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Authors: Jaime Clevenger
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her. She stepped up on the block and took her position, watching for his signal.
With the whistle, she dove in. The water sped over her body, whipping away everything except the one word that pounded in her head. “Dyke.” She dug in hard, racing Coach Treble’s clock. At the wall, she flipped and pushed off with enough force to dislodge her goggles. Water swept in on one side. She closed her eyes and swam faster. “Dyke.” The “D” was big enough to swallow her whole. The “y” draped its tail over her shoulder and the “k” cackled louder than Andrew’s laughter. But the “e” crouched behind her. As if. As if no one would notice it hiding there. Dyke. She said it aloud for the first time, knowing the water would absorb the word.
Kelsey didn’t slow down as she approached the wall again. She rolled into another turn and pushed even harder. Her breath came in short gasps that she only allowed for every fourth stroke. Andrew had dove into her lane and she passed him easily, then another swimmer and another. She heard a whistle as she started into her fifth length but didn’t slow down. The whistle only made her kick faster, her legs turning into thick boards. Her shoulders and forearms burned but she pulled harder. One more stroke, then another. She tore through the water as if that was all that held her back. At four hundred meters, she slapped her hand against the wall. She ripped off the goggles and looked around. The pool was empty. All the other swimmers had completed their fifty meters and hopped out. Now they all stared at her. She climbed out and then moved to the side of the block, trying to catch her breath. When she bent over, she tasted bile. No one said anything. She braced her hands on her thighs and hung her head, straining to slow her racing heart. It took her a minute to realize that Coach Treble was standing in front of her. She focused on his sandals but didn’t look up at his face.
“That was supposed to be a fifty-meter sprint,” he said. “Not a four hundred-meter sprint. Maybe you didn’t hear me.”
Kelsey didn’t say anything. She straightened up slowly, still working to catch her breath, her heart pounding in her ears.
Coach Treble met her gaze. His arms were folded across his chest. Finally he bent down and picked up the stopwatch that he’d set on the block. He stared at the watch for a moment and then flipped it around and showed her the count. “You beat the pool record for a four-hundred free. Happy?”
Kelsey didn’t answer.
“Want to tell me what the hell is going on? You have no business pushing that hard. Not in training. And not for four hundred meters. You’re a sprinter.” His chin jutted out like it did when he was about to yell at someone, but he only took a deep breath and exhaled. Then he looked down at his stopwatch and shook his head. “What were you trying to prove?” When she didn’t answer he continued, “I don’t have time to train someone who’s here to pull stunts. Is that what’s going on?”
Kelsey shook her head. Even that took effort.
He mumbled something under his breath and then started to walk away. Before he’d reached the bleachers, he stopped, turned back and pointed to the block. “I want that sprint. Fifty-meter free. Let’s go.”
Kelsey swallowed. She’d swam all out for eight laps. Sixteen lengths. And that was after over an hour of swim practice. What was another lap? Agony. Andrew stepped back from the block and Kelsey reluctantly put her goggles back on. She took her position, her arms shaking as she gripped the edge of the block.
“Go on the thirty,” Coach Treble said. He had his stopwatch in hand.
Kelsey stared at the big clock at the end of the lane. She watched the second hand race toward the thirty. With ten seconds to go, she risked a glance at the block next to hers. Joy met her gaze.
Chapter Seven
Joy opened the door to the office, hearing her mother’s voice in her head. But it’s Sunday.
With the whistle, she dove in. The water sped over her body, whipping away everything except the one word that pounded in her head. “Dyke.” She dug in hard, racing Coach Treble’s clock. At the wall, she flipped and pushed off with enough force to dislodge her goggles. Water swept in on one side. She closed her eyes and swam faster. “Dyke.” The “D” was big enough to swallow her whole. The “y” draped its tail over her shoulder and the “k” cackled louder than Andrew’s laughter. But the “e” crouched behind her. As if. As if no one would notice it hiding there. Dyke. She said it aloud for the first time, knowing the water would absorb the word.
Kelsey didn’t slow down as she approached the wall again. She rolled into another turn and pushed even harder. Her breath came in short gasps that she only allowed for every fourth stroke. Andrew had dove into her lane and she passed him easily, then another swimmer and another. She heard a whistle as she started into her fifth length but didn’t slow down. The whistle only made her kick faster, her legs turning into thick boards. Her shoulders and forearms burned but she pulled harder. One more stroke, then another. She tore through the water as if that was all that held her back. At four hundred meters, she slapped her hand against the wall. She ripped off the goggles and looked around. The pool was empty. All the other swimmers had completed their fifty meters and hopped out. Now they all stared at her. She climbed out and then moved to the side of the block, trying to catch her breath. When she bent over, she tasted bile. No one said anything. She braced her hands on her thighs and hung her head, straining to slow her racing heart. It took her a minute to realize that Coach Treble was standing in front of her. She focused on his sandals but didn’t look up at his face.
“That was supposed to be a fifty-meter sprint,” he said. “Not a four hundred-meter sprint. Maybe you didn’t hear me.”
Kelsey didn’t say anything. She straightened up slowly, still working to catch her breath, her heart pounding in her ears.
Coach Treble met her gaze. His arms were folded across his chest. Finally he bent down and picked up the stopwatch that he’d set on the block. He stared at the watch for a moment and then flipped it around and showed her the count. “You beat the pool record for a four-hundred free. Happy?”
Kelsey didn’t answer.
“Want to tell me what the hell is going on? You have no business pushing that hard. Not in training. And not for four hundred meters. You’re a sprinter.” His chin jutted out like it did when he was about to yell at someone, but he only took a deep breath and exhaled. Then he looked down at his stopwatch and shook his head. “What were you trying to prove?” When she didn’t answer he continued, “I don’t have time to train someone who’s here to pull stunts. Is that what’s going on?”
Kelsey shook her head. Even that took effort.
He mumbled something under his breath and then started to walk away. Before he’d reached the bleachers, he stopped, turned back and pointed to the block. “I want that sprint. Fifty-meter free. Let’s go.”
Kelsey swallowed. She’d swam all out for eight laps. Sixteen lengths. And that was after over an hour of swim practice. What was another lap? Agony. Andrew stepped back from the block and Kelsey reluctantly put her goggles back on. She took her position, her arms shaking as she gripped the edge of the block.
“Go on the thirty,” Coach Treble said. He had his stopwatch in hand.
Kelsey stared at the big clock at the end of the lane. She watched the second hand race toward the thirty. With ten seconds to go, she risked a glance at the block next to hers. Joy met her gaze.
Chapter Seven
Joy opened the door to the office, hearing her mother’s voice in her head. But it’s Sunday.
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