It’s five o’clock. I stretch and yawn. Swim practice will start soon, and no one bothered to tell my inner clock that I’m not going. In a way, things worked out pretty well. Coach called last night to say he’d spoken to the principal. There are insurance concerns—liabilities, since the pool is a school facility. He needs to work some things out before I come back, even if I am on the medicine. Bottom line: don’t show up. Part of me is glad. Coach would’ve figured out that I’m too weak, too slow on the meds—even for the 50. This way, I can keep the lie alive while I wait to hear from the new doctor. It shouldn’t be long. Dad found a friend of a friend who’s a cardiologist, and he already has the results of my EKG and a disc with the echo. But I still feel the sharp sting of betrayal. I expected Coach to fight for me, and instead it’s like he’s already given up. This morning, he’s got someone else swimming in my spot, as if I’m replaceable. My eyes close and I square my jaw.
