Hunter and Georgia are sitting on the other side of the table from Levi and me, and they've been cracking up for five minutes straight. Jerks. I rip apart my English muffin, stuff a bite in my mouth, and chew angrily.
But then I remember how we were laughing like crazy at Hunter last week when he got caught in Shelby's room with his shirt off, and I start giggling along with them.
Levi wipes tears from his eyes. "It wasn't his room!"
"He asked if you wanted a thick, juicy steak dinner!" Georgia squeals.
"And you think it was Robert Charles's room?" Hunter asks. "When he's in the NBA next year, you can tell people you fooled around in his bed."
"Yeah, yeah," I say, waving a hand.
"Was it any good at least?" Hunter says.
"Before or after he started thrusting against me in Superman underwear?"
Their howls of laughter fill the entire café. Truckers at the counter stare at us. The woman at the cash register shakes her head.
After taking a large bite of his bagel with salmon, Levi changes the subject. "How was the pool?"
"I loved it. The coach wasn't there, but I had a great swim yesterday before I flew home."
"Pierson's one of the best coaches in the country," Levi says. "He'll help you shave off time."
"I wish he could help me before conferences next week," I joke.
Hunter interrupts our swim gossip, "Wait, wait, wait. Can we get back to why you fooled around with that douche canoe?"
My friends start laughing again and can't seem to stop. I put two fingers in my mouth and whistle for them to stop, causing the bushy-bearded truckers to glare at me again.
"I wouldn't call it fooling around-we didn't get that far. But I kissed him because I wanted some … you know, experience before college. I love swimming, I really do, but it's all I do, you know? Like, how is it I've never been to a real party until the other night?"
"You want to swim," Georgia says. "If you wanted to do something else, you'd do it."
"But what if I've never even thought of doing other things because swimming always comes first? I mean, I haven't even been to a school dance."
"I'll take you to Winter Wonderland, but I'm not sure it'll impress you," Hunter says, licking powdered sugar from his donut off his thumb. "Last year as a joke, somebody put Crisco on the gym floor and a bunch of people fell down doing the Chicken Dance. That was the most exciting thing that happened."
Instead of going to that dance, I passed out at eight o'clock.
That's my life. When I was younger, I only swam three to four times a week for an hour, but when I turned thirteen, my swim coach, Josh, told me I had what it took to make it big, but if I wanted to do that I had to swim all the time. Lap after lap after lap. Up to ten practices a week. Plus weight lifting. This routine exhausts my body, which means I usually need ten hours of sleep a night. My hard work has paid off-I won a spot at one of the best swimming schools in the country-but it leaves little time for anything else.
///
"I'm about to graduate," I tell my little group of friends. "And when I look back on high school, sometimes I worry I won't remember anything but swimming and eating."
"Two very worthy endeavors," Levi says, toasting me with his orange juice.
"Maybe you just need to carve out some time for you before college starts," Hunter suggests. "Skip a few practices here and there."
"She can't skip practice," Levi says. "We have the state championship in a month. And then the big races start."
I nod. I love swimming. This is my life. I accepted it a long time ago. But then I picture Roxy flirting with that lacrosse player. She manages to be a champion, but still appears to take time for herself too. I mean, she clearly knew how to flirt with that guy.
Hunter says, "If you want to go to a dance so bad, go to a dance."
"It's not that I'm obsessed with going to a dance, guys. I just want a little more life experience."
Levi throws an arm around my shoulders. "But how many people can say they've been to the Olympic Trials? Just a couple more months and we'll be able to say that."
"If I qualify, you mean."
He squeezes my shoulder. "You will."
"I have an idea," Georgia announces, slapping her hand on the wobbly café table. "You should make a list of things you want to do before you graduate."
"Like a bucket list?" Hunter asks. "My grandfather has one of those, but when he read it aloud to my family, Gram just about killed him 'cause it included stuff like, ‘Get a lap dance from a Vegas stripper.'"