Summer of the Shallow End

The social pyramid at the Greenwood Park Pool had me firmly planted at the bottom — quite literally during Mark's ridiculous team-building exercises. As the newest lifeguard, I was stuck with the worst shifts: early mornings when the water was practically ice, and closing when all the cute baseball guys from the traveling team had already left.

"HOLD IT STEADY," Mark shouted, his voice echoing across the deck. He was walking the perimeter like he owned the place, his clipboard tucked under one arm. The other guards called him The Bull behind his back — he charged through problems instead of solving them.

My arms shook as I held up the human pyramid we'd been forced to build for staff spirit week. Ashley, the head guard who'd worked here forever, was perched at the top, her sunglasses reflecting the morning sun.

"I'm trying," I gritted out, while somewhere in the distance, my neighbor's escaped cat darted across the parking lot. I'd spent twenty minutes before my shift chasing that thing through Mrs. Henderson's prize rose bushes while wearing my guard swimsuit.

"Maybe shorter people should stick to the shallow end," Mark called out, and a couple of the older guards snorted. My face burned hotter than the pavement beneath my bare feet.

Then Chase Rodriguez — pitcher for the varsity baseball team, whose smile had been the reason I'd even applied for this job — dropped from the middle level and splashed into the water. He surfaced, shaking wet hair from his eyes.

"That's messed up, Mark," Chase said, and suddenly nobody was laughing. "She's been here since 5 AM setting up lane lines. What did YOU do besides show up and critique everyone's form?"

The Bull opened his mouth, then closed it. The pool went quiet except for the hum of the filter system.

Chase swam to the edge where I was standing, dripping water onto the concrete. "Hey," he said, looking up at me. "Want to see if I can finally nail that flip turn you showed me yesterday?"

And just like that, I didn't feel like the bottom of anything anymore.