Page 18 of The Last Five Yards

Everton – 3:29.48. Marquette – 3:29.91

A beat of disbelief, and then the sound breaks open.

The team surges together, screaming, laughing, and the noise bouncing off every wall. Maren pushes herself up on the gutter, lungs burning, the world shimmering in motion and light. Reese is the first to reach her, pulling her into the chaos, her voice rising over everything.

“You did it! You really did it!” Pulling Maren in for a tight celebratory hug, Reese starts jumping them around in a small, tight circle, celebrating.

Maren can barely breathe, but she’s smiling so hard, it hurts. Reaching up, she rips her cap off, water dripping from her hair into her eyes. The sounds all start to blur together—clapping, cheering, and splashing. Through it all, she feels that same steady pulse of the water that calls to her, that drives her through her life on a daily basis.

The whistle. The water. The rhythm of two currents finally finding sync.

8

The Ride Home

Climbing back onto the bus, Maren feels every muscle in her legs protest. They ache and twitch from overuse, a dull and wonderful reminder of the night. The air smells of wet towels, and the sharp salt and grease from the bags of McDonald’s they had just stopped for. She makes her way back, sliding into her usual seat, a small paper bag of fries still warm in her hands. French fries have always been her post-meet ritual, the treat her mom would buy for her on the way home when she was little. Maren’s nerves never let her eat before a meet, so afterward, she is always starving. She is grateful that Coach Hensley always lets them stop.

She pulls the hood from her warm-up parka over her head and slides in her headphones. Violent Femmes hum through the quiet as she opens her backpack, pulling out her notebook where she had jotted down the night’s times and scores. She skims the numbers, adding small notes in the margins. Her start could be stronger, her turns tighter, her push-offs harder. Her focus fades with the hum of the road. The words start to blur, and she shuts the notebook, tucking it back into her backpack.

Outside, the highway lights streak by. The quiet that fills the space between her music and the night feels almost too loud. She pulls her headphones out, letting the sound of the tires fill her ears instead.

When she glances up, Reese is walking down the aisle toward her, one hand steadying herself on each seat she passes. Most of the team is asleep, their heads bobbing against the windows.

“Is this seat taken?” Reese asks softly.

Maren shakes her head and slides her backpack onto the floor. Reese sits beside her, smelling faintly of watermelon and cucumber, always one of the few who showers before the ride home and never carries the lingering edge of chlorine.

Reese exhales and leans her head back against the seat. For a long moment, neither of them says anything. The bus hums beneath them, a steady vibration that fills the space.

“You know,” Reese finally breaks the silence, “I thought your mom was going to climb right over the railing tonight. She might be the most energetic fan I have ever seen.”

Maren laughs, quiet but real. “Yeah, she has been that way since my first meet. She has never missed one, even when she had pneumonia once. You know she sat out in the parking lot until my event, came in just long enough to see my race, and then went back out to nap until the next event.”

Reese smiles so bright, Maren can see it in the dim lights of the bus. “Wow, talk about dedication.”

“I guess you could say she is my biggest fan.”

“No doubt.”

The bus hits a bump, and their shoulders brush. Neither of them moves. The touch lingers, light but deliberate, and they both just lean slightly into it.

The bus settles again, the hum is steady. Outside, the highway glows in streaks of white and gold that fade as quickly as they appear. Maren watches their reflections blur together in the glass, hers fading into Reese’s until it is hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Reese’s hand moves just slightly, tracing the seam of her sleeve. The air between them feels suspended, like the bus itself has stopped moving. For a long time, there is only the sound of tires on the pavement.

Then, quietly, almost like she is afraid to disturb the stillness, Reese asks, “So, what happens next for you?”

The weight of the question settles inside her. It is one she has been asked before, one she has asked herself more times than she can count.

“I don’t know,” she says finally. “Maybe coaching. Maybe take a few classes at Great Lakes… Probably both.” She shrugs the uncertainty moving through her like a current she hasn’t been able to swim against. “What about you?”

Reese shifts in the seat, turning slightly toward Maren. “I want to teach. Like, really teach.” There is a lightness to her voice that Maren has never heard before, soft but certain. “I have always wanted to work with kids. After helping with the age group team these last few years, I know I can do something meaningful with them.”

Maren can feel that excitement spill over, pulling her in. She sits up a little straighter. “I can see that. The kids are always happy on ‘Reese Days’. Imagine if every day could be a ‘Reese Day’?”

Reese laughs, “For what it’s worth, I think you would be an incredible coach.”

“Do you want to know a secret?” Maren asks, half joking, half serious.