Surviving High School

her, holding the blanket over her and making sure the guys didn’t peek.
    The funny thing was, Emily barely felt embarrassed. In just a few weeks, she’d come a long way from worrying about Dominique’s teasing in the locker room.
    “After all the time we spent picking out that dress,” said Kimi sadly.
    “Could you hand me my swim cap?” asked Emily from under the blanket.
    “Your hair! Your curls! We didn’t even take a picture.”
    “It’s like you said at the start of the year. The winter formal isn’t too far away. And then there’s prom after that.”
    “Oooh. Good point! I’ve already got some ideas for your hair next time. What would you say to a Snooki-style pouf?”
    “Um, we’ll talk about it,” said Emily as she stuffed her carefully done hair under her swim cap.
    “Shouldn’t you be going a little faster?” Kevin asked Ben in the front seat. “You’re doing exactly the speed limit.”
    “I’m just playing it safe,” said Ben.
    “Yeah,” said Kevin. “But according to the map on my phone, that means we’re going to get there at eight-oh-two.”
    “He’s got a point, Ben,” said Emily. “Just a few miles over the speed limit wouldn’t hurt.”
    “Are you sure?” he asked.
    She pulled the blanket aside and saw his smile in the rearview mirror.
    “One or two miles over the limit wouldn’t hurt.”
    At exactly seven fifty-seven, the car reached the Las Playas Country Club pool, and Emily and Kimi hopped out. The guys would park the car and meet them inside.
    “Good luck in there!” shouted Ben as Emily ran for the door.
    A minute and a half later, the girls entered the main swimming facility, where hundreds of fans sat on the bleachers, looking down at dozens of the best swimmers from around the country.
    Where the Spartan Academy swimming facility had been sleek and ultramodern, Las Playas was classical, the pools shining sparkling white and lined with marble. The surrounding stands were laid out in a gigantic circle, like the Colosseum, around pools arranged in a four-square formation. Walking in, Emily felt like a gladiator. A gladiator who had shown up just in the nick of time.
    “Emily!” Before she even saw him, her dad was picking her up in a huge bear hug. “I knew you’d come!”
    “You did? Because I just realized it about fifty-eight minutes ago.”
    “Better late than never,” he said. “Or maybe better on time than late? Anyway, the point is, the first race is about to start. You’ve got the fifty-meter backstroke in pool three. Themeet is running about five minutes behind schedule, so you should have just enough time to stretch out.”
    She had to start with the 50-meter backstroke? In which Dominique now held the national record? Perfect , she thought. At least this way I can get my first loss out of the way early.
    “What’s with the frown?” asked Ben, winded from sprinting in from the parking lot. “Should I not have brought you?”
    “I’m just not looking forward to losing this one.”
    “So don’t lose. I was there at the match against Wilson when you beat Dominique in every race. Who says you can’t do it again?”
    “She’s better now than she was then.”
    He put his hands on her shoulders. “So are you.”
    “It’s true, Em!” said Kimi. “You were pushing yourself way too hard for months. You were exhausted when she beat you. Now you’ve actually caught up on sleep.”
    “ All fifty-meter backstroke participants, please report to pool three! ” boomed a voice from overhead.
    “You’ve got this, Emily,” said Ben. “You can do it.”
    “Kick her pretty blond butt!” shouted Kimi.
    Her dad gave her a silent nod.
    Emily saw Dominique before Dominique saw her. She clung to the edge of the pool, her goggles already fastened, chanting her victory mantra. She didn’t break out of her trance until Emily splashed down in the lane next to her.
    “Kessler?” she asked, her concentration clearly broken. “Are you wearing makeup?”
    Emily touched her hand to her face, then looked at her fingertips and found them covered in running mascara.
    “Consider it war paint,” she said.
    “I heard you weren’t coming.”
    “You heard wrong.”
    “Not that it matters,” said Dominique. “You’re yesterday’s news anyway. Or haven’t you heard? Swimmer’s Monthly is doing a follow-up article, all about me. Apparently they just weren’t interested in you anymore.”
    Emily fastened her goggles. “Then I’ll have to