Beneath the Surface

The pool deck smelled like chlorine and desperation, which honestly described my entire sophomore year. I'd been swimming competitively since forever, but this year was different — this year, I actually cared about making varsity.

"Your lap time's solid, Marcus," Coach Patel said, checking her stopwatch. "But you're overthinking it."

Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one with wet hair plastered to her forehead like a defeated seaweed monster, while Tyler Chen — the guy I'd been lowkey crushing on since orientation — watched from the bleachers.

I'd spent two hours that morning flat-ironing my hair before practice, knowing he'd be there studying. Which was ridiculous. Swimming + straight hair = immediate regret. But my curls had always been this uncontrollable mess that refused to fit into anyone's definition of "put together," and I was tired of feeling like the before picture in a makeover montage.

After practice, the team hit the cafeteria. My streak of bad decisions continued when I chose the spinach salad because Tyler's friend group was all into that sustainable-farming-or-whatever lifestyle. I was mid-sentence explaining how chlorinated water apparently ruins your hair cuticles when Tyler's eyes went wide.

"You have —" he started.

"What?"

"Green. Like, everywhere." He gestured vaguely at his teeth.

I wanted to dissolve into the cafeteria floor. Instead, I grabbed a napkin, scrubbed at my mouth, and somehow knocked over someone's chocolate milk in the process. The laughter started at Tyler's table but rippled outward like the worst kind of social contagion.

But then Tyler stood up. He walked over to my table, sat down across from me, and pointed at his own front teeth.

"Freshman year. Picture day. Had braces. Green smoothie at lunch. Didn't realize until I got the proofs back." He grinned. "My mom still has that photo. Brings it out every time I bring someone over."

"You're making that up."

"Wish I was." He leaned in. "Also, your hair looked better before you tried to straighten it for practice. The curls are kinda... I mean, they work."

I didn't make varsity that day. But walking to my next class with damp, unapologetically frizzy hair and spinach-free teeth, I felt like I'd won something that actually mattered.