Twisted

Chapter 26 Things get steamy at the pool

Emily stroked hard, dolphin-kicking with all her might. The blurry pool wall loomed just ahead, and she lunged for the electronic timing pad on the wall. When she turned around, everyone else was still finishing their race. Yes. She’d won. And when she glanced at her time on the clock, she saw it was four tenths of a second faster than last year’s best.

Amazing.

“Congratulations,” one of the judges said as Emily climbed out. “You almost beat the course record.”

Raymond, her coach, barreled over to her and gave her a big hug, not even caring that she was soaking wet. “Outstanding for your first meet back!” he whooped. “I knew you had it in you!”

Emily peeled off her goggles and cap, her muscles throbbing and her heart still thudding hard. The crowd cheered. The other competitors climbed out of the pool and glared enviously at her. Various teammates slapped her on the back as she returned to her gear and towels. “Awesome!” said a girl named Tori Barnes, who Emily had been BFF with one summer in second grade. “They ate your wake,” added Jacob O’Reilly, Tori’s boyfriend, who’d crushed on Emily during swim season in fourth grade and put a gumball machine diamond ring in her locker.

Emily grinned back at them, dropping her goggles by her gear bag. She’d forgotten how good it felt to win a race. But she wanted to share the special moment with someone . . . well, special, and the kids on the team didn’t quite suffice. Rummaging through her bag, she found her phone and composed a new text to Chloe. Just won my race! So excited to hang out tonite! Emily couldn’t wait to celebrate—non-alcoholically, of course.

“Emily?”

A man in a University of North Carolina sweatshirt wove through the knot of swimmers. He had a clean-shaven face, crinkly blue eyes, thinning brown hair, and carried a leather-bound clipboard and a video camera. Mr. Roland walked beside him. Mixed feelings instantly filled Emily. As much as she wanted to see the recruiter, she wished Mr. Roland wouldn’t have come with him.

“Emily, this is Marc Lowry from the University of North Carolina,” Mr. Roland said.

“Nice to meet you.” Emily shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Lowry answered. “Amazing race. Great stroke. You show real promise.”

“Thanks.”

“Mr. Lowry has some news for you,” Mr. Roland announced. “Can you talk with us in private?”

He gestured toward the small, empty room off the pool that the team used for dry land practice. Emily followed them through the doors. A Pilates machine sat in the corner, a box of medicine balls and resistance bands in another. A spilled puddle of something neon-yellow, Gatorade probably, welled by the door. An empty wrapper that had once contained a Speedo swim cap lay abandoned by the fogged-up window.

Mr. Lowry let his clipboard fall to his side and studied Emily. “Based on your times and your performance both today and the past four years, we’d like to offer you a full scholarship to our school.”

Emily clapped her hands over her mouth. “Really?”

Mr. Lowry nodded. “It’s not a done deal yet—we’ll have to interview you, review your transcripts, all of that. And Henry said you took some time off last year because of the Alison DiLaurentis incident, correct?”

“That’s right,” Emily said. “But I’m fully committed to swimming now. I promise.”

“Great.” When Mr. Lowry smiled, Emily could see a gold filling in the back of his mouth. “Well, I’d better get going—I have a couple other kids in the area to speak to. We’ll be in touch early this week. Definitely celebrate, though. This is huge.”

“Thank you so much,” Emily said, trembling with happiness. Then Mr. Lowry turned on his heel and marched back through the door. Emily expected Mr. Roland to follow him, but he didn’t. His eyes were on Emily.

“Amazing, huh?” he said.

“This is truly, truly, incredible,” she answered. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

One of Mr. Roland’s eyebrows arched. A sly smile curled across his lips. The harsh fluorescent light made his skin look ghoulish. Suddenly, Emily felt like one of those animals in the wild who sensed danger before she saw it. He inched closer to her, his breath hot on her cheek. “Well, I have some ideas . . .” His fingers danced lightly across the skin of her slightly damp arm.

Emily pulled away. “Mr. Roland . . .”

“It’s okay,” Mr. Roland murmured. His body moved even closer to her, trapping her against the wall. He smelled like Head & Shoulders shampoo and Tide laundry detergent, such innocent scents. His fingers slipped under the straps of her swimsuit. He made a horrible grunting sound as he pressed against her.

“Stop, please,” Emily said, wrenching away.

“What’s the matter?” Mr. Roland whispered, covering her mouth with a kiss. “You were into it on Thursday, Emily. You kissed me. I felt it.”

“But—”

She made a break for the other side of the room, but Mr. Roland caught her wrist and pulled her back. He kept pawing at her, kissing her neck, her lips again, her throat. The starting gun beeped through the door, followed by the splash of swimmers. The crowd roared, oblivious, as Emily struggled to push him off once more.

“Oh my God.”

Mr. Roland turned around at the figure who’d appeared in the doorway. Relief burst through Emily at the welcome interruption. But then Mr. Roland’s face went eggshell-white. “Ch-Chloe?”

Emily’s heart dropped to her feet. Sure enough, Chloe was standing there, a big, hand-lettered poster that said GO, EMILY! pressed against her chest. “Chloe!” Emily cried.

Mr. Roland pushed his hands into his pockets and walked to the other side of the room from Emily, as far away from her as he could get. “I didn’t know you were coming, honey. But did you hear about Emily? She got the scholarship!”

Chloe let the poster drop to the tile floor. By the devastated look on her face, it was clear she’d seen everything. “I was going to surprise you,” she said tonelessly to Emily. “I saw your race. I saw my dad and that recruiter take you in here to talk to you. And I thought . . .” Her eyes flickered from her father, then back to Emily again. A horrified expression crossed her face. Emily looked down. Her swimsuit strap was halfway off her shoulder. It looked like she wanted this.

“Chloe, no!” Emily protested, quickly pulling the strap back up. “This isn’t . . . I didn’t . . . he . . .”

But Chloe backed out of the room, shaking her head silently. Myriad emotions washed across her face at once—disgust, betrayal, abhorrence. A half sob, half growl emerged from the back of her throat, and she turned and ran.

“Chloe, wait!” Emily cried, barreling out the office door, slipping on the wet floor. “Please!”

But it was too late. Chloe was gone.