Sprint

Chapter one

Practice started roughly twelve minutes ago, and I've already thought about drowning myself half a dozen times.

Especially because of the rookie ahead of me who has such poor legwork, I'm questioning how he made it into a D1 school. Still, I have to work to keep up, which in turn makes me wonder how I'm still at a D1 school.

After what happened in Copenhagen, they should have thrown me out on my ass.

Also, on the list of reasons to possibly mercy-kill myself in the middle of the Canham Natatorium: the new captain is a perky, lead-with-love type, and I want to smother her.

Within weeks, the Wolverines will descend into pandemonium if she doesn't step up her game, and I would really appreciate not having to call Kimmy Byers and beg her to somehow re-enroll at the University of Michigan so I can have a competent captain for my senior year.

I finish my warm-up laps and climb up on the edge to wait for further instructions from Dana, the captain from Candy Land. I cast a longing gaze toward the far lane where the rest of the medley team should be training, but it's empty. I turn to look for the three of them and find them talking to coaches Matthews and Lewis at the other end of the room.

My stomach pangs. Of course, they're strategizing without me; I can't offer anything useful anyway.

Matthews catches me lurking and waves me over. Steeling myself for the first conversation with my team in months, I head in that direction.

Three heads turn toward me, and I watch as my teammates' faces morph at the sight of me. Our captain, Jayden Sennels, presses his mouth flat, taking a deep breath, donning that tough-love attitude he's been employing every time he's cornered me since we returned from Worlds in June.

Our oldest and most decorated member, Zeke Mitchell, plasters an encouraging smile on his face as if being my personal cheerleader would somehow make me less of a screw-up.

David Davis, the mother hen of our team, softens, giving me an understanding look like he might get just how challenging it was to return to U-M after this summer. But how could he, with his Olympic silver medal and steady performance? I bet he's never considered if his quitting would make it easier on everybody else.

"Hi, Saltz," they greet me, clapping me on the back, trying too hard to pretend like everything is as it once was, when they looked at me like they thought I might actually be able to do this, to keep up with them. Now they know the truth, and no fake cheeriness can erase that.

"Hey." I force a grin on my face. "Long time no see."

Coach Matthews is watching, his shrewd eyes boring into me, like he'll be able to crack open my head and figure out exactly what's going on inside. He's been suspiciously quiet since Copenhagen, which had me on edge all summer, expecting a letter telling me I'd regretfully not be allowed back on the Wolverines this semester. When that didn't come, I wondered if they just expected me to figure it out myself.