1989 | Jameson Hawthorne

2. Blank Space

29th January 2019.

This school is weird, we've got to play at least three sports as if walking up the staircase every morning isn't enough exercise for me in one day. I selected volleyball, tennis and swimming because it's three things I know I can do. 

I used to live by a beach so volleyball by the shore was always fun. I guess tennis was just something that sounded fun to try. And as for swimming, I'm pretty sure everyone can swim. 

I'm in the change rooms, which feel weirdly empty if I'm honest. And by 'weirdly empty' I mean empty. Not a single person here except me. It does have its benefits when changing for swimming, nobody has to see me undress. I look in the mirror and tie my hair back off my face. 

From what I've heard the sport periods are basically free periods. The teachers teach and stuff but once you've learnt it all you just play the game, but considering everyone in the world knows how to swim it looks like I'll be swimming for an hour. 

I enter the schools swimming pool feeling a little nervous I got changed in the wrong room. I enter the humidified room, shivering because of the contrast to the hallways coldness and heated pool room.

I see gentle waves being made in the pool, when I look towards the source of such waves I find a muscular boy with hair as blonde as mine. I almost feel dizzy watching how his back muscles tense with every movement. 

"Welcome. Is it Florence?" The couch bellows across the pool, her voice deep and booming. She wears a bright red lifeguard uniform.

The boy in the pool stops swimming and pushes himself upwards out the pool. His biceps tense and bulge, his face comes into view and I recognise him. His family is the richest at this school, which is pretty challenging. Pretty sure his name is Garry Hawthorne. He's a year old than me.

"Yes." I call back to the couch, my voice cracking sheepishly. My eyes can't help but stay on the boy. "Excellent. Welcome to swim class. There's only two of you this year. I'm Coach McKinnon, but you can call me Coach McKinnon – I don't do nicknames. Now if you're done staring at Hawthorne, you can give me half a mile." She orders loudly.

I blush a bright red color and break my stare from the unfazed boy. Then when I process the words my face turns into one of horror. "Half a mile? That'll take hours?!" I gape dramatically.

"Precisely 36 laps back and forth of the pool, should take approximately 60 minutes." She blows her whistle aggressively and trots off.

"Hawthorne, keep her in line. I'm going to hookup with Coach Roberts in the staff room." Coach McKinnon doesn't even think to keep that last detail to herself. I gape at her, watching her hips sway as she struts out with such unbothered confidence.

"Is she always like that?" I ask Garry.

"Unfortunately." He monotones, a grim look on his face.

"I'm new. My names Elizabeth. I'm a Sophomore." I introduce, reaching a hand out to his wet one. I recently turned 15 and i'll be starting Junior year after the summer. At the time I didn't know but i'd be leaving right at the end of junior year.

He glares at my hand, "Best to spend your time swimming rather than making friendship bracelets." He mocks, rejecting my handshake and diving headfirst into the pool. Splashes of freezing cold water attack my skin.

I watch him start his laps, extremely fast without any hesitation. I slowly lower myself into the other side of the pool, cringing at how cold it is. 

I swim for half an hour, pushing my body as far as it can go. But when I get to lap 30 I stop. I push myself up and pant exasperatedly when my upper body is out of the water.