Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

“Why do you care?” Lukas doesn’t answer, doesn’t tense up, doesn’t show a single ounce of discomfort. Typical. “By process of elimination…” I lift my index finger. “You’re not warning him off out of jealousy, because that’s not a feeling you are capable of entertaining.” He watches me, unknowable. “It’s not because you want to get laid. I mean, you have other options. You won what, four, five races today?” His lack of reply tells me it might be more. Whatever. Middle finger: up. “You contributed more to Stanford winning the meet than the entire diving team. Maybe for competition purposes, you should be considered an institution. Get a .org domain, save on taxes—” “Scarlett,” he says simply, like he wants me to stop rambling. But not because he finds me annoying. It is, I think, because he wants to say, “I’m sorry.”