“Oh, that. Then we’re still not even. This beyond pays off the hot chocolate, but as far as the other thing goes, you have to comfort me through an emotional breakdown if you want to be out of debt for that.”

“You think you comforted me?”

“Yes. I was very good at it too, so don’t try to deny it.”

I laughed a little. “You were.” Too good.

He lightly punched my shoulder again. I wished he’d stop doing that. “So it’s a deal, Moore. I’ll find you when I feel the tears coming.”

“I’ll make sure I’m wearing an absorbent sweater.”

He left without another word. I thought about asking him where he was going but stopped myself. Why was it that, when I didn’t want him around, he overstayed his welcome and now he was under-staying it?

Twenty-Three

I couldn’t believe how long it had been since I swam. Eleven days. When had I ever let a busy schedule keep me from swimming before? My entire body sighed a breath of relief as I dived into the water. Muscles that I didn’t know were tight relaxed as I began my strokes.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed—it felt like minutes but it could’ve been hours—before I stopped to rest against the wall. I watched as the water dripped off my arms and pooled onto the cement. A shadow falling over that puddle of water made me look up. I reached to the clip on my swimsuit strap and turned off my music.

“Is this from you?” DJ asked, holding up a dollar bill I had penned the words thank you on. This was a week of paying back debts.

“Yes. I said I’d give you a dollar if you told Coach I couldn’t make the awards ceremony and you did. So there’s your dollar.”

He shook his head as he laughed. “You don’t owe me anything. I didn’t really tell Coach anything except that you wanted to talk to him. Your mom had called that same day too, so I passed on both messages.” He sat on the ground and set the dollar bill on a dry patch of cement in front of me.

“My mom called him? I thought he called her.” So much for letting me make my own choice there. She seemed to have made it for me. I couldn’t complain. I’d let her.

“Yes, I talked to her. She seems nice.”

“She is.” That was the problem with my problems. My parents were both nice. It would’ve been so much easier to tell them off if they were mean.

“Remember that day you ran into me and I dropped all the papers and you saw your name on one?” he asked.

“Yes.” That was the day he told me I was too persistent. How could I forget?