High

Chapter Eleven- Water

When I was younger, I was absolutely terrified of swimming. The idea of a body of water surrounding my body, coupled with the fact that the water had the ability to draw me underwater if I had made one wrong move, petrified me.

That petrifying feeling of drowning never went away, and I avoided swimming at all costs, and it worked until I got a failing grade in P.E. Particularly in the art of swimming.

Having a failing grade was so foreign to me, so much so that when my eyes landed on the F that had sat so eloquently on my report card, repulsion immediately infiltrated my veins.

Back then, every grade mattered to me. Even though that grade had particularly belonged to P.E.

That time, I realized that I needed help. Mind you, I had tried every kind of swimming instructor there was, every breathing technique and every mind over body exercise you think of. Yet, I STILL  hadn't garnered any results.

So, every other weekend, Maxwell would accompany me to my routine swimming lessons that I hated. While I tried to swim, Maxwell would leisurely lounge on the patio chairs that overlooked the pool. His hair had been tousled, which indicated, at the time, that he had woken up from his morning nap.

The dude could sleep for days on end.

"Now, Ellie," my swimming instructor, Luke, began but was cut off by Maxwell, "It's Elliott."

Luke glanced at Maxwell and shot him a glare, his crystal blue eyes set into stilts. Maxwell paid no mind to him as he looked towards the sun with his shades on. He proceeded to close his eyes, knowing what was about to happen next.

It was a pitiful routine that he'd partake in, but Maxwell knew me, and he knew that at around this time, I would start punching the water with my hands.

"I want you to think of water as your friend," He started, "It's not gonna kill you." He looked at me expectedly, and I nodded my head, but I didn't believe him.

Water being my friend, my *ss.

"She doesn't believe you." Maxwell piped up, and this time, I was the one who glared at him. He sat up and pulled his shades down, his light green eyes vibrant, and the reflection from the pool only seemed to make his eyes pop.

I turned to Luke, whose eyes were firmly placed on me, "Don't listen to him," I encouraged, "He just didn't get his morning nap."

Maxwell called out, "Ellie, let me teach you. You'd learn way better with me than your swimming teacher of the week."

He was right, though. He was my twelfth swimming instructor.

Maxwell always did this. Instead of shouting encouraging words my way, which he knew would only anger me further, he'd shamelessly offer his services.

His eyes glanced at Luke, and he smiled bitterly at him. "You know that you're not the first swimming teacher she's had, right?"

"Let's just start with immersing your body in the water, yeah?"

I nodded with my heart beating out of my chest.

****

"How many swimming instructors are you planning to go through, Ellie?" He asked, running his hands through his hair, flip flops clacking against the concrete floor.

"I don't know. My goal is to at least get through 25 of them." I replied snarkly.

"Not all of us are blessed with swimming genes," I said, "Swimming doesn't come naturally to me, Max."

Maxwell was a pro at swimming. Whenever he got the chance, he was always in the pool. Swimming a minimum of fifty laps. It paid off, though. It made Maxwell fit, which attracted a lot of attention from the girls in our high school.