Faster.

I am untouchable.

SHE is gone. Coach talked to her after the meet, and SHE is never coming back. Good riddance, I say. SHE should have been considered obsolete a long time ago. However, Coach is a sentimental fool, and she thought that maybe the best of her last generation could prove herself among us. Ha. Don't make me laugh.

Practice time. We are told to start off slow, to warm up before doing anything too stressful, but I can't help it. I go faster and faster and faster, relishing the feeling of my body gliding smoothly through the water. The other swimmers used to try to keep up with me, but they gave up long ago after realizing they couldn't even come close to matching my pace. I'm sad they don't attempt it any more. It was amusing to see them arrive at the wall, limbs quivering, and glare at me, who felt absolutely fine after the hard swimming we'd just done.

Today is fun day, says Coach. Isn't every day fun day? To me, it's always a blast to watch others stare in awe at my incredible power and speed, and also laugh at those who thought they had a chance at topping me, failed at their goal, and cried all the way home. However, Coach's idea of fun is to have our own practice relays, boys against girls. Not fun, Coach. The boys are naturally faster than the girls, although I could take them all. Our relay won't win because of this, unless the girls put in real effort, which I know they won't unless they're properly motivated. They chat, preparing to swim, unaware of me as I slip between their ranks. Soon, I stand before them, scowling, and the smiles they wore a moment ago drop away. You better win, I growl. Or else. They know a threat when they see one, and they all try their hardest in the "fun" relay. I still have to pick up the slack at the end, but we do win. Once again, the other racer comes in right behind me, and although he shakes my hand like he accepts his defeat, I see the taunt in his eyes: I almost beat you.

But you didn't.