Dead in the Water

5 AM. Again. I dragged myself out of bed like a zombie, eyes practically glued shut, brain still operating on yesterday's battery. Third week of swim trials and I'd never felt more alive—or more dead.

"You're improving, Marcus," Coach said, but we both knew it was polite coach-speak. I was drowning in lane four while Tyler 'The Bull' Henderson sliced through water like a human torpedo. Tyler, who'd been swimming since birth and whose shoulders had shoulders. Tyler, who everyone thought was a shoo-in for state finals.

"Need to work on your breathing," Tyler said afterwards, dripping wet and annoyingly genuine. "Here." He handed me a bottle. "My trainer makes these custom vitamin mixes. Helps with recovery."

I eyed it suspiciously. "What's in it?"

"Does it matter? You look like you haven't slept since finals week."

Fair point. I took it.

Bad decision.

Two hours later in history class, my heart was racing so fast I could barely see straight. My hands shook. My leg bounced uncontrollably. Everyone stared.

"Marcus?" Ms. Reynolds asked. "You okay?"

"I'm GREAT," I announced way too loudly. "Just feeling REALLY ALIVE."

The class laughed. Tyler pretended not to know me, but I saw his shoulders shaking.

After school, he found me by my locker. "Okay, I may have given you the pre-meet formula instead of the recovery one."

"You think?" I deadpanned, still vibrating. "I was THIS close to asking if anyone wanted to race to the cafeteria AND BACK."

We both cracked up. Something shifted.

"Look," Tyler said, almost awkward. "Being The Bull sucks sometimes. Everyone expects you to be this machine. But you? You're out there every morning at 5 AM even though you clearly hate water. That's... kinda badass."

I blinked. Was The Bull Tyler Henderson complimenting ME?

"I don't hate water," I admitted. "I hate how slow I am."

"Then stop worrying about everyone else. Swim YOUR race."

Next morning, I woke up at 5 AM. Still tired, still dragging myself to the pool like a zombie. But as I hit the water, I didn't think about Tyler or state finals or expectations. Just me, the water, and the rhythm of my own stroke. And somehow, I wasn't drowning anymore. I was just... swimming. Slow, but swimming.

Turns out, that's enough for now.