Bad Dreams (5 page)

“Wrong,” she said, shaking her head. “There was a girl in my dream. I couldn't see her face, but I could tell she was in trouble.”

“Weird,” Justin replied. “But what does that have to do with swimming?”

“Nothing,” she admitted. “But I keep thinking that maybe it's a bad omen.”

“Nope,” Justin said with a reassuring grin. “Just a bad dream.”

To Maggie's surprise, Justin jumped up from his
chair. He put his strong hands on her shoulders. Then he kissed her on the lips.

A long, deep kiss. She felt his arms sweep around her and move down her back. She didn't know until that instant how much she had wanted to be held.

When the kiss ended, they were both breathless.

Maggie's heart was thudding in her chest. She gave Justin several quick kisses on the cheek.

Then she glanced past him to the bedroom doorway.

And saw that they were not alone.

Someone stood in the shadows, staring at them.

The girl from the dream!

M
aggie gasped so loudly that Justin spun around in alarm.

“Andrea—hi!” he called.

Andrea?

Maggie squinted hard. Yes. It was Andrea.

Is she spying on Justin and me? Maggie thought angrily.

“Where's your camera? Do you want to take a picture?” Maggie demanded sarcastically.

“Huh?” Andrea pretended not to understand.

“How long were you standing there?” Maggie snapped.

Ignoring her sister's anger, Andrea stepped into the room. “I just wanted to see if you had unpacked any socks,” she said. “I can't find mine. See?” She held up one bare foot, wiggling her toes.

She had painted her nails cherry red. She lifted her foot so high, she almost lost her balance.

Maggie continued to glare at her. That was a lie, and Andrea knew it. Socks! But she stalked to her dresser.

“I saw the home run you hit against Waynesbridge,” Andrea told Justin, coyly lowering her head, too shy to look at him.

“What did you say?” Justin asked, distracted. “Oh, yeah, thanks.”

Andrea was obviously stung. Maggie knew that being ignored by a guy like Justin was a million times more insulting than anything
she
could have said. “Here, catch,” Maggie said. She tossed Andrea a rolled-up pair of white socks.

As soon as her sister left, Maggie closed the door.

“What's with her?” Justin asked.

“She hates me,” Maggie answered.

“She's just jealous,” Justin said. He slipped his hands around Maggie's waist, pulling her toward him.

She stepped back. “You know, when I saw her standing there in the doorway, it reminded me of my dream again.”

“Yeah?” Justin reached for her again, but she moved away.

She sat down in the chair, where he couldn't get to her. Andrea had shaken her up and totally destroyed her romantic mood. She needed to talk.

“Justin,” she said thoughtfully. “I know this sounds dumb. But I've never had a bad dream that scared me before. I can't help thinking, what if the dream is a warning?”

“What kind of warning?”

She shrugged, feeling the same fright she had the night before. “I don't know. Just a warning. A warning that something bad is going to happen.”

“Forget about it. Nothing bad is going to happen,” Justin assured her. “You're just tense, Mags, because of moving and because—”

He stopped in mid-sentence, his breath caught in his throat.

His eyes went wide in sudden fright, his mouth hanging open. He grabbed his chest.

“Justin?” Maggie cried shrilly.

His hands went up to his throat. He uttered a hoarse choking sound and staggered toward her.

Another choking sound. “Can't—breathe—”

Before Maggie could get to him, Justin had crumpled lifelessly to the floor.

M
aggie stood over him. “Justin? Justin?”

Then she gave him a little kick when she noticed his stomach moving up and down.

“You jerk!” she cried. “You scared me to death!”

He grabbed her ankle and let out a high-pitched hyena laugh.

“I didn't believe you for a second!” Maggie exclaimed.

“Liar!” he cried. “You fell for it! You nearly had a cow!”

“You're not funny!” She nudged him again.

A few seconds later they were laughing and wrestling playfully on the carpet. “Thanks for cheering me up!” Maggie cried.

She pinned both his shoulders to the floor, then jumped to her feet, cheering victoriously.

“Give me a break! How about two out of three?” Justin demanded.

Dawn Rodgers slipped her long, tanned arms through the straps of her black Speedo racing suit and flicked the material into position. “Okay, everybody, ready to take a lesson?” she called.

Dawn whooped out a war cry. The cry echoed off the walls of the half-empty locker room.

“Please spare us, Dawn,” Tiffany Hollings moaned, clutching her ears. “We won't be able to hear the starting whistle.”

Dawn laughed. “You'll hear it all right. And here's the next thing you'll hear.” She cupped her hand into a microphone. “Now swimming the two-hundred IM for Shadyside, in lane number one—Dawwwwwnnn Rodgers!”

Maggie was sitting on the bench next to Dawn, braiding her hair and smiling broadly. Imitating an announcer's voice, she added, “But what's this? Dawn's wearing her tennis whites! Oh, no—those are definitely going to slow her down.”

Dawn, Maggie, and Tiffany laughed at that. Only Andrea, who had been scrabbling through her locker in the corner, didn't seem to hear.

Coach Randall had asked the four girls to come to practice fifteen minutes early, so they could race while they were still fresh. The locker door opened just then, and Carly Pedersen, Claudia Walker, and Renee Larson, all members of the swim team, strolled in. “Hey, you guys, good luck today!” Carly called.

Maggie grinned and waved, but her heart did a flip turn. That's what it felt like, anyway.

In competitive swimming, the racer somersaulted at the end of each lap, pushing off the wall with her feet. It was called a flip turn. About five minutes before every race, Maggie's heart and stomach started doing flip turns.

“Okay, okay,” Andrea suddenly said, and slammed her locker shut. “Let's have it, Maggie.”

Maggie turned to her sister in surprise. “Have what?”

“My bathing cap. Where did you hide it?”

Unbelievable! Maggie thought. Andrea was always accusing her of things. “Did you lose it?” Maggie asked.

“Did I lose it?” Andrea mimicked nastily. “Very funny. Hand it over.”

Everyone in the locker room was staring at them. “Andrea,” Maggie said as patiently as she could, “I didn't take it.” She bent into her locker. “Here, maybe I have an extra one.”

“I don't want an
extra
one. I want mine,” Andrea insisted.

Andrea had dumped most of her stuff on the floor. Tiffany pointed to something white sticking out from under Andrea's backpack. “Is that it?”

Andrea yanked the backpack away, revealing her bathing cap. “Oh—yeah,” she mumbled, red-faced.

Some of the other girls in the locker room started giggling, which only made Andrea blush harder. Maggie turned away. Even when Andrea was acting
like a spoiled brat, she didn't want to see her get teased.

Tiffany finished dressing and started some warm-up stretches. “I think I'm going to hurl!” she declared as she bent her head toward the floor.

“You're that stressed out?” Dawn asked. “Relax. You have nothing to worry about. You always swim great. Besides, we're all on the same team, right?”

“That's right,” agreed Maggie, glancing at Andrea.

The locker room door swung open, and Coach Randall walked in, carrying her clipboard.

Martha Randall was tall and stick-thin, even thinner than Maggie. As a teenage swimmer, she had once made it all the way to the Olympic trials. Now she was in her forties, and she still had the intensity of a champion. It was a quality Maggie really admired.

Coach Randall rarely said much. Today was no exception. “Okay, the four girls for the two-hundred IM,” she said, studying her clipboard. “Let's go.”

This was the one part of swimming that Maggie hated, the time just before she got in the water. She knew she'd be all right once the race started. But now she was starting to feel dizzy as they padded barefoot through the long hallway that led to the pool.

The familiar smell of steam and chlorine swept over her. The pool gurgled softly, the water slapping gently against the sides.

“Good luck,” Maggie murmured to Andrea.

Maggie glanced at the bleachers. A few of her
teammates had pulled on their suits and come out to watch. They waved and Maggie waved back.

Dawn was right, Maggie told herself. Why should I feel so nervous? I've raced against these three girls in practice all year.

“Let's get started,” Coach Randall said curtly. She checked her clipboard. “Tiffany, lane one; Andrea, two; Maggie, three; Dawn, four.”

The four girls bent over and scooped up water to splash on their bodies. Then they took their places on the starting blocks.

Before Maggie pulled her goggles on, she spat into them to moisten the rubber edge. She always did this, to make sure the seal was watertight. But this time she had trouble spitting. Her mouth was dry.

Nervous, nervous, she scolded herself.

She glanced at Andrea. Her sister was staring straight ahead with an expression of cold determination.

On Maggie's right, Dawn was nervously flexing her hands. She had known Dawn Rodgers long enough to know that her confident manner was mostly an act. Dawn was as worried about the race as Maggie was.

“Okay, this is the two-hundred IM,” Coach Randall reminded them. “Butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle—in that order, two lengths each. Any questions?”

No one had any, except for the one question they were all silently asking: Who will win?

•  •  •

Coach Randall moved into a crouch to watch the race and judge the finish.

Maggie shook her head, trying to clear it. She had so many stray thoughts flying around—Andrea, the new house, Justin….

She knew if she wanted a shot at winning this race, she was going to have to concentrate. Focus! she told herself. Focus!

Below her, the water stretched, blue, still, and cold. The four girls lowered themselves into a diving crouch.

Coach Randall called out, “On your mark, get set—” Then the whistle blew shrilly.

Maggie dove.

She hit the water, glided up to the surface, kicking hard.

The key to the butterfly was the rhythm of the dolphin kick. Maggie tried to picture the grace and strength of a dolphin diving in and out of the water.

Before she knew it, the first length had ended. Maggie tucked and somersaulted.

A perfect flip turn.

She could tell she was in first place.

Concentrate! Concentrate!

Maybe she had started too fast. It was only the second length, and she was feeling tired, slowing down.

Concentrate!

Halfway through the first length of the backstroke, Maggie saw Dawn pass her on the right. Then Andrea started edging by on her left. There was no
way to know where Tiffany was, since she was two lanes away.

So much for her early lead! The coach was screaming instructions, and her teammates were screaming encouragement.

But their voices were only a jumbled echo. “Dig! Dig!” was the only thing Maggie picked up.

Breaststroke next.

Maggie was breathing hard now, and every muscle ached.

But the thought of losing hurt a lot more.

She silently commanded herself:
Faster! Faster!

She pushed harder, harder—as she came to the end of the breaststroke. But then she made a poor turn at the wall.