A Matter of Heart Read Online Free Page B

game—which makes sense since it’s as big as a football field. There are two pools, two hot tubs, a shower area for rinsing off, and a sauna. The whole place smells like chemicals, feels thick and muggy, and is about ten degrees hotter than the rest of the gym. But I like it in here. Outside there’s another lap pool, and it’s okay this time of year, but in the summer the water gets too hot from the sun. I like my pool water cold. Jen says so do sharks.
    There’s usually a group of old men soaking in the hot tub, their hair as white as the foamy bubbles that swirl over their big bellies. They know me because I’ve been teaching the nine- and ten-year-olds every Sunday for a year. They call to me now, butthere are only two of them today, and I can’t hear their voices over the chug of the jets.
    Over in the other pool, a small group of gray-haired ladies are bobbing up and down in an aerobics class. “Eye of the Tiger” is playing on the instructor’s stereo. I’m glad I don’t have to share the lap pool with anyone. Well, except Alec. Not that I’ve bothered to look his way. He’s in lane 6, as usual, with a private student. They always give Alec the privates, but I’m not sure why. He goofs off too much, if you ask me. There’s more to being a teacher than winning over the kids with games.
    I’ve got six kids today. All of them are regulars and pretty good swimmers. Miley is my favorite, even though I’m not supposed to have favorites. She’s got short dark hair, big brown eyes, and a body like the Pillsbury Doughboy—round and squishy in the middle. Miley always comes to practice with a huge T-shirt over her one-piece. She swam in it for the first six months until I finally convinced her that superheroes don’t need capes in the pool. And in the pool, she is a superhero. Against all odds, this goofy little girl with the unathletic build and apologetic eyes can
book it
. She’s my fastest swimmer by far, but that’s not what I love about her. It’s the pride on her face when she hits the wall first. I’m guessing Miley takes a lot of crap about her weight, but in the pool she just looks good. I tell her to brag—she’s earned it—but she laughs and turns red. She’s shy and still half surprised to be this good. So I brag for her.
    Miley is in lane 1 with Lauren and Nicole. Mike and Billy are in lane 2 with Katie. I’ve got them holding the wall, waiting to take off. We’re doing 50-yard freestyle repeats this morning, andalready they’re breathing hard. Katie is trying to sneak her way to the stairs.
    “Katie,” I say. “Where are you going? No breaks yet. Let’s get another one in.” She looks miserable, but I ignore her. Katie tends to be my whiner. “Wait for my whistle. We’re going every fifteen seconds. Swimmers ready?”
    I take a breath and blow the whistle. I raise my hand, pointing my finger forward, and then…then.
    The pool tilts and the cool deck rushes up toward me.
    Oh my God
.
    I teeter forward, then catch myself. My heart pounds, fear crashing over me like a wave. My vision blurs and there’s a rushing whirl in my ears. It’s the whistle. The whistle is going off. I move to pull it from my mouth, but it’s already hanging by my neck.
    What’s happening to me?
    Widening my stance, I try to steady myself. I slowly draw in long breaths and blink over and over until the pool finally swims into focus again. The deck still feels uneven beneath my feet. The kids are doing laps. The first kids. The others are looking at me.
    Why are they staring at me?
    I suck in air.
    I need air.
    Oh. Right. The whistle. I close my eyes and blow it again. It’s better with my eyes closed. No.
    It’s worse.
    I open them, panic clogging my throat. My heart is beating so heavy and hard—something isn’t right. It’s too fast, stuttering as if it can’t keep pace with itself.
    Off to my right, there’s a noise. I think it’s my name, but I can’t focus. I bend over, resting my hands