Surviving High School

Emily, her knuckles going white around the lip of the pool. The block, which would have been far easier to grip, stood at the far end of the lane.
    “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind a little race?” said Dominique. “There and back?”
    “Not at all.”
    Stupid , thought Emily, still trying to catch her breath. She can tell I overextended myself. She’s trying to make me look bad. Indeed, most of the other swimmers were watching Emily and Dominique talk. Some were treading water and whispering to one another.
    “Three,” said Dominique, tensing her legs. “Two. One.”
    The girls pushed off in unison, streaking for a few meters beneath the water before rising side by side and beginning their strokes. They glided on the pool’s surface like weightlessinsects, matching each other move for move. As they cut down the lanes, Emily looked at the overhead flags, readying herself for the turn at the far wall.
    And then she heard them chanting; the other girls on the team were cheering, “Dominique! Dominique!”
    How could they all be cheering against me? Emily wondered.
    Because you’re a machine , a voice inside her responded. Just like your sister. She suddenly thought of the story of John Henry, hammering his way through the mountain, racing against the locomotive.
    Everyone wants to see the human win , she realized. No one cheers for the machine.
    The revelation hit her at the same moment the back wall collided with her skull. Pain radiated from her bruised head, coming down through her body in waves. Even worse than the physical anguish, though, was the shame. Emily couldn’t believe it: She’d gotten distracted and lost track of the flags, something she hadn’t done since elementary school.
    There was no point in finishing. Emily surfaced and looked down the lane as her rival completed the race. A few seconds later, Dominique touched the far wall to a loud cheer from their teammates, and several swam over to her to offer their congratulations.
    Emily stood alone at her end of the pool, her stomach knotted with humiliation.
    It’s just practice , she tried to remind herself. You’ll have all year to beat her. But it was little consolation. The roomechoed with light applause as Dominique, surrounded by her admirers, threw a fist in the air. The other girls would remember this moment: Swimbot breaking down, losing a race to a mere human.
    At dinner that night, Emily’s mother tried desperately to make conversation as Emily and her father glowered at each other from opposite sides of the table.
    “So, how was work?” she asked Emily’s dad.
    “Fine,” he responded. “Except that one of the swimmers had a discipline problem and then tried to show off by having a little race—which she lost , by the way.”
    “Well, what about you, Emily?” her mom asked hopefully.
    “Fantastic. Except the stupid coach made me practice for an extra hour for basically no reason.”
    Emily’s mom nervously knotted her napkin in her hands. She avoided eye contact with her husband and Emily and looked across the table at the empty spot where Sara used to sit.
    “Well,” she said, trying to maintain her smile, “it sounds like everyone could use a little cheering up, and I have just the thing. A pint of a certain pair of people’s favorite ice cream that may or may not contain delicious dark chocolate fish—”
    Emily’s mouth immediately started watering. She hadn’t been allowed to have ice cream since her birthday in August, and the only chocolate she’d tasted since then came in theform of chalky protein shakes that reminded her more of liquid cardboard than cocoa beans.
    “Not for her,” said Emily’s father. “She’s already had her eight thousand calories, and that much sugar and fat would be terrible for her system, especially this soon before bedtime.”
    Emily’s mother frowned.
    “Well, just a few scoops couldn’t possibly hurt—”
    “I said no.”
    Emily popped a pair of vitamins from the side of her plate and finished the last of her water.
    “It’s fine, Mom,” she said. “He’s right. I’m not hungry anyway.”
    A few hours later, after Emily had plowed through a mountain of homework, including forty pages of reading for Honors History, she sat on her bedroom floor, stretching her aching muscles. After a week of intense training and equally intense homework, Emily wasn’t sure which hurt worse, her body or her head. She heard a soft knock on the door and opened it to find her