Chapter 3
THEN: Freshman Year, August
Paloma
Most people have difficulty sleeping in new places. I struggle with familiar places—a mattress in the corner of a princess-themed room, a stained floral sofa, a crowded queen bed—which might explain why sleeping in my new, empty dorm room was so peaceful.
I didn’t even set an alarm, ready to take advantage of the early move-in silence in the otherwise empty dorm.
Waterfell University. My new home.
I’d applied for other schools that were farther away from my hometown, but this was the only one that offered me a full ride, room and board, and a stipend for textbooks. Which meant it was the one I could afford.
It helps that I’m already half in love with it.
The lush trees and well-kept landscape of campus, the ivy-covered red brick buildings, the quaint feel of the entire place, as if they dropped a big university into the middle of a small town.
Only three hours away from where I grew up, and it feels like I’ve entered a new planet.
Which is exactly what I wanted.
I can do this.
Renewed energy courses through my veins as I toss on shoes and head out—still in my boxer shorts and oversized tee—to my car in the slightly-too-far dorm parking lot. The sun is hot on my skin, vibrant despite the early hour, and I drive around the empty campus with the windows down.
It feels like a movie.
A little too good to be true, huh, Polly? A darker voice threatens.
I shiver, closing my eyes and tossing my hair into a messy ponytail after parking in front of the school athletics complex. Once I’ve signed in and scanned my brand new Waterfell ID, smiling at the chipper girl who greets me, I turn toward the nearly empty lap pool.
My stomach bubbles with happiness.
I’m used to sneaking in in the middle of the night, to swim in the light of the moon. I didn’t have money for a membership to any local pools and my dingy public school didn’t have anything like this.
Taking a moment in the locker room to change into my swimsuit, I put on my new swim cap, careful to tuck all my recently dyed hair under the tight blue latex. Dyeing my hair over a bathroom sink on my own was hard, and it’s not perfect, but I’m trying to make it last as long as I can.
Before I jump in, I shoot a picture and text it to Alessia, the woman who made this all happen. Six months ago, she’d become my lifeline, my way out of the darkness that still tried to haunt me.
PALOMA
Off to a good start!
I wait for her excited, approving text back before hiding my phone in my bag and diving in.
The water is an arctic blast against my heated skin, all at once refreshing and soothing.
Swimming has always been soothing to me.
I learned on my own, accidentally, when a few older kids pushed me into someone’s backyard pool.
It was a birthday party, I think; my mom was there, but too drunk or high to keep an eye on me.
I’d guess that most of the adults there were the same, but I can’t truly recall.
The memory is hazy. But the water didn’t kill me.
So, I kept finding new places that were easier to sneak into. Family pools in the nicer neighborhoods that sat abandoned during faraway summer vacations. Community spaces that assumed I was the daughter of the adults I entered beside.
It didn’t matter. I made it work. I needed the water.
Now, I swim until my limbs throb and my breath is wearied, huffing through a smile that makes my cheeks ache.
This is the beginning of something new. Something better. It’s the same promise I made myself while packing up my car with my handful of belongings and driving away from the darkness that made me.
My mother is standing on the threshold of my room. Her dull eyes—brown but faded—well with tears of rage or loss, I’ll never know. They scan over me again.
“What did I ever do to deserve a daughter like you?” She sneers.
I can almost reshape her words in my head. Pretend she said it differently. Pretend, for a moment, that I’m still six years old and she’s braiding my hair before school.
But that never happened again.
“Things will be different,” I vow, toweling off and redressing. My clothes stick to the wet outline of my swimsuit, but the sun is bright and warm on my skin as I head back to my car. I turn my face toward the golden light through my window and crank my music louder.
I breathe in deep.