. Tall glass walls invited sunlight into the space. Steam gathered on the glass, fracturing sunbeams and casting rainbows on the floor. I used to doodle my initials in the condensation beside Kirk’s. How I’d ever liked him in any capacity escaped me. Had he been different before or was I?

I crossed chilled arms over my chest, unreasonably agitated. My new lap partner suddenly looked a lot like competition. “So, who’s the eel?”

Coach blew his whistle and the swimmer stopped stroking ten feet from the pool’s edge nearest our feet. The swimmer was far too long and broad to be a girl. Also, no shirt. So, who was this guy? Lean arms stretched toward the wall. His fingertips latched onto the shelf below my toes. Liam’s face broke the water’s surface. Blue goggles masked his eyes as he climbed from the pool and ran huge hands over dripping hair.

“Hale.” Coach looked from Liam to me. “Callie Ingram. Callie, Liam Hale.”

“Hello.” Liam spoke. No nod. No pretending I didn’t exist.

“Hey,” I answered lamely.

His accent was fabulous. I smiled, pleased with the idea of having him to myself for an hour a day. My theory about everything being better at the pool might hold water after all.

Liam pulled off his goggles, revealing those unspeakably beautiful eyes. His frown returned and my smile fell. So much for my pool theory.

Coach turned his back on me. “Your times are remarkable, Hale. Our season begins November first. We practice Monday through Thursday immediately after school. Swim meets begin the first of December. Miss a practice, you miss the meet. Miss a meet, you’re off the team. You swim unless you’re hospitalized, comatose, or dead. Same goes for practice. Think it over before you sign on. This is a solid five month commitment, longer if we get to Nationals.”

“Thank you, sir.” Liam extended a hand to Coach and they shook on it.

Coach ambled to his office, reviewing whatever he’d marked on his clipboard and shaking his head. He stopped at the threshold and turned back to Liam and me, still frozen where he left us.

“You’re free to go, Hale.” He pointed his whistle necklace at me next. “Don’t wait for her. This one never leaves.”

I shot Coach a sarcastic look before he fell into his chair and put his feet on the desk, watching us through his office window. Liam looked at me, an odd expression on his face. I averted my eyes, avoiding his super intense soul searching stare. It wasn’t my best idea. As my gaze fell on his broad shoulders, I sucked air. “You’re not bad.” I lifted a limp hand toward the pool. “In the water, I mean.”

“No?”

I shook my head, visually tracing the path of water droplets over the planes and angles of his chest, following patterns down a well-sculpted six-pack. Two rough scars caught my gaze, pulling my interest back up a few inches. Ragged white lines swelled over his chest and rib cage on one side. The marks looked like the result of an awful accident at first, ragged at the edges, imperfect, but I recognized the symbol they made. I’d seen it a thousand times in the Hale Cemetery. Like a letter z, tipped on a diagonal and elongated in an ancient hieroglyphic way. The symbol repeated in varied sizes down his left side. I searched his body again, closer this time, seeking anything else I missed. Water continued to fall from his hair to his torso. I tracked the drops over his skin until they disappeared into the fabric of his waistband.

“And outside the water?”

I jerked my focus back to his face, heat creeping up my neck. We were basically in our underwear and I’d examined him like a shameless creeper. “Fine.” Fine? What was wrong with me? I didn’t ogle guys, stumble over words, or crush on my best friend. Whatever was happening to my brain, I didn’t approve.

My arms itched to fold over my chest and hide what they could, but that would seem insecure and I was completely secure…in the water. I pressed my hands to the small of my back and his eyes moved to the neckline of my suit. I dropped both arms at my sides, unsure what they normally did while I died from embarrassment.

The obvious slapped me across my head. “You went to the men’s locker room.” Liam wasn’t a ghost. He’d gone into the men’s locker room while I scurried down the hall ahead of him. By the time I’d talked myself out of the women’s locker room, he was already doing laps.

He crunched his eyebrows.

I frowned back at him. “You were behind me in the hallway. You disappeared. I wondered where you went and now I know.” I turned my chin away from his face but wasn’t sure where else I should look. Counting his abs seemed inappropriate. Staring into the wall seemed rude when he stood three feet away.

Liam’s relentless stare traced the line of my body to my toes and back, visibly unimpressed. “Here I am.”

I huffed and turned for the wall shower, ready to rinse off and dive in. Ready to forget I saw him without a shirt. I turned the shower on and walked under the water. Liam watched. My heart hammered ridiculously in my chest when I stepped out of the stream and he moved toward me. Unsure what would happen next, I froze. He sidestepped me and moved under the water at my back. I was such a complete loser. He wanted to shower off before heading back to the locker room.

I forced my feet forward and threw myself headlong into the water, splitting the surface with ease and gliding several yards before breaking into my best freestyle. I concentrated on each breath, each stroke, each flip, and each new lap, never looking up until I heard the whistle. I stopped at the next flip and looked for Coach.

The whistle dropped from his mouth as he twisted the stopwatch over his head. “Looking good, Ingram.” He nodded and turned back for his office. I appreciated the semblance of privacy he allowed me, all while keeping tabs nearby.

Liam was gone.

I checked the clock on the wall and paced my laps for the final thirty minutes, switching from breaststroke to butterfly. Improving on my strongest strokes was my senior year strategy. Instead of cultivating every stroke, I’d picked my two best and pushed them to the limit. If I wanted to catch a recruiter’s eye, I needed one specialty, something to awe them. Something spectacular and scholarship worthy. A way to pay for college without Dad’s money.

When the whistle sounded again, Coach had his team jacket on and a laptop bag over one shoulder.

“Nice work, Callie. See you tomorrow?”

“Yes. Thanks, Coach.”

I wrung the length of my hair out in the shower, as much as possible for a hundred pounds of sponge grade hair, opting to knot the sopping mess into a bun instead of spending the time to blow it completely dry before walking home. Drops dotted an ugly pattern over my white sweater as I redressed in a rush. My after-swim makeup consisted of lip gloss and mascara. My cheeks were flushed from exertion and a bouquet of freckles bloomed beneath each eye, meeting in the middle and running down the bridge of my nose.

The school was silent as I left, save for the low hum of a floor buffer somewhere on a level above me. The sun hung low on the horizon when I emerged from the building. Daylight savings time would make things worse in a few weeks when we were forced to “fall back” another hour. I gathered the material of my coat around my middle and hunched my shoulders forward as I walked. The wind was an unfriendly reminder of why I should dry my hair this time of year. The sloppy wet bun might freeze to my head before I got home.

A shiny black Mercedes stopped my forward momentum. I stutter-stepped, unsure why Liam leaned against his car, watching me. The lot was empty. For the briefest moment, I imagined he waited for me. Stupid for a number of reasons, but hope lifted in my chest anyway. Hope for what, I wasn’t sure. Hope for more than one word and a blank stare, maybe. What was it about him?

I took a tentative step toward him, changing my direction slightly.

Loud male voices boomed in the distance. A group of football players toting bags large enough to hide me, loped around the side of the field house.

“There he is,” one player yelled.

Their group stopped, slapped backs, and chortled before one player broke away from the herd. He jogged lithely toward Liam, his golden hair mussed and wet. They matched. This must be Oliver. I recalled Allison’s infatuation with our underclassman, but in Liam’s shadow, I didn’t see Oliver’s draw. Liam fixed his stare on me as his brother slid onto the passenger seat.

I changed trajectory, hoping for casual. I wasn’t on my way to talk with Liam. I was simply walking across the lot and his car was there. Liam’s gaze followed me on my new path a moment before he folded himself behind the wheel. His taillights disappeared down the oak-lined street a moment later, and I released a long, uneven breath.

No ride for me, but it was a gorgeous fall evening. Fiery hues of peach and gold streaked the sky. Trees dropped amber and scarlet leaves by the bushel full. Burning brush tinged the air with distant smoke. Fresh scents of earth and rain foretold a storm. The wind kicked up and I hastened my pace. Soaked in a warm pool was much different than drenched in a cold October shower. I put my hustle in gear before I experienced both in under an hour.

I passed Hale Manor ten minutes later, without looking, and jogged up the steps to my house. Would Liam realize I lived right next door? Scents of seasoned potatoes, carrots, and pot roast filled the air. My stomach groaned in response. Without the sweat of effort, it was easy to underestimate the toll a good swim took on my body. I dropped my bag at the door and toed off my shoes.

“Honey, I’m home.” I went straight to the kitchen for a snack while I waited for the pot roast.

“Callie?” Mom’s voice echoed from the sunroom, a clear add-on to our century old farmhouse. The room was like an enclosed patio with better carpet. Mom called it a three-season room, but the only season it was good for was fall. Three walls of windows gave it a greenhouse effect in late spring and all through summer. The pitiful ceiling fan did nothing to remove the suffocating heat that built there. In the winter, the room was an icebox and we kept our bulk pop and bottled water out there.

I peeked around the corner, rubbing an apple on my shirt. Mom and a guest sat on white wicker chairs, sharing what smelled like hot tea. The last time Mom or I drank tea was in March when we both had head colds from hell. Coffee was the drink of choice in our house. Coffee helped busy women do more things faster. It was the Ingram women’s motto. Our war cry.

“Callie.” Mom stood and smiled. “This is Mrs. Hale, our new neighbor.”

My brain stuttered. I lifted my hand in a low wave. “Hi.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Callie. Please, call me Victoria. You probably met my boys today at school. Your mother tells me you attend Zoar High as well.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I looked at my mom for guidance.
This
was Liam’s mom? She looked like a movie star in designer clothes with camera-ready makeup. Her sons would tower over her. Even seated in the chair, she was clearly a tiny waif of a person.

“Callie’s a senior this year,” Mom said.

“Oh.” Mrs. Hale stood, placing her teacup on the table with a clatter, seeming surprised by something. “Goodness. I lost track of time. I should get home.” She tucked a patent leather clutch under one thin arm and squeezed past me in the doorway. The heels she teetered on didn’t manage to hoist her up to my eye level. Odd considering I’d stopped growing in tenth grade at five foot four.

Mom chased after her, shooting me an apologetic look.

I didn’t point out the fact school had ended nearly two hours ago. The sun was setting. How long did kids attend school in Iceland?

Like any curious person faced with another strange-behaving neighbor, I went to the kitchen and eavesdropped.

“Thank you for the tea, Marcy. I truly appreciate it. Sorry to run off. You understand.” Mrs. Hale rattled a bunch of short sentences in her unusual accent and disappeared out the front door.

I pushed the kitchen curtain aside to watch her jog in four-inch patent leather heels down the sidewalk. Her navy dress adhered to her figure like a sticker, permitting a small and unnatural gait as she hurried and accentuating her tiny athletic build.

“Spying, Callie? Really?” Mom pressed her hand to my back but didn’t steer me away.

Mrs. Hale stopped at the bottom of her front steps and looked at her house. She looked both ways on the street behind her then back to the house. She still didn’t move forward.