Poolside Zombie

4:45 AM. My alarm blared like a dying siren, and I reached for my phone with fingers that basically belonged to a corpse. Practice started in thirty minutes.

"You're literally a zombie," my sister Lena commented when I shuffled past her room, already fully awake and doing her eyeliner. "Race day's Friday. You nervous?"

"Nah, just tired," I lied, though my stomach did that little flip thing it always did before competitions.

The February air hit me like a slap when I stepped outside. By the time I reached the aquatic center, I was actually awake-ish. The pool lights flickered on, casting rippling reflections across the ceiling. I loved that part—the water looking like liquid silver, all quiet and perfect before anyone touched it.

Coach Miller was already poolside, holding his stopwatch like it was a precious artifact. "Rogers, you're late. Again."

"By three minutes," I protested, dropping my bag on the deck.

"In competitive swimming, three minutes is the difference between first place and 'thanks for coming.'"

Touché.

The real reason I'd been running behind wasn't the alarm. It was Jordan—the new junior with the ridiculous green eyes and perfect freestyle form who'd transferred from some fancy swim academy in California. Every time he smiled at me across the pool deck, my brain short-circuited. Being fourteen was exhausting.

Practice was brutal. We did intervals until my arms felt like jelly, and by the time we finished, the sun was actually up. I sat on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, watching Jordan talk to some seniors by the starting blocks.

"He keeps looking at you," my friend Maya whispered from the lane next to mine. "Just saying."

"He's not."

"He literally is. I caught him staring during warm-ups."

My face did that betrayal thing where it turned bright red. "Whatever. I'm gonna go shower before first period."

"You're so hopeless," she called after me.

Maybe she was right. But as I walked to the locker room, I caught Jordan's eye across the pool, and he actually smiled—a real one, not the polite half-smile he gave everyone. My stomach did that flip thing again, stronger this time.

Okay, fine. Maybe being a zombie swimmer with a crush wasn't the worst thing in the world. At least I wasn't bored.