10. The Last Lap #2
Maren loses track of the score quickly, if there ever was a score. The water is everywhere, alive with motion and sound. For the first time all morning, she forgot the weight of goodbye. She swims hard, laughing when Reese splashes her straight in the face, sputtering out a fake complaint.
“Unfair,” she calls. “That’s interference.”
“Play harder,” Reese answers, grinning.
By the time the whistle blows again, everyone is out of energy and sweating. The noise starts to fade as the players pull themselves onto the deck, collapsing in rows along the tiled floor. Reese is still in the water, holding the ball above her head like a trophy.
“Final score,” she announces, “Divers Win!”
“Lies,” Nicole shouts from the deck.
Coach Hensley shakes his head. “You’re all terrible referees.”
The laughter rolls again, easy and bright.
Maren stays in the water, her arms resting on the lane line, her body slowing down.
Around her, the others start climbing out, wrapping towels around their shoulders, shouting about breakfast plans, and whose car has room for extra passengers.
The sound fills the space, then slowly moves toward the locker rooms.
Reese lingers, floating on her back in the diving well, eyes on the ceiling. She turns her head toward Maren. “You ready to get out?” She asks, nodding toward the locker room.
“Maybe in a minute,” Maren says.
Reese nods, then swims a slow lap, silent except for the sound of her arms breaking the surface. When she reaches the edge, she pulls herself out and sits on the deck, feet still in the water.
Maren watches her for a moment. The noise from the locker room fades, replaced by the hum of the pool and the slow drip of water coming off the high dive.
Coach Hensley claps his hands once, gathering the few last stragglers. “Good work this season,” he calls. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend. There are doughnuts on the benches for you. You earned it!”
The door closes behind him, and the sound settles back into quiet.
Maren ducks under water. The world muffles instantly, her heartbeat steady in her ears. The water is cold and clear, the lane lines above her bending into ripples. She stays under until her lungs burn, then surfaces near the middle of the pool.
Reese is gone.
For a second, Maren lets herself float there, eyes tracing lights above her.
The smell of chlorine sits sharp in her nose, and the stillness feels strange after all the noise.
She swims one more lap, just to feel the motion again, the way her muscles know exactly what to do without thinking.
When she climbs out, the water runs off her arms and legs, leaving small puddles on the deck that will vanish before she’s out of the locker room.
Her eyes land on the stool by the whiteboard.
Two coffee cups sit there, side by side, both half empty.
She picks them up and carries them to the trash, stopping halfway.
Her fingers hover for a second, then she sets one cup back down.
The one with her name written on it in black marker, the heart at the end of the “n” already fading where the ink bled through the cardboard.
The locker room hums with the sound of running water and hair dryers.
The air smells thick with body spray and conditioner.
Maren moves slowly, folding her towel before dropping it into her bag.
Most of the team has already gone, their laughter bouncing down the hallway.
She opens her locker and starts pulling out the small things that have lived there all season: extra goggles, an old bottle of lotion, and a handful of loose hair ties.
She stacks them neatly before tucking them away, one by one.
It feels staring, like closing a door she isn’t ready to walk through.
Reese appears behind her in the mirror, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped. She sits on the bench with a donut in hand, crumbs falling to her knees.
“You’re quiet,” Reese says.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
Maren shrugs. “About how weird it’ll be, not coming here every morning. Not hearing the filters or smelling the chlorine. I’ve spent half my life in this pool.”
Reese nods and smiles. “Yeah, I’m going to miss it too. Even the smell.”
“At least you get the summer,” Maren says, trying for a small grin. “I am sure you will be here tightening up your dives before you leave.”
Reese hesitates. “Not really. I leave on Thursday, after graduation.”
Maren looks up quickly. “Thursday!?!”
“For Chapel Hill. Summer training camp.” Reese’s voice is soft, almost careful. “Freshmen have to be there early for the conditioning sessions.” She laughs once, a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Guess I’ll get a head start.”
“Oh,” Maren says, the word is small. “That’s soon.”
“Yeah.” Reese looks down at the floor, turning the crumpled donut napkin in her fingers. “I thought I’d have more time, but I guess not.”
The locker room hums around them, but it feels far away.
Maren closes her locker slowly, pressing her palms against the cool metal. “Still. It’s good. You worked hard for it.”
“I know,” Reese says. “It just feels like leaving before it’s over.”
Maren doesn’t answer. She can feel the words building behind her teeth, but none of them sound right.
Reese stands and slides her lucky hair tie from her wrist. She holds it out to Maren. “Here. For when you forget to breathe.”
Maren looks down at it, the elastic soft and frayed from years of wear. Still warm from Reese’s skin. “Reese–”
When she looks up, Reese is already walking toward the door, her reflection fading from the mirror as the sound of her footsteps drift down the hall.
Maren stands there for a long moment, the hair tie curled in her palm. The sound of the showers fades, leaving only the hum of the lights and a faint drip from the ceiling. She closes her fingers around the elastic and closes her eyes.
Outside, she can hear the pool settling, the steady beat of the filters moving water she isn’t swimming in. It echoes loudly inside her head.