Surviving High School

She’d wanted so badly to reach up and hug him, to thank him for jumping in and saving her. And then her dad had disappeared, replaced by her coach .
    As Emily got up and walked back toward her starting block, the crowd gave a small round of applause, glad to see she wasn’t seriously hurt. The only one who didn’t clap was Dominique, who stood watching Emily with her arms folded and a look of pure contempt on her face.
    Emily walked back to her block and got on top of it, steady this time. The world seemed in better focus now. As much as her dad pushed her—as much as he made her life miserable—he had jumped into the pool to pull her out when no one else would. That was worth something, right? For the first time in several dark days, she saw a glimmer of light.
    Maybe she could do it. Maybe she did have it in her. She wasn’t at full strength—that much was obvious—but maybe she’d still swim well enough to beat these girls.
    A minute later, the horn blew, and the race began. The first twenty-five meters went by like normal, but Emily knew something was wrong as she touched the far wall. Her muscles had already begun to scream, something that didn’t usually happen in a race this short.
    She tried to ignore the pain and keep up her usual pace, but it was no use. It felt like she was swimming through oatmeal instead of water, like every stroke might rip her muscles from her bones or her arms from her body.
    She touched the far wall and looked up at the huge timer on the opposite wall. She was a full second and a half over her usual time, a huge margin in a race this short. In the next lane over, two unfamiliar girls cheered and embraced as Emily realized that they, not she, had qualified for the finals.
    The rest of the day went only slightly better. Emily reached the finals for about half of the events, though she didn’t qualify in every stroke, as her father had expected her to. Dominique, on the other hand, dominated her heats, outdistancing her competitors by several body-lengths or more in nearly every race.
    “Rough day, Em,” said Dominique. “Did you notice I set a new personal record in fifty-meter backstroke, by the way? Twenty-eight-point-nine seconds.”
    “The only records you’ll ever set are personal,” said Emily, gesturing to the large electronic board on the wall, where the scores and names of national record holders in each event were illuminated. Near the bottom, it blinked out:
SARA KESSLER, 50M BACKSTROKE, 28.3
    Dominique glanced at the board and shrugged. “We’ll see.”
    Emily and Dominique faced off in a dozen races during the qualifying rounds to see who went to Nationals. Dominique won all twelve. No matter how hard Emily willed her body forward, she just couldn’t seem to catch up to her rival, whose movements through the water seemed unjustly effortless.
    Luckily, Emily managed to place second in several of the races. Though she hadn’t won today, she’d at least get an invitation to the Junior Nationals, where possible redemption awaited.
    Yet when she looked at the times Dominique was posting, Emily’s heart sank. Even at her best, Emily had never swum that fast. Now that Dominique had fully dedicated herself to winning, she was better than ever. Maybe unbeatable.
    As they prepared for their last race of the day, the 50-meter backstroke, Dominique leaned over into Emily’s lane and whispered, “Good luck out there. I just know you’re due to win at least one race today!”
    Emily felt a surge of angry adrenaline course through her veins. Good. Maybe it would help her win. She reached up from the pool and grabbed the underside of the block, getting into start position for backstroke.
    When the gun went off, she pushed off hard, and for the first time that day, Emily didn’t feel tired. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe she’d passed the point of exhaustion to where she couldn’t even feel anything. In either case, the pool seemed to part a little more easily, and she skimmed across the lane like a water strider. She made a good turn at the far wall and barreled back, looking for the flags overhead. Finally,she felt her fingers touch the far wall and heard the crowd explode in applause.
    She pulled off her goggles and looked up at the leaderboard. The first thing she saw was her time:
EMILY KESSLER, 50M BACKSTROKE, 28.7
    She could hardly believe it. After the day she’d had, everything she’d gone through, she’d set a new personal record—a time