3 by Moskowitz Hannah

Author:Moskowitz, Hannah
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

That feeling dissipates when I'm standing on the diving blocks, waiting for the take your marks, and realizing their butterflier that everyone's given me hope of beating is at least 5'10” to my 5'4”, which is without a doubt enough of a gap to make a difference, especially in a stroke that's really all about arm-span and the length of your kick. This is possibly going to be a very depressing meet for my mother and Dominic and my boyfriend and my skeptical little step-sister to witness.

Take your marks. My mark is a hunch on the diving block with a lot of nervous shaking. This is embarrassing.

The buzzer sounds, and I spring off.

Butterfly is the last event of every meet, so by the time it comes around everyone else on the team is always tired and bundled up in their towels and cheering, which is nice, but it also means that the warm-up before the meet began has already lost all its effect, and i'm as shocked by the cold water as I would be if I'd never been wet before. I'm a Miami girl. I'm not meant to be in anything under eighty degrees, ever.

Shut up and swim, Cipriano.

My start's actually my weak point. My mother says I'm the only swimmer she's ever seen come up out of the water first after the dive and still, occasionally, win. The good divers glide for as long as possible. My dives suck so badly that it's really just a frantic race to the surface so I can start actually swimming. But my kick is strong enough to make up for it. That's where I have my strength. Thank you, heavy legs. They come down with force.

I'm ahead at the turn, barely; little Miss Longlegs is a quarter of a second behind me, at most. On the second lap I always force myself to stop looking at people. I'm awful when I first starts out a race, always taking my breaths sideways so I can creep on the people next to me. Second lap is when I focus.

I can't hear anything, between my swim cap and my goggles and the water crashing up and over my head each time I pull another stroke, but I pretend I can hear my mom. I always do.

I could make this a romantic moment, and say I'm imagining Theo cheering me on, or even Josey. But I'm not. This moment is me and my mom.

I guess this is what happens, when being in love just fits into your life.

I slam my feet down with one last kick and push my hands into the wall. I come up for air just in time to see Longlegs finish next to me. I beat her.

“Good race,” she tells me, with a smile, and I say it back and turn and shake hands with the girl next to me as well, just like my very first swim coach drilled into me. Then I look up at the volunteers and their stopwatches and say, “What was my time?”

“59:17,” one of them tells me.

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