Chapter 1

A Chapter by wendyctsai

Something I did for Nanowrimo last year :) First chapter of Headfirst

Thursday, April 26, 2001

I drew a shallow breath. Bobbing on my toes, I felt the springboard shift up and down, bouncing ever so slightly. The air was cold, the sun beating down on my bare chest.

I looked down. A deep blue filled my every sense; it was all I could see, all I could hear. I could taste the chlorine, smell the stinging saline aroma of the water below.

Looking up again, I stretched my arms out, extending them level to my shoulders. My fingers were shaking.

I closed my eyes, and jumped.

One, two, three. Three twists, tuck your legs in, arms in, I felt myself rotate once, twice, three times, two meters from the water, unfold! My arms sprung out, my legs like springs, and my fingertips touched the surface of the water, followed by my head and torso. Legs straight up, ninety degrees, I entered the water completely and immediately felt the chills subside. I swam to the edge of the pool and pulled myself out of the water, wiping drops from my eyes and face.

I walked the perimeter of the pool, watching the ripples in the water that I had caused. I bent to grab a towel and walked over to the video camera I had set up. As I tousled my dark hair, I pressed replay and watched the dive.

Arms up, jump off the board, legs and arms tucked in, three turns, unfold, and into the water. I winced at the huge splash that followed my entry; I was still coming into the water at an angle.

I glanced at the clock - 6:50 in the morning already. The coach and the other divers would be arriving soon. I packed up my camera and slung my towel over my broad shoulders. I bent to pick up my bag, slid my wet feet into my flip flops, and exited the pool, the last dive and splash still burned into my mind.

* * *

I headed back to my dorm, my damp sandals clapping against the wooden floor. Fumbling with my keys, I managed to find the right one and went in, dropping my bag at the door. I went into the common room, took a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, and made my way to my bedroom. A pile of blankets and a suspicious lump told me that Sam, my roommate, was still asleep.

I grabbed my toothbrush, shaving lotion, and razor, and headed to the suite bathroom. I showered quickly, washing away the strong scent of chlorine. I opened my eyes and watched the steam rise from the scalding water and drift away. The sound of rushing water refreshed me.

Stepping out, I wrapped a clean towel around my waist and used another to towel dry my messy, dark hair. I stood by the sink and looked in the mirror. A gaunt face, the cheekbones prominent, eyes electric blue and alert, stared back at me. I looked ragged and worn out, not at all like my usual healthy self. I sighed, resigned, and lathered shaving lotion over my coarse stubble. Carefully, I shaved. I was not known for shaving well; I usually walked out with several nicks on my cheeks and chin and those annoying white patches.

A drop of red blossomed in the sink. I winced, finishing up my shave, and cleaned up the cut. I quickly brushed my teeth and headed back to the bedroom, where Sam was just waking up.

I glanced over at him. “Hey.” I sat on my bed, fishing through the drawer nearest me for a shirt.

“Mmm,” Sam mumbled back. He pulled the covers over his curly blond hair. “What time is it?” he asked, his voice muffled by the blankets.

I looked at my alarm clock. “Almost eight.” I found a faded gray shirt sporting the crest of Harvard " an old shirt of my father’s. I tossed it aside, chose a light blue shirt, and pulled it over my head. “When’s your first class?” I asked, digging around for boxers.

Silence for a moment, and then Sam replied, “Uh. Two.”

I threw a soggy flip flop at him. “You suck.” Sam chortled.

I pulled on some jeans and ran my belt through the loops. I slipped on mismatching socks and jammed my feet into worn sneakers. I grabbed my book bag. “See you later,” I said as I shut the bedroom door. I heard an incoherent mumble in reply. Back in the common room, I grabbed my water and ran out of the dorm. Two minutes.

I sprinted outside. The sun beat down on the pavement, warming the back of my neck. I ran to the science building and down the halls, my steps echoing against the walls. One minute.

I slowed to a brisk walk as I reached my physics class and quietly opened the door. Almost everyone was there already, but Professor Garrett hadn’t arrived yet. I slid into a seat near the back of the classroom.

Professor Garrett entered several minutes later, and began lecturing on rotational momentum. I opened my notebook and began to draw. The angle of trajectory off of the springboard should be no less than eighty degrees straight up, and if the parabolic curve is almost symmetrical, off by a factor of zero point two"

“Mr. Clark!” I jumped up, my notebook paper almost ripping. Professor Garrett was looking straight at me " as was the rest of the class. I felt my face get hot. “If you would be so kind as to join us.” She held out a thin piece of chalk, beckoning me to the front of the classroom.

I gulped, slowly rising from my seat. “Please draw an appropriate force diagram that encompasses all of the forces we have learned about so far.” I took the chalk, my hand shaking. I felt forty pairs of eyes boring into the back of my head.

I drew a quick sketch of a diver on a springboard, then etched in force of gravity, normal force, weight…I drew him jumping off, indicating the force applied from his muscles against the board, and the reaction force…

Several minutes later, I stepped away. The room was silent. Professor Garrett looked over my drawing. “Acceptable,” she said, then sent me back to my seat. I dusted the remaining chalk dust from my hands and plopped back in my seat, turning my notebook to a fresh page.

After class, as I was getting ready to leave, Professor Garrett called me back. “Peter,” she called. I turned, dreading punishment for not paying attention. “Will you stay a moment after class, please?” I nodded, and walked toward her. The rest of the students filed out of the classroom, until she and I were the only ones in the room. My diagram was still on the board, not yet erased.

“Peter,” she began sternly. “Peter, do you have any idea what grade you have in this class?” I nodded again, dread coursing through my veins. I was about to get chewed out, I just knew it; I was failing her class.

Professor Garrett sighed, turning to the board. “This diagram, Peter…it’s flawless.” I felt my face flush, this time with gratitude and pride. She turned to me again. “But it’s not enough to know the material. You need to apply yourself when it comes to tests, especially the final.” I nodded, shame weighing my words down.

“I’ll try harder, professor,” I mumbled, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. As I turned to go, she called me again.

“Peter.” I turned to see a soft expression on her face. It was difficult to read the exact emotion. Was it pride? Disappointment?

“You have potential,” she said simply. She nodded once, then walked over to her desk and began packing her things. I took that as my cue to leave.

* * *

I walked outside, already exhausted from the early morning practice and Professor Garrett’s chewing out. I didn’t have another class until two, with Sam, so I headed to the cafeteria for a late breakfast. Unfortunately, the University at Albany wasn’t known for very excellent food, but any food sounded good right now.

As I crossed the urban campus, I heard a deep voice shout, “Clark!” I turned to see Coach Kipp, my diving coach, running over to me. He was dressed in red and gray track sweats, his potbelly bulging. “We missed you at practice this morning.”

I shrugged. “I like to dive alone.”

He gave me a strange look. “You dived this morning? Before we came?”

“Yeah.”

Coach Kipp shook his head, disapproving. “We’re a team, Clark. You’ve got to come to practice. You do understand that, right?” I nodded, tired of talking to teachers and coaches. He sighed, then walked away, leaving me with an exhausted heart and mind.

I went to the cafeteria, bought a scone and a mocha latte, and headed to the library steps. I settled down and pulled out Emerson’s Nature. Soon, I was engrossed in my reading.

My cell phone rang, cutting through the transcendentalist peace of Emerson’s words. I glanced at the caller ID. It was my father’s cell. I hit ignore.

It wasn’t long before it rang again. Annoyed, I flipped open the phone and snapped, “What?”

Silence. “And it’s nice to hear from you too, little bro,” said a friendly voice. I immediately softened. It was Drew.

“Oh, hey, sorry. I thought it was Dad.”

“No worries.” Drew sounded tired, and he probably was. As the Chief Executive Officer of Panasonic, he was working almost sixteen hours a day. “I just called to ask if you were coming down for Mom’s birthday next week. You never answered my email.”

Mom’s birthday! Shoot. “Yeah, I’ll come.” I had forgotten about that. “Do you know if Dad’s going to be there?”

There was silence for a moment. Drew sighed. “I’m not sure, he might be working. I’ll be there, though. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”

“Yeah.” I felt a surge of warmth. Drew always made time for me, despite his long working hours. “So I’ll see you next week then?”

“Looking forward to it.”

I smiled. “All right, see you then.” I closed my phone, picked up the Emerson, and threw both into my bag. I bent to pick my latte and stood, stretching my legs. I decided to go check up on Sam.

When I got to the dorm, I heard video game sound effects from my room, signaling to me that Sam was awake. I dropped my stuff in the common room and entered my room. Sam, his gray eyes intently concentrated on the screen, was busy gunning down a guard with a machine gun, and didn’t look up. “Hey,” I said as I plopped down next to him. He grunted in reply.

I watched him play for a while, then asked, “Do you want to do something before class?”

Sam didn’t respond for a while, until he defeated the general. He paused the game. “Hmm?”

I sighed, exasperated. I was tired, and I was cranky. I took a deep breath, trying not to snap. “I was thinking we could go grab lunch or something. You know, before history.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam stood up, groaning as he did, and dropped his controller. “Lemme get changed.” He left, leaving the controller and game machine strewn across the floor, entangled with various wires. I sighed and began to clean up. By the time I finished, Sam was ready.

We decided to go to an old coffee shop a couple of blocks away. Sam ordered for us as I looked around for a table. It seemed every table was almost completely occupied except one. A girl, probably a college student, sat alone at a table for four. She had a notebook out and an untouched meal in front of her. Wavy auburn hair hung in front of her face as she worked intently on something in her notebook.

I approached her, slowly, and asked, “Um, are these seats taken?”

She looked up, dazed. Her eyes were a startling green, bright and vivid. “Huh? Oh. Oh yeah, no one’s sitting here.” Her voice was light and mellow and melodic, almost sing-song.

I faltered, startled by her eyes and her voice. “Oh, um, could we sit here?”

She gave me a half-smile, the right corner of her mouth tilting ever so slightly. “Who’s we?”

I blinked, shaking my head. “We. Me and Sam.” I gestured toward Sam, who was staring at the menu and talking to the cashier. I looked back at her. She nodded. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” I slid awkwardly into the seat next to her. I glanced at her notebook. I was just able to make out some rough sketches of oddly shaped buildings and architecture when she pulled her notebook away. “Do you mind?” she snapped.

My face turned red. “I’m sorry,” I stammered. She sighed, tucking her notebook into a beaten, faded green bag. We sat in silence uncomfortably, until she spoke up. “Sorry I snapped at you.” I looked over at her. Her expression was sheepish, her emerald eyes shimmering.

“S’fine,” I mumbled.

There was another silence. Suddenly, she piped up. “I’m Rachael Hawthorne.” She stuck out her hand. I felt the corners of my mouth tug into a small smile.

“Peter Clark.” I took her hand, and was surprised by the small calluses on her fingers. At that moment, Sam came over, balancing a tray of sandwiches, pastries, fruit, and two steaming mochas. He placed it on the table, plopped down next to me, and said, “Man, am I starved!” He grabbed a sandwich and commenced eating. Rachael gave me an amused look.

I cleared my throat. “Sam, this is Rachael. Rachael, Sam.” Sam looked up.

“Oh, hi,” he said, his words muffled through a mouthful of bread and turkey. Rachael giggled. Her laugh sounded like tinkling china. Sam wiped his hands and shook Rachael’s warmly. “Thanks for letting us sit here, by the way.”

“No problem.” Rachael smiled at Sam, and I felt a tug in my gut. She gestured toward the sandwiches and asked, “May I?”

I nodded. “Sure,” I said, a little too quickly. She gave me a smile of thanks and reached for a tuna sandwich. I munched on my fruit, eager to break the silence. “So what do you do? Like, are you a student?”

She waited, chewing slowly before she spoke. “I’m a student at Cornell. Architecture major.” I nodded, impressed. Drew had gone to Cornell, and my father never let me forget it.

“It’s a little far away from Cornell, out here in Albany,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I needed a break from school. Too scheduled, too systematic.” She took another bite before asking, “Where do you guys go?”

I stayed silent, reluctant to tell her. Sam spoke for me. “We go to U Albany,” he told her. She nodded. I looked at her carefully, but nothing in her expression revealed any disapproval or condescending attitude. She didn’t seem to judge us at all for the college we attended.

“What are you guys studying?” Sam was a graphic design major, but he had a passion for architecture, and he and Rachael launched into an animated discussion about Frank Lloyd Wright versus Frank Gehry. I watched as the discussion grew more heated, Rachael’s green eyes flickering wickedly and her hands flying. She laughed, and turned to me. “What do you think, Peter?”

I jumped, dazed. “Hmm?” She was staring at me, her eyes shining. “Sorry, what?”

“Which is better, Gehry’s Disney Concert Hall or Wright’s Fallingwater?” Sam looked at me too, not-so-subtly mouthing, Concert Hall Concert Hall Concert Hall!

I blinked. “Sorry, I’m not familiar with Fallingwater.”

Rachael threw her hands up. “Are you kidding me? It’s beautiful! Did you know that when Wright was designing it, his structural engineers refused to build it, since they thought it would fall apart. So he stood underneath the concrete structure and told them to move it, and he said, ‘If it falls, it will crush me.’ And it didn’t fall! The concrete is just hanging there, nothing to support it underneath. It’s genius.” She trailed off, thinking about the building, her expression one of bliss.

Just then, Sam’s phone went off. He checked the screen and muttered, “Crap.” I looked at him questioningly. “I’ve gotta go finish my history essay before class, man. Forgot about it.” He picked up his bag and hastily grabbed a pastry. “I’ll see you later, Pete. It was nice meeting you, Rachael!” He ran off, the pastry dangling from his mouth.

Rachael laughed. “Sam’s pretty cool,” she told me, reaching for a pastry. I nodded in agreement, sipping my mocha.

“You ever seen it?”

She looked at me. “Seen what?”

“Fallingwater.”

She shook her head. “No, but I want to. I’ve seen pictures, but actually going there…it would be so beautiful.” She had a far-away look in her eye. “Maybe I will someday, after I finish college.” She sounded uncertain. I wanted to ask her more about it, but I stayed silent.

She glanced at her watch, a delicate silver Seiko. “I should go. Your class starts soon, right?” I nodded and began helping her clean up. We threw away the remaining sandwiches and I offered her the last pastry. “Thanks,” she said.

She began walking away. I watched her, steeling myself, then ran after her. “Rachael!” She turned, surprised. “I, uh, my class ends at five. And I’m not doing much afterwards, so….”

“So?” She looked at me expectantly, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

I took a breath. “So, I was wondering if you’d like to…well, do something. Fun.”

She thought about it for a moment, tapping her foot in thought. “Hmmm…” She hesitated, then said, “Seven o’clock, the theater near the park. They’re showing Wicked. Don’t be late.” She gave a real smile then, then turned and dashed out the door. I stood, dazed, and began gathering my things, the smile of Rachael Hawthorne etched beneath my eyelids.

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