Bowing Out Gracefully
Chapter 1
Woodbridge
To be perfectly honest, I'm not certain this story qualifies as a Fan Fiction; the characters' names are the only link to the original Paterson book, but just to be safe: The world of Terabithia belongs to Katherine Paterson and her publishers. I'm just playing around in it for a while. Sadly, no profit can be received from this story.
Bowing Out Gracefully is a short story centered on a few of the characters from my earlier Bridge to Terabithia FanFic, A Life Rescued. The story explores the lives of a few young adults and how they approach friendship and intimacy when they find themselves out of their usual element – and usual relationships. The story is Rated M for Mature and is definitely not intended for younger audiences; it contains descriptive narration and dialog about human sexual interaction, naughty language, and mature themes. Please do not proceed if you do not like to read about physical intimacy in stories, or you think you might be offended. Constructive comments are always welcome.
Background: Near the end of the summer before his second year at college, Jesse Aarons is struggling to make his plans for an education - and life - a reality. Jesse and Leslie have finished high school and gone their separate ways, Leslie to Hollywood and Jesse to the Massachusetts Art Institute. The status of their relationship, however, was left vague; neither wanted to part ways but both needed to take the path they felt compelled to follow.
In the Epilogue of ALR, you learned that Jesse & Leslie ultimately end up together. But what happened in the years between high school and their reunion? Who were Jesse and Leslie 'with' during that time?
IHateSnakes, May 2009
The sun had been up for an hour when the alarm clicked on and woke its charge from a nondescript dream. She seldom recalled her dreams. The only evidence that she had dreamt, really, was waking up refreshed, a sign that her mental and physical health had been renewed over the past eight hours.
A brief rub around her eyes removed the normal sandy build-up. She pivoted in bed, set her legs over the edge. Her feet met the cool hardwood floor and she stood. Behind the blinds, the windowpanes were translucent with a thick coat of condensation. This, she knew, was due to the high morning humidity and cool air. She didn't let her mind wander off to think about other consequences of a chilly morning.
Showering, dressing and light breakfast preceded the final preparation that was performed back in her room. Each item was taken from her backpack, set on the now neatly made bed, and then returned to the backpack after examination: A change of clothes, two bathing suits, two sets of swimming goggles, cap, suntan lotion, two towels, washcloth and a bag of more personal items. She would grab a light windbreaker as she left the house, but doubted it would be needed.
Everything was ready.
Back in the kitchen, she sat on the cold linoleum floor and put on socks and shoes for the three-quarter mile jog to the pool. She had just risen to stretch when her father, a tall, thin, middle-aged man walked in.
"Big day today, huh?"
The girl smiled and began her daily routine to prevent strained muscles. One in her back had been particularly bothersome. Of all days, today she did not want it to distract her.
"You coming by later, Daddy?"
With a faux-injured expression the man said, "You know I wouldn't miss it. Good luck."
Another loving smile and the girl went back to her routine. She was not interrupted again - her father knew how important single-mindedness was to her goal. Five minutes later, without another word, she walked out into the cool, damp air that was rising off the Potomac River and jogged into the foggy morning.
Few people were up at seven on a Saturday morning in Woodbridge, but those who were might have noticed the young, athletic blonde passing by. She seemed to float down the street with a barely noticeable bounce in her step. Her long, wavy hair, pulled into a ponytail, trailed behind. Muscular shoulders and upper body spoke of her exercise routine. And her legs, nearly as trim and powerful, carried her through the maze of neighborhood streets to an unseen destination. She passed a few people who knew her: They waved, she nodded.
Arriving at the Swim Club, the jogger was met with a small chorus of greetings. As she walked around to cool down, and stretched, she spoke to them in short, concise phrases. Then, ready for the real activity of the day to begin, she waved at her friends and entered the changing room. Five minutes later, in her suit, cap and goggles, and rinsed-off, she walked onto the pool deck.
All around her were swimmers and adults preparing for the Saturday morning competition. In one corner, the helpers at the awards table were sorting out ribbons. Another spot held a small but growing group of adults looking at stopwatches. Feedback from the sound system made everyone cringe and surely woke up some neighbors. The coach, a cheery woman with prematurely gray hair, was directing some of the younger swimmers in the correct method of installing the five lane dividers. And in a far corner, a shy eleven-year-old was pleading with her parents to not make her swim.
A few more stretches, these more centered on the upper body, and the swimmer jumped into the water. From that point on, no one spoke to her. She swam a medley of strokes at varying speeds then left the water to buy an energy bar at the now busy concession stand.
Two and a half hours later, more than two hundred spectators looked on from the canopied pool deck as the six swimmers for the next event jumped into the water. Not a few of the male adolescents (and adults) present around the pool – from both teams - gawked at the young women. All six were quite lovely when fully dressed: In their bathing suits, they were positively distracting.
Some of the swimmers adjusted their goggles, others their cap; all stretched and breathed deeply to build up extra oxygen in their blood. A few looked nervously at their competition.
Finally, the judges, timers, referees, and dozens of other volunteers needed to make a swim meet work signaled they were ready.
The announcer looked at the Meet-Sheet, his guide to each race, and broadcast the information for everyone present: "Event twenty-two: Girls fifteen to eighteen, fifty meter backstroke. In lane one, swimming for Woodbridge, and in her FINAL individual competition, GRACE JACOBS." Wild cheers from the crowd and her teammates caused the announcer to pause before continuing the lineup. In the pool, Grace's concentration was on the sprint before her and she scarcely noticed the accolade.
In the spectators' area, Al Jacobs looked wistfully at his daughter. Grace had been swimming for many years and risen to the pinnacle of the Northern Virginia Swim League's competitive standings. In Division 1, the Woodbridge WaveRiders could boast the league's best team. Twelve of their swimmers had been selected for regionals. Three represented NVSL in the State Championships and Grace was one of the best.
Beside Al, his son, Tom, cheered loudest for his younger sister; he was visiting unannounced to surprise her and carried a spray of roses for after the meet. The siblings' relationship was close and loving, but also stormy at times for Grace usually had a Puritanical outlook on life – a philosophy that her brother did not share. The family had lost its mother five years earlier, but found love and support to help them through the tragedy among a close-knit group of friends in the small rural mountain town of Lark Creek during their father's three year assignment in Roanoke, Virginia. Today, Tom looked on with affection as his soon-to-be nineteen-year-old sister prepared for her last chance to break the pool and league record – one she herself had set the previous summer.
For a moment, Tom was distracted by the sight of a light-olive-skinned young man watching his sister and he nearly missed the start of the race. The loud electronic buzzer, used to set the swimmers, refocused his attention. In the water, all six racers had planted their feet on the wall and take hold of the ankles of six teammates standing, facing away, at the edge of the pool deck.
"Fifty meter backstroke…"
The six bent their elbows and knees, ready to spring backwards. Only Grace's stance was different: Her feet were lower in the water to provide more of an upward thrust. In a second, her signature start would display the reason for the alternate stance.
"…Swimmers, take your mark…"
Buzz…
At the sound – seemingly in anticipation - Grace sprang backward and upwards, leaping out of the pool in a long-perfected and polished arch that immediately set her half a length in front the other five swimmers. Then she snapped her body straight again, acting as a surfboard, just as she returned to the water. She seemed to glide on the surface like a dolphin. The race was barely two seconds old and she had gained another half-body length as she passed under the near line of flags.
To those familiar with the intricacies of the backstroke, Grace Jacobs was the picture of perfection. Two muscular legs, with knees straight, sprayed volumes of water as the scissor kicks played their designed role. But it was the upper half of the young woman's body that mattered more and she flexed her right shoulder fifteen degrees and into the first of many strokes, hands slightly cupped and fingers together for maximum thrust. Her face was focused on an unseen spot above until she passed beneath the far line of flags. One, two, three more strokes, then she rotated onto her stomach, glided a meter, and performed a perfect flip-turn. Powerful legs shot her forward from the wall and the cycle began again.
By the time Grace had finished the fifty meters and returned to the starting end of the pool she was a full eight seconds in front of the second-place swimmer in lane three, her close friend and teammate Jackie Evans. Only moderately winded from the sprint, she pulled off her cap and let a cascade of lightly sun-bleached golden hair spill out. Next she took off her goggles. Only then did her competition begin to reach the end of their races. She gave the girl in lane two a friendly hug – they had been swimming against each other for three years - and leapt out of the water to the cheers of her teammates and admirers. This she did acknowledge with a small wave, blushing in modest embarrassment.
While the judges registered the official times, the Woodbridge Swim Club team gathered around their friend. One in particular worked his way forward, and for the first time that day Grace frowned.
"Gracie! Congratulations," her teammate exclaimed, pulling her into a tight, full-body embrace.
"Ish," she whispered into his ear, smiling, "let me go or you'll be choking on your nuts." He released the hold, assisted by a discreet poke in his solar plexus, but kept eye contact and winked at his ex-girlfriend. She ignored it and turned to find the event times now being posted. Before she saw them, however, deafening cheers told her she had done it: she had broken the record.
"Gracie! You did it," Jackie shouted, and was the first to smother her in a more welcomed bear hug. "Twenty-nine point-oh-three! That's two-tenths faster than the boys' record!"
And more than half a second off mine from last year, Grace realized, quickly doing the math in her head. Now she shouted, too, and pumped a fist into the air, accepting congratulations from everyone around.
But more than an hour and a half remained in the meet and she still had a two hundred meter medley relay and a hundred meter individual medley to swim in. The former had little chance of breaking any records, her team had lost its best breaststroker a couple weeks before and the later was not scored.
This had been her last significant race with the Woodbridge WaveRiders, and as she walked to the deck to await the other events, a wave of melancholy washed over her. In a few weeks her classmates would be heading off to college, but she would not. Needing far more money than her educational savings trust fund contained, Grace would be working for a year to earn what she needed to attend one of her two choices of colleges: Cambridge or Radcliff. The Bio-Tech firm where she had worked over the summer, Saffron Labs, promised her a full-time position starting in September, so the next year would earn her enough to cover most of the balance of her tuition and boarding expenses.
Jackie sat down next to her and rubbed her back for warmth; the early July morning was uncommonly cool. "Regret not taking that scholarship now?"
"No, it was only a partial, and UCLA's biology program's not rated very highly."
Her friend conceded the point, having heard it many times before. "I'm going to miss you, Jakes. All these years coming in second…." She laughed loudly. "Always seeing your ass in front of me!"
Grace chuckled, turned, and gave Jackie a hug, not letting her friend spot the tears forming. She was, after all, The Rock of the team, a moniker she'd earned four summers earlier when she had first joined the WaveRiders. She was always focused on performance and the teammate who later became her boyfriend, Ish, pinned the name on her.
"I should have known then to stay away from him," she breathed silently. Or so she thought.
"What's that?" asked Jackie.
"Oh, sorry, nothing," Grace mumbled.
By noon that last Saturday in July, it was all over. The WaveRiders had concluded another unbeaten season. Al Jacobs and his son watched Grace's friends, teammates, and even some of the competition wish her luck. Tom noticed, however, that Ish was lingering behind, and Al Jacobs had to put a hand on his shoulder when he started moving toward the darker-skinned boy.
"Tom, let them be. Gracie has to work this out on her own. You won't always be there for her, will you?" Gritting his teeth, he shook his head, sat down, and waited for his sister to join them.
A while later, having said her last goodbyes, Grace pointedly ignored Ish and started towards her father. When she noticed Tom, she smiled and broke into a run. Off on the other side of the pool a whistle blew and a guard called out, "Walk!" He was ignored, too.
"Tom! What are you doing here?" Then she saw the roses and her eyes widened. "For me?" Tom smiled, nodded, and gave her the flowers. Overcome, Grace leaned forward and gave her brother an awkward upper-body hug so as to not get him wet. It was only partly successful. When she pulled away, he had two round wet spots on his shirt. A group of Woodbridge High School seniors walked by just then. Tom knew them from the previous year and one called out: "Looks like you have a serious lactation problem, Tommy." They continued on, laughing. Tom gave them a one-finger salute in return.
Grace was blushing. "Sorry…let me get my things and we can go."
Father and son waited for Grace to change and then went to the local Sonic Drive-In for lunch, their traditional after-meet eating hole. Since they had been together a couple weeks earlier there was little family news to catch up on, though Tom did announce his plans to start looking into attending another college. He'd been griping about the University of Virginia's Botany program for a year and neither his dissatisfaction nor his pronouncement was a surprise.
Then he said, "I emailed Jess to remind him about next Friday, Dad. He's expecting you two after six. And he said to park in the driveway…his landlady doesn't drive." As Tom passed on the information, he stealthily watched his sister's reaction. As expected, she began to fidget and her face flushed. "So Gracie, are you looking forward to seeing your flame?"
A look of disgust crossed her face. "I couldn't care less about Ish, you know that."
"I meant Jesse Aarons," Tom said, winking at his father - who showed absolutely no sign of amusement. Tom's incessant teasing about the old and awkward friendship got on his nerves now and then.
"No! I mean yes, I haven't seen him in years," she rejoined unconvincingly. The day suddenly felt warmer to her. "Have you heard from Leslie lately?" she asked, trying to change the subject. "She hasn't answered my emails in months."
"And she won't, it all goes through her agency now. Unless she tells them otherwise, you're just another adoring fan."
"Oh."
"Besides, she's in New Zealand now filming the remake of some stupid 1980s TV movie. She's going to be in Bumblefuck, Africa after that."
Al Jacobs cleared his throat; his son, as usual, ignored the warning.
"Did you see her on the Cannes Film Festival replays?" Grace said no. "She was tight with that guy from…. Oh, what was that movie? Well, I'm sure you've read the stories in Entertainment Weekly."
"Yeah…poor Jess."
Tom wasn't certain of his sister's sincerity but nodded in agreement.
After a brief stop at the grocery store, the family returned home. Tom immediately took off again to see his current girlfriend, Al went to watch the news, and Grace went to shower off the remaining chlorine and prepare for dinner and a movie with Jackie and some other friends later that evening.
The hot water felt soothing on her body, and when she had finished washing, she turned down the water's volume to enjoy it longer. (This was a habit she found amusing: She could be in the pool all day and still feel the need to wind down afterwards in more water.) The shower stall even had a molded seat so she could relax and let the warmth envelop her. There was also the detachable Shower Massager, a particularly welcome addition the previous winter when she had bruised her shoulder. It also provided other pleasing sensations with its pulsating spray.
Her conversation with Tom about Jesse disrupted her mental relaxation; it had also aroused her curiosity. Jesse Aarons had been something special for her, and she had some sort of bond with him almost from the time they'd met. Grace also believed that they would have made a great couple - except for Leslie Burke – against whom she bore no grudge. The two girls had become close friends, and even talked about their mutual feelings towards Jesse a few times. But Leslie shared more than the "usual" loving bond with Jesse, Grace knew; something linked them as no other couple she'd known.
Saving a person's life can do that, she admitted to herself.
Grace sighed and kept the water running on the top of her head. The bathroom had steamed-up and the damp heat was relaxing. More than once she had nearly fallen asleep sitting there. Her right arm and hand lay across her breasts for warmth.
Her thoughts returned to Jesse. What did Tom's revelation mean to her, if anything? Was Jesse available now? It had been three years since she had seen him. Would her trip to Boston change anything? And…how did Tom know so much about Leslie?
No! Don't fall into that trap again, Grace. If something happens, it happens, but don't hope for or force anything.
During the past few minutes of cluttered thoughts, fatigue from the meet, and the refreshingly hot water, Grace's right hand had moved down from her breasts and found a spot far more sensitive and stimulating. She soon had to set down the Shower Massager and clamp her left hand over her mouth: It would not due for her father to come knocking on the door if he heard her cry out. Moments later, her body arched into the same elegant curve she'd begun the race with earlier that day. Grace felt the twinge of a strained muscle in her back as her orgasm peaked.
Unlike her motion at the start of the race, however, her legs were not being held tightly together.
