Chlorine Dreams
My hair used to be pretty. Like, Instagram-filter pretty. Now it's basically green straw, thanks to three hours of **swimming** practice every single day. Coach Martinez says swimming builds character. I say it builds split ends and a permanent smell of chlorine that no amount of fancy body wash can fix.
I'm sprawled on my bedroom floor, doom-scrolling through Maya Chen's Instagram stories—basically **spy** work at this point, though I prefer to call it research. Maya's hair cascades down her shoulders like she's in a commercial, all glossy and perfect and definitely not green. Meanwhile, I've got a bottle of biotin **vitamin** gummies on my nightstand that my mom swore would fix everything. Spoiler: it did not.
"You coming to the party tonight?" Kai's text pops up.
I stare at my reflection in my phone screen. My hair's pulled back in its usual messy bun. My swimsuit tan line is basically a permanent tattoo at this point. Maya's party is going to be full of people who don't smell like pool chemicals, whose hair moves when they dance, whose idea of athletic achievement is walking to their car.
"IDK," I type. "Maybe."
Then I see Maya's new story: her holding a trophy. State finals for swim. She captioned it: "Sometimes the grind feels impossible. But it's worth it."
Wait. WHAT.
I zoom in. That's our pool. That's my team's banner in the background. Maya Chen—Instagram queen, seemingly perfect human being—swims for our rival school.
I'm sitting up now, heart hammering. All this time I've been comparing myself to her, convinced she had it figured out while I was just awkwardly trying to survive high school. But she's in the water too. She's dealing with the same green hair situation. The same exhaustion.
My fingers move before I can overthink it: "Actually yeah, I'll be there."
I grab my favorite hoodie—the one that says SWIM TEAM across the back, which I used to hide because I thought it made me look like a total dork. I still smell like chlorine. My hair is still a mess. But somehow, that's not the point anymore.