Never Ever

5| Just another fivesome

Attending the meet was Addy's idea, but now that I'm here, I can't bring myself to regret it. I lean forward in my seat, watching the relay swimmers poise themselves on the starting blocks, their bodies taut as they wait for the gun. Today's meet is a home one, held in Berkeley's Spieker Aquatics Complex, and I'll admit, I'm excited; it's the first meet I've been to since the accident. If I somehow do the impossible and make it through tryouts, it won't be my last either. 

"You look like a kid who just got promised a trip to McDonalds after school," Addy says with a nudge of her shoulder. "Who knew you liked swimming so much?"

I nudge her back, certain she's right. I'd convinced myself that coming here tonight would only upset me, which it does, but it also reminds me how excited I'd feel leading up to a meet. I loved every second, even the parts my teammates hated, like warming up; something tells me Noah does too.

Turning to the water, I watch as it glistens under the harsh fluorescent lights. The pool stinks of chlorine, so strong that it tingles my nostrils. I close my eyes and breathe in slowly. My mom hates the smell – she'd plug her nose at every meet – but it's like the smell of gas: you either love it or hate it.

In the distance, Noah strides confidently toward the starting block, his muscular build and powerful presence commanding attention. The muscles in his arms and legs are taut with anticipation as he takes his stance, ready to kickstart the 200 medley relay with backstroke.

"Holy hell, he looks good," Addy says.

It's hard to admit, but she's right. His skin gleams in the bright lights, the water droplets from the warm-up pool highlighting the definition in his arms and chest. He surveys the pool, his eyes sharp and focused, but then he does something absurd.

He looks at me.

And winks.

Addy's glossed lips fall open. "Did he just–"

"No," I say.

"I think he just–"

"It was to someone behind us."

The gun drowns out Addy's reply. Noah dives off the block, cutting through the water with ease. I clasp my hands, surprised by the jolt of excitement in my chest as he slices his way across the pool. The competition is fierce tonight, with each swimmer determined to reach the wall first. I hold my breath, completely caught in the moment.

The water shimmers, reflecting Noah's movement as he races toward the finish line. Everything about him is fluid and graceful, carefully planned and perfected to the second. He touches the wall and hands off to the next swimmer, who takes over immediately, his body like a fish in the water. The relay continues, each swimmer giving it their all, including Jesse, who takes the lead in freestyle.

"Even though he's an arrogant jerk," Addy says, "the man sure can swim."

"Amen." I keep my eyes on him and imagine, if briefly, that I'm back in the water. Adrenaline soars through me, the same anticipation that would precede my first race, but it soon turns to anxiety. My eyes flick open, and this hollowness cuts through me.

This could have been me.

As Jesse approaches the wall, the crowd erupts in excitement. He touches first, securing first place for the Calbear quartet, with a time of 1:27.17. The swimmers embrace, smiling and high-fiving each other in celebration as the rest of us cheer from the stands. Maybe it's silly, but even on the sidelines, unable to compete, I feel like I'm finally home.

The Calbears end up smashing Utah 185-107, winning 12 of 14 events. Noah wins the 200 backstroke with a time of 1:43.11, and the tiniest part of me, regardless of how I feel about his out-of-pool antics, is impressed.