“Maybe you don’t know me very well.” Why had he shown up here at swim practice, bringing all his memories with him and claiming to know my habits? “You could’ve just texted me, you know.”

“What?”

“About the sweatshirt and math book.”

He pointed toward the track field across the parking lot. “I was here. Knew you would be too.”

Of course he knew that. It’s why we broke up, after all. I was too single-minded. Is that why he didn’t think I’d go to the museum?

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his head lowering a bit, all his bravado gone. Why did this version have to show up?

“It’s just, why are you getting caught up in the Heath Hall thing? I figured you’d mock him and write him off.”

He was right, that was exactly what I would’ve done . . . had been doing since I first heard about Heath Hall. There was no way I was going to tell him that the only reason I was now interested was because I was trying to protect my swimming. If he knew that, it would only prove everything he ever thought about me. I set my jaw. Then something he said occurred to me. “What do you mean, you ‘figured I’d write him off’? Did you have something to do with him showing up at the swim meet?”

Did he send him there to punish me? I wondered for a brief moment if Robert actually was Heath Hall. But just like he knew me well, I knew him, and although Robert liked attention, he would never show up at a public event claiming to be someone he wasn’t for a bit of notoriety.

“What? No . . . never mind. Bring my stuff tomorrow.” His indifferent face was back before he walked away. Again. I was supposed to walk away first this time.

I was grumbling when I entered the building that housed the locker rooms. Apparently, I wasn’t paying attention either because I nearly plowed down DJ. He dropped a stack of papers that scattered upon impact with the floor.

“Sorry,” I said.

He lowered himself to his knees and gathered them. I helped, my towel restricting my usefulness.

“It’s okay. You’re here late.”

“So are you.” Just as I was about to pick up one of the pages, I saw my name at the top. I reached for it to get a better look when DJ snatched it from beneath my fingers and stood, arms full of disorganized pages.

“What are those?”

“Just time sheets and stuff,” he said, but I could tell that’s not what they were.

“But it said, ‘one hundred butterfly,’ under my name. I’ve never raced in the butterfly.” At least not since starting high school.

“You’ve swum it in practice.”