Green at the Gills

Maya's stomach did backflips as she stood at the edge of the **pool**, her navy swimsuit feeling more like a target than clothing. The Hamilton High swim tryouts. Because obviously, at sixteen, the best way to make friends and establish your social standing is to put yourself in a situation where everyone can see your worst angles in spandex.

"You got this, Maya!" Her best friend Jenna waved from the bleachers, holding an **orange** slice like some kind of bizarre good-luck charm. Maya had managed to choke down some **spinach** and eggs for breakfast because her mom insisted it would give her "energy." Now she was regretting everything.

The coach blew the whistle. Maya dove.

Something happened underwater. Maybe it was the way the **lightning** from the storm last night had changed the pool's chemistry, or maybe her body just chose violence. But halfway through her lap, her stomach rebelled against the spinach experiment.

She kept swimming. She was NOT about to be the girl who threw up during tryouts. Social suicide was not on her freshman year agenda.

"Faster, runners!" someone yelled from the deck, because apparently swimmers were called "runners" now? That was news to her.

Maya's arms burned. Her lungs screamed. And then, suddenly, she wasn't thinking about the spinach anymore or how everyone would see her paddle-shaped legs or how she'd literally just met these people yesterday. She was just... moving.

She touched the wall, gasping, expecting everyone to be laughing or checking their phones or literally anything except what was actually happening.

"New personal record!" Coach Miller yelled, high-fiving her. "Where'd you learn that flip turn?"

Maya blinked. "I... I don't know. Just happened."

"That was fire!" called the cute guy from her AP Chem class. What was his name? Marcus? "You were literally flying."

Later, as she sat with Jenna eating an actual orange instead of holding one like a prop, Maya realized something. Maybe the scary things—like tryouts, or new schools, or whatever weird vegetable experiments your parents talk you into—weren't always disasters. Sometimes they were just moments waiting to surprise you.

"So," Jenna grinned, "same time next week?"

Maya actually smiled. "Yeah. Same time."