A few moments later this message came back. You just have to put shoes on and step on them.

What kind of unhelpful metaphor was that? I stared at the words, feeling stupid I had confided in him if that was his advice, when another message popped up.

Spiders, right? That’s what you said you were afraid of.

I laughed. That’s right. I had told him the only fear I had was of spiders and now he was calling me on my BS. You’re right. How come I didn’t think of that all this time? I just need bigger shoes. Thanks.

You’re welcome. Some call me the master advice giver.

Really? Who calls you that?

My dog, mostly. Well, he would if he could talk. We have this mental-telepathy thing going on. I know what he thinks.

Wow. You have mental conversations with dogs. I’m not sure that’s something you should admit to.

Hey, I’ve told you before. I can admit anything I want behind the anonymity of the mask.

True.

So I know your spiders confession wasn’t a confession at all. What is it you’re really afraid of?

I sighed. Was it time to tell him something real? He hadn’t told anybody about our conversations so far. At least nobody had called me out on chatting with the fake Heath Hall. So I found myself typing some honesty. I’m not even sure, but I know I can never tell my parents what I’m thinking if what I am thinking will be something I know they don’t want to hear. Actually, I can’t tell anyone what I’m thinking if I know they don’t want to hear it.

How do you know they don’t want to hear it?

Because people only want to hear their own thoughts reflected back at them.

And what do you think will happen if they hear something they don’t like?

I don’t know.

So you fear unknown reactions?

Maybe. What was I so afraid of? That my parents would yell at me? It’s not like I’d never been yelled at before. I don’t know. And admitting that was hard to this guy who seemed to not only know exactly what he feared but to embrace those fears and talk about them with everybody.

It seems your mask helps other people reveal their truths too, I typed.

Yes, it does.

Now if only I could reveal mine to the right people, not the anonymous ones.

Twenty

The classroom phone rang midlecture and Mr. Kingston walked to the wall and picked it up. He met my eyes as he talked. He nodded at me like I should know what was being said on the other end. When he hung up, he said, “Hadley, please gather your things and meet your coach in his office.”

I had only one coach, but I still said, “Coach Phillips?”

“Yes.”

As I shut my binder and stuffed it into my backpack, my heart picked up speed. I’d missed the awards banquet. Was this the time where I learned the consequences of that? Was he going to tell me I couldn’t swim next year? Take away a race from me? Lecture me about my irresponsibility? I had a good relationship with Coach but he was a coach—he expected a lot from us. I pushed myself to standing and slowly walked to the door.

Maybe this wasn’t even about the banquet at all. Maybe this was about how awful I’d swum in the relay. He was finally going to talk to me about that. Tell me how disappointed he’d been. Or maybe he knew how much my shoulders had been bugging me. He was going to tell me I shouldn’t be swimming at all.

I quickly retrieved my earbuds out of my pocket and turned on my music. It helped drown out my thoughts but didn’t seem to calm my heart.

When I finally made it to his office, I was convinced I was going to die of a heart attack. I knocked on the glass. He looked up from his desk and waved me in. His face was stone, like always, giving away nothing.

He pointed to the chair in front of his desk.

I didn’t want to sit. If I sat, he would talk.

I sat. Coach was tall, really tall. And sitting in front of him like this made him seem even taller.

He gestured to his ears.

Oh. My music.

I yanked on the cord and the earbuds fell to my lap, leaving a ringing buzz in their place.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I haven’t seen you out at the pool lately.”

“I’ve been busy. I’m starting club swim next week, though. I’m committed.”

He smiled. “I know.” He turned on his spinning chair to the cabinet behind him and picked up a padded orange envelope, bringing it back to the desk between us. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I know I can be annoying. I’ll work on that.”

“Hadley. Do you think you’re in trouble?”

“I don’t know.”

He laughed. “You’re not in trouble. Relax.”

He said it, but I couldn’t force myself to do it. He opened the envelope and pulled out a plaque. The outline of a swimmer was etched into the wood and below the swimmer was a gold square. Something was etched there as well but I couldn’t make it out. He slid the plaque across the desk until it rested in front of me.

“Congratulations.”

“What is it?”

“I know you couldn’t make it to the awards banquet because of the event for your brother, so you get it today.”

“I won an award? For what?”

“For being annoying,” he said.

“What?”

“A joke. It’s for being my most dedicated swimmer on the team. You ready to swim four races next year?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

My heart wasn’t going to survive the workout I was putting it through today. “Thank you!”

“Thank you. I mean it. Like I told the team at the ceremony the other night, you are what commitment looks like. I’m proud of you. I wish you could’ve been there to get recognized in front of everyone, but I understand.”

“Amelia didn’t tell me about this.”

“I asked the team not to tell you. I wanted to be the first.”

I gripped the plaque, staring at the words etched into the gold: Coach’s Award. Dedication and Commitment. Hadley Moore. “I wish my mom knew I was winning an award. Then we would’ve been there for sure.”

“I talked to your mom.”

“I know, but she just thought it was a team requirement and I told her that usually only seniors win the awards.”

He took off his baseball cap and ran his hand back and forth over his short hair, then replaced the cap. He seemed to decide against whatever he had been thinking about saying and handed me the now-empty envelope. “Congratulations.”

That’s when I realized what he wasn’t saying. “You told her.”

“Maybe she didn’t understand. I should’ve explained it better.”

“You told her about this award? That I was winning it?”

He nodded.

I started to make excuses for my mom. “It’s tradition . . . this thing for my brother. . . .” I trailed off when I saw the pity in his eyes. “Never mind.” I stood so fast that the chair fell over. I scrambled to pick it up, dropping the envelope. It slid beneath the chair I’d just righted. I grabbed it and made for the door. “Thanks for this.”

“Hadley—” he said, but I had already left. The shutting door cut off however he was going to finish that sentence.