Chlorine Dreams and Green Smoothies

The pool smell had soaked into my swimsuit, my hair, basically my entire sophomore existence. Morning **swimming** practice at 5 AM wasn't exactly a vibe, but Coach Reyes said if I wanted states, I had to put in the work. The problem? I wasn't even sure I wanted states anymore.

"You good, Maya?" Jordan asked beside me, scrolling through TikTok as we inhaled our post-practice breakfast at Sally's.

"Yeah. Just tired."

Jordan had been my **friend** since kindergarten, back when we bonded over shared trauma in Mrs. Henderson's class. But lately, everything felt different. Jordan was all about track now—**running** varsity miles like it was nothing, while I was stuck in the shallow end of my own motivation.

Mom was in full health-kick mode since her doctor appointment last week. Our fridge now looked like a grocery store threw up a whole produce section. The worst offender: the green smoothies. "It's basically like a multivitamin," she'd insisted, shoving a jar of sludge toward me. "Just think of it as your daily **vitamin** in liquid form."

It tasted like lawn clippings and betrayal.

The real low point came Thursday. I'd added fresh **spinach** to my smoothie because I was actually trying to be healthy, but Jordan caught me blending it and immediately posted it to their story with the caption "my friend is turning into a plant help."

I laughed it off, but that night I lay in bed staring at my ceiling, overthinking everything like always. Was I even swimming for me anymore? Or was I just going through the motions because everyone expected me to?

Friday morning, I did something different. I skipped the pool. Instead, I laced up my old running shoes—Jordan's old ones, actually, that they'd given me last year—and just ran. No coach, no stopwatch, no expectations. Just me and the pavement and the sunrise painting everything gold.

My phone buzzed mid-run. Jordan: where r u?? practice started 10 min ago

I kept running.

Later, Jordan found me at the park, catching my breath on a bench.

"You okay?" they asked, sitting beside me.

"Honestly? I don't know. I think I need to figure some stuff out."

Jordan nodded slowly. "Okay. Want me to leave you alone, or...?"

"Stay. Please."

So we sat there watching the morning get brighter, both of us skipping something, neither of us running away anymore. Maybe that's what growing up actually meant—not having it figured out, but being okay with not figuring it out alone.