Vitamins and Velocity

The chlorine stung Maya's eyes as she surfaced from the **water**, gasping. Swim practice. Again. Her lungs burned, but not as much as her cheeks whenever she caught him watching.

Fox.

That wasn't his real name, obviously. But with that rusty hair and those eyes that always seemed three steps ahead, Fox Richardson had earned it freshman year. Now a senior, he was still the fastest swimmer on the team, still seemingly unaware that Maya existed beyond lane assignments.

"Meyer! You call that a flip turn?"

Coach Bradley—**Bull**, behind his back—paced the deck, clipboard in hand, his presence about as subtle as a thunderstorm. The man had zero chill and even less tolerance for anyone who wasn't breaking records daily. Maya's freshman nerves had already earned her three lecture monologues this week alone.

She pushed off the wall again, fighting the water's resistance. Fox glided past her in the adjacent lane, effortless, perfect. Not even trying.

After practice, Maya sat on the pool bench, digging through her backpack. Her fingers closed around the bottle—her mom's idea. Organic, sustainably-sourced, outrageously expensive **vitamin** gummies in the shape of bears. Because apparently being fifteen wasn't humiliating enough without carrying around children's supplements.

"Orange or cherry?"

Maya jumped. Fox stood there, dripping wet, towel around his neck, grinning like he'd just told a joke only he understood.

"What?"

He pointed at the bottle she'd accidentally pulled out. "The gummy bears. I'm asking for recommendations. My sister keeps stealing my regular ones, so I'm looking for an upgrade."

Maya's brain short-circuited. Fox Richardson. Asking her. About gummy vitamins.

"Orange," she managed. "But cherry's decent if you like artificial disappointment."

Fox laughed. Actually laughed. "Noted."

He sat down beside her, close enough that she could smell the chlorine and something else—mint? cedar? "You know, Bull was actually impressed today. Said your flip turn's improved."

Maya blinked. "Coach Bradley said that?"

"In his own way." Fox's expression turned thoughtful. "Between us, he's not actually that scary. Just old school. He used to swim competitively back when dinosaurs roamed the earth."

A smile tugged at Maya's lips. "So, like, last year?"

"Exactly."

They sat there for several minutes as the pool emptied out, talking about nothing and everything—homework, music, the absurdity of synchronized swimming, which apparently Fox's younger sister had just taken up. Maya learned that Fox was nervous about college applications. That he secretly listened to podcasts about architecture. That he had a dimple on his left cheek when he really smiled.

And somehow, impossibly, she learned that he'd noticed her too.

"Same time tomorrow?" Fox asked, standing up and grabbing his bag.

Maya's heart did something illegal in her chest. "Practice?"

"After practice." He winked. "Bring extra cherry."

As she walked to her car, Maya realized two things: First, her face hurt from smiling so much. And second, maybe high school wasn't going to be as terrible as she'd feared.

The vitamins, though? Those were definitely staying in the backpack.