Zones of the Pool

Maya's life had become a zombie-like routine: 4:30 AM alarms, chlorinated skin, and the endless black line at the bottom of the pool. But today—the day of Regionals—she'd accidentally packed pre-swim meet fuel that included a spinach salad. A bad idea. Worse idea? Not checking the mirror afterward.

"You've got—" her teammate Kayla made a gesture at her own teeth.

Maya bolted for the locker room mirror, where bright green chunks mocked her from between her front teeth. "Are you kidding me right now?"

This was it. This was how she'd go down in history: Spinach Girl, forever immortalized in yearbook photos and hallway whispers. Her crush, Jordy—the one with the ridiculous orange swim cap that somehow made him look hotter—would definitely notice. Everything about him was effortless: the way he sliced through water like lightning, the way his hair curled when it dried, the way he never had vegetable emergencies.

The meet chaos swallowed her whole. Coach's shouted instructions, parents cheering, that weird pre-race buzz where everyone pretended to be chill but was actually freaking out. Maya's stomach did backflips that had nothing to do with the spinach.

"Maya Peterson, 200 free." Her name over the speakers.

She positioned herself on the block, heart pounding. This was it—four years of 5 AM practices, all leading up to two minutes.

The whistle blew.

Water engulfed her. Flip turn. Stroke, breathe, stroke. Her arms burned. Her lungs screamed. The black line guided her forward. She was tired of being the girl who got spinach in her teeth, tired of feeling like a zombie, tired of Jordy's orange cap being two lanes over, distance shrinking between them with every stroke.

She touched the wall, head whipping around to check the board.

Second place. Two seconds behind Jordy, who'd just shattered his personal best.

Later, he found her by the team snack table, where she was aggressively avoiding anything green. "Nice race," he said, all casual energy. "You were burning it up out there."

"Thanks," she managed, still catching her breath.

"Hey, your strap—" He reached out, tucking a loose strap back into place on her swimsuit. His fingers brushed her shoulder, sending actual lightning through her bloodstream. " Wouldn't want you swimming with extra drag."

Maya stood there frozen as he walked away, orange swim cap somehow even more obnoxious than before.

She'd lost the race, still had spinach trauma, and was now hyper-aware of her swimsuit straps. But as she watched Jordy laugh with his friends by the pool, she realized something: maybe the zombie routine wasn't so terrible after all. Not if it meant moments like this.

Besides, there was always next year's meet. And next time, she was bringing carbs. Zero vegetables involved.