Surviving High School

her own body cut through the water.
    She remembered a story Sara had told her once, on a rare occasion when their parents had gone out and Sara was watching over her: When Alexander the Great had conquered the known world and reached the farthest sea, he’d stared out at the water and wept. According to the legend, it was because he had no battles left to fight and no enemies left to stand against him. But what if it was because of something else? What if it was because there was no one standing next to him to share his victory? Now that Emily thought about it, she realized Sara had told her that story just a few nights after she had set the record in the backstroke. Her sister had also taken Honors History.
    At the other end of the pool, the girls were squealing andlooking out the huge glass window by the side of the pool. Through it, Hector Alonzo, a popular older guy, was hoisting a sign that read AMANDA, WILL YOU BE MY HOMECOMING DATE? Amanda had run up to the window, breathed hot air against the glass so that it fogged up, and coyly written YES . Maybe she was a little more clever than everyone gave her credit for.
    Isn’t that dance still more than a month away? Emily thought. Not that it mattered: She wouldn’t be going anyway.
    As Amanda skipped happily to the pool and jumped back in, the other swimmers surrounded her, offering their congratulations.
    “Jealous much?” asked Dominique from the next lane over. “Or are you just planning on going to the dance with your girlfriend, Kimi?”
    “Maybe I’ll go with your—uh—dad,” said Emily, immediately regretting the comeback as soon as it exited her lips.
    “Ew,” said Dominique. “But I’ll let him know you’re interested. I’m sure you two will have much more fun than me and Ben.”
    “You’re going with Ben Kale?” asked Emily, trying to hide her sudden panic.
    “Of course,” said Dominique. “He just doesn’t know it yet. But don’t worry, after he sees what I’m wearing to his party this Friday, he’ll be begging to take me to homecoming—and to do a whole lot more after the dance. I hope that’s not a problem, sweetie. I kind of got the sense the other day that you might have a little crush on Ben, too. I hope little Swimbot won’t get her feelings hurt. Or do you even have those?”
    As Dominique swam away, Emily quietly boiled with anger, so much so that she half expected the water around her to turn to steam.
    Later that night, Emily texted Kimi:
    Emily Kessler: Hey, so, change of plans.
    Kimi Chen: ?
    Emily Kessler: Tomorrow. Ben’s party. I’m in.

CHAPTER SIX
    For the past 812 straight days, Emily had followed her sleep schedule. Whether it was summer vacation, her birthday, Christmas, or New Year’s Eve, she went to bed at ten thirty each night and woke up at six thirty the next morning, her circadian rhythms so exact that she no longer needed an alarm clock.
    According to her dad, Emily’s perfect sleep schedule allowed her body near-superhuman powers of recovery. As she slept, her torn muscles sewed themselves back together, stronger than before, and the weariness in her bones slowly evaporated into the night air. While her classmates and competitors might wake up groggy, Emily opened her eyes each morning as awake as if she’d just downed three pots of coffee. Not that she’d ever had coffee—her dietary regimen would never have allowed so much caffeine.
    For 812 straight nights, Emily had put on the old oversize T-shirt Sara had given her for Christmas one year, downed a warm glass of milk, and fallen asleep the minute her head hit the pillow. Until tonight. Tonight, a cold Friday in October, she looked at her bedroom clock and, for the first time she could remember, read 10:31 .
    She tried to lift an arm and immediately felt pain in her aching biceps, sore from hours of weight lifting in the gym after school. By the last few reps, she’d barely been able to curl twenties, and involuntary spasms had flowed through her muscles as if she were holding onto an electric fence. If she got out of bed now, her muscles wouldn’t have their usual rest. She’d be sore tomorrow and sleepy for the 10K morning run her dad had added to her usual schedule.
    If she went to bed now, she’d keep up her 812-day streak: 813 tonight, 814 tomorrow, 815 the day after that. And on and on until she was too old to go after medals anymore. If she got out of bed, the streak would reset back down to zero.
    But if she stayed in bed