Chlorine and Papaya

The pool deck smelled like desperation and too much chlorine. I stood there in my Speedo that was definitely two sizes too small, trying out for the swim team because Mom said colleges liked 'well-rounded applicants.' Whatever that meant.

'You're up, new kid,' shouted Tyler, the team captain who was basically a Greek god with stopwatch skills.

I dove in and immediately forgot everything I'd practiced. My arms flailed like a distressed octopus. Everyone stared. I could feel my face burning hotter than the Texas sun.

Afterward, I sat alone on the bleachers, staring at my lunchbox. Mom had packed me a papaya again. 'Full of vitamins!' she'd written on a note that was now slightly mushed from sweat.

'Is that what I think it is?' A girl dropped onto the bench beside me. It was Maya from my English class, the one who always answered questions like she actually cared.

'Yeah. My mom's obsessed with me getting my daily vitamin intake.' I poked at the tropical fruit that looked suspiciously like an alien organ.

'My grandma eats papaya every morning,' she said, stealing a piece. 'She says it keeps her young. Pretty sure she's just naturally flawless though.'

We sat there sharing my weird lunch while the swim team practiced their perfect laps. Maya wasn't on the team either. We were just two bench warmers with exotic fruit and zero athletic ability.

'You know,' she said, 'maybe swimming's overrated anyway. Who actually enjoys smelling like chlorine all day?'

'People who get into college,' I muttered, but I was smiling.

The next day, I didn't go back to the pool. Instead, I sat with Maya at lunch. She brought mangos. We talked about how ridiculous high school was, how everyone was pretending to be someone they weren't, how we were both just trying to survive until graduation.

I never made the swim team. But I found something better—a friend who didn't care that I couldn't swim a lap without nearly drowning. Sometimes the best things happen when you sink instead of swim.