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the questions finally stop, I’m exhausted.
    “What can I do?” I ask him. “What can I do to make amends? I mean, I can never do that. But I feel like I need to do…something. What can I do?”
    Bob settles back against his chair. Folds his hands. “That,” he says, “is a very good question.” He leans toward me. “I want you to think about that. We’ll talk about it again.”
    He stands then and tells me my dad wants to join us for our last few minutes, and then he goes to the door to invite him inside. Dad walks into the room and sits beside me, darting glances at me and then at Bob.
    “What about school?” Bob asks. “Have you thought about how to continue her education in a safe manner?”
    Dad glances sideways at me. “I could hire someone. For homeschooling.”
    “No,” I say. Both men stare at me.
    “I want to go back to school.”
    “Are you sure?” Bob asks. “Your dad tells me you’ve only been going there a couple months.”
    I nod, and he leans over and makes a note in the notebook beside his chair.
    “What about the swimming?” my dad asks. “You need to go back to that too.”
    “No.” My voice snaps, quick as a starting pistol.
    They both look at me like I’m a little unhinged. They think I’ve got it backward. Yes to school. No to swimming. But they don’t understand my need to be punished.
    Bob asks me to explain in my own words why I can’t swim, why I won’t get back in the water. Sorrow that has been consuming me turns to anger, as if I’m being forced to say things that are vile and dark. I press my lips tight. “I can’t. I won’t.”
    “She’s close to breaking records,” my dad says to Bob, his voice pleading. “She’s close to a national record in freestyle.”
    Bob nods but doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “She’s going through a very intense trauma, Mr. Waxman. She needs to heal.”
    “But there’s a meet coming up. This is her senior year. She’s been training most of her life for this. College scouts…” He stops.
    Bob doesn’t say anything, but he watches me. His expression tells me that he will support my choices.
    “How will you feel if you don’t make those records, Sam?” Dad asks. “You’ve trained so hard. You’ve set goals.”
    I turn away from him. “None of this stuff matters.”
    “Of course it matters,” Dad says and turns to Bob. “We moved to Tadita to get her the best coaching.”
    I glance at both of them. Bob raises his hand, and Dad snaps his mouth shut. But his eyes flash with the anger churning inside him.
    “Sam has to make that decision.” Bob glances at the clock on his wall. “I’d like to see you again,” he says to me and glances at my dad. He nods, but I can tell he wanted immediate results. One session to fix me. Get me back in the pool.
    Bob stands. “Will you wait outside for a moment?” he asks me, and I nod. I’m emotionally shredded. Exhausted. He takes my limp hand and shakes it. He’s warm, and his grip is firm. There is something in my hand when I pull mine away.
    “My cell number,” he tells me. “You can call me anytime if you need to talk. You’re going to be all right, Sam,” he says before he lets go.
    I walk to the hallway as Dad writes out a check. Bob quietly tells Dad to give me space to recover. I plan on using his words to my advantage. I know how much it’s hurting him, but I can’t swim. Not even for him.

chapter five
    Days later, I still haven’t been to swim practice, even though my body is an uncomfortable mass of heaviness. It misses the feel of being in the water. Craves it. My hair smells different. My skin isn’t as dry. I have pimples on my forehead. But I can’t go back.
    My life has become one major game of “if only.” If only I had kept my damn lips to myself. And boycotted peanut butter. I can make up millions of different scenarios, all with a different outcome. Alex. Alive.
    A few times, my mind wanders to Zee. I can only imagine what he thinks of me