The Bus Stop

03: Belly Flops

There is nothing more cringe worthy then a person doing a belly flop into a body of water.  That was something I had decided long before I joined the swim team three years ago at the start of my sophomore year.  I mean honestly, the sound of one hundred and eighty pounds of boy hitting the hard surface of the water belly first is equivalent to nails on a chalkboard.  I couldn't imagine why or how people saw the joy in slamming their stomach's onto a surface as hard as glass, but I was sure that it wouldn't take long for someone to mess it up and realise the inevitable and horrific, consequences.

Not that jumping into the pool wasn't fun, I mean; I loved jumping into water as much as the next girl, but let's be honest: anyone who intentionally does a belly flop has got to be rightfully insane.

And there I was, surrounded by psychotic teenagers at six AM swim practise on Sunday morning.  Despite having to wake up extra early every day of the school year, being on the swim team was probably the highlight of my high school years.  In fact, I loved it to the point that I didn't mind smelling like chlorine for the rest of the school day, or swimming so many laps that I felt as if I might very well drown.  Most kids on the team complained about early morning practices but I guess after three years of routinely committing to it, I grew accustomed to all the cons.

I never imagined myself as a girl on the swim team, though.  I didn't dream about the many competitions I've attended or feel this overwhelming urge to spend almost all of my high school days in a pool of water.  If we're being completely honest, I never imagined myself as anything more than ordinary.  Apart from my frizzy, red hair — which I started straightening to control now — and my catlike, green eyes, I blended in as a nobody in the sea of somebodies that was school.  In elementary school, I highly doubted my teenage years would be any different.  Except, now I was considered the second fastest on the team ever in every stroke but breast-stroke, my time was 0.02 seconds slower then the record Max set the summer of sophomore year.

"Okay, Wolves listen up!"  Coach yelled at us as he tightened his grip on his clipboard, "I'm aware it's early and I know you're all tired, but we have states coming up so be prepared to work your asses off."

If it wasn't so early in the morning, I probably would have laughed at that.  We've been working our asses off since the end of junior year and it was no secret that Coach knew this.  He was the age where he was old enough to be diligent and keep everyone on task, but young enough to relate to us and understand we had a load of other work we had to do. That's why I've always liked Coach, because he's reasonable as well as accurately demanding.

"Alright then, get your asses into the water and start your warm up!"

There were a few mutters and inaudible groans from the team before everyone just nodded their heads and walked away. I grabbed my goggles out of my blue gym bag and made my way over to lane two.  I'd been swimming in that lane since I got onto the team, I liked it because I wasn't right on the edge, but I wasn't smothered by teenagers in bathing suits like lane four was. 

"Are you ready for this?"  Max asked as he stood on the creamed coloured tiles beside me.  He wasn't on the swim team anymore.  Soccer became a larger priority for him and he had to drop swimming to stay on the Varsity team for soccer.  Now he just joined in for the extra Sunday morning practises and Coach didn't seem to mind, Max still felt like a part of the team to everyone. 

He had a genuine smile on his face that seemed to be contagious, as one grew across my own face too.  It seemed to amaze me sometimes, how Max could be so cheerful, even at such an absurd hour in the morning.  I guess he just loves to swim as much as I do and the thought of it made my smile grow wider.