9. The News #2
The streetlights come on, bugs start to circle the bulbs in slow spirals.
A moth flutters against her windshield, caught under the wiper.
She doesn’t move to take it off. Her phone buzzes once with a group text from the team.
Emojis of pizza slices fill the screen, but she doesn’t open it.
The air inside the car smells faintly of chlorine and wet fabric, and it’s the only thing that feels familiar.
The clock ticks forward a minute, then another.
Somewhere beyond the lot, a train’s horn blows, low and distant.
The sound vibrates through the car and disappears.
She stares at the steering wheel, her reflection faint in the glass, and thinks about how easy it would be to turn the key and go anywhere else. But she doesn’t move.
When she finally does move, it isn’t to dive home.
Inside, the pool lights are half off, the water is calm and silver. Coach Hensley is still in his office, the door cracked open, the glow of his computer painting the floor. He looks up when she passes.
“Long day?” he asks.
Maren nods. “Something like that.”
He leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “You don’t have to say anything, Clarke. I get it.”
She hesitates in the doorway.
“There’s always room for you in my pool,” he says, his voice steady.
Maren’s throat tightens. She nods once, not trusting her voice. Then she turns toward the locker room, pulls her suit back on, and goes to slip into the water.
The first lap feels like an exhale.
By the second, her muscles start to relax, start to remember.
Reach, pull, and kick. The pattern takes over her brain until it is the only thing left.
The water wraps around her like a safety blanket.
Each turn flips the world upside down for just a moment before it straightens out again.
The murmurs of today’s noises are gone. No shouting, no music, no camera flashes.
Just the quiet sounds of her hands slicing into the water, the low hum of the lights, and the pool pumps.
The smell of chlorine sits heavy in the air, familiar and safe.
She swims until her shoulders burn. Until her legs feel hollow.
Until the ache in her chest is just another beat to pace herself against. The ache spreads across her back in a steady wave.
Each pull through the water is a choice not to think, not to feel.
The world above her blurs into streaks of light and motion, but down here it is quiet.
It’s controlled. It’s the only place where everything still makes sense.
When she finally stops, she turns over and just floats on her back, eyes tracing the rafters.
The ceiling fans spin in lazy circles, stirring the warm air.
She counts each rotation like it is something she can control.
Her thoughts have finally slowed down. Pride.
Jealousy. Loss. None of them stick long enough to make sense.
The pool lights flicker, the hum shifts lower.
Maren tilts her head, listening to the quiet as it settles back in.
For a moment, it feels like the water is the only place she is still able to breathe.
Floating in the lane, Maren hears the unmistakable creak of the door. She ignores it; her head is finally clear. She figures it’s Coach Hensley heading out to the hall for something or another. Then she hears it.
“I had a feeling you would still be here. Reese calls. “I also saw your car in the parking lot on the way home.”
“Figured I could get in a couple more laps. We both know Hensley practically lives here,” she says.
Reese kicks her shoes off, steps into the gutter, and sits down on a kickboard, sliding her feet into the water. Her reflection ripples across the surface.
“Everyone kept asking where you went,” she says. “You missed the world’s most awkward group photo.”
“I’ve seen enough photos for the day,” Maren says as she slides herself out of the pool to sit beside Reese.
“I think that makes two of us.” Reese smiles a little, but there’s a lonely tone in her voice. “Did you know at one point Coach Hensley tried to get everyone to chant ‘Tar Heels’ for that reporter? I’m pretty sure half the team thought it was some kind of fish.”
“That doesn’t shock me at all.” A faint grin crosses Maren’s face.
The tension breaks for just a moment. Things feel calm.
Reese watches the water, drawing small circles beneath the surface with her foot. Her voice is softer now. “I didn’t think it would feel this weird.”
Maren traces the same circles with her right foot, half turning toward her. “Do you mean the ceremony? All those people and cameras would definitely be weird to me.”
“No,” Reese says quietly. “Leaving.”
Maren’s heart stills. She doesn’t respond, the word leaving echoing repeatedly in her head.
Reese lets the word hang there. It feels heavier than the air around them.
For a long moment neither of them speak. The only sound is the soft churn of the filter and the tiny splash of Reese’s foot moving through the water.
Then, quietly, Reese says, “It doesn’t feel like leaving when it’s you.”
Maren turns toward her. “What?”
Reese doesn’t look up right away. “When I think about going, about everything that’s supposed to come next, it feels like I’m walking away from something I haven’t finished yet.”
Maren blinks, her throat tightening. “You mean diving?”
Reese shakes her head. “No. You.”
The words ripple between them, soft but certain.
Maren swallows, unsure what to do with her hands. She’s close enough to see the reflection of the pool lights in Reese’s eyes. “Then what does it feel like?” She asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Reese finally looks at her. “Like I finally know where home is, and I can’t take it with me.”
The air between them stills. Neither moves.
Reese’s fingers trace the wet tile, stopping just short of Maren’s hand.
For a second, it feels like the space between them could break open into something new.
The overhead lights flick off with a heavy click, plunging the pool into darkness except for the emergency lights.
For a second, neither one of them moves. The sudden quiet feels alive.
Reese giggles. “I think Coach Hensley is trying to tell us something.”
Maren doesn’t answer. Her eyes are still on the water, the ripples spreading out from where Reese’s foot breaks the surface.
Reese pulls her feet from the pool, standing slowly. “You’ll be ok here?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Maren says, her voice sounding very far away.
Reese hesitates, the outline of her figure haloed by the faint light from the exit sign. “Goodnight, Mini-Coach.”
“Goodnight,” Maren replies.
The door closes, and the sound echoes across the empty deck.
Maren sits there for a long time. The ripples fade, the hum of the filter fills the silence again. When she finally stands, she looks down at the still water.
It mirrors her perfectly.
She reaches down, brushing her fingers across the surface. The reflection breaks apart, scattering into pieces of light that rejoin as the ripple fades. She watches until her image comes back together again, quiet and whole, the water smoothing itself into calm.