Page 26 of The Last Five Yards

“You know, I was going to say that sometimes you have good ideas, Callahan,” Maren calls after her.

Reese laughs and slips an arm around Maren’s shoulders as they walk toward the nets. “You know what, Maren?” I said it before, and I’ll say it again. You make us look good.”

The pool erupts before the whistle even sounds. Half the swimmers are shouting about who’s on which side, and the divers have already claimed the bleacher side of the diving well as home turf. A diver cannonballs in before the teams are even decided, sending up a wave that drenches Coach Hensley as he walks past.

Reese’s laughter carries across the noise. “That’s one point for the divers already,” she calls, tossing the ball from hand to hand.

“Not a chance,” Maren yells, grinning in spite of herself. She climbs to sit on the lane line, balancing for a second before pushing off into the water. “Swimmers are taking this one.”

“Loser buys breakfast?” Reese taunts.

Maren shrugs. “You already owe me coffee.”

The whistle blows sharp and short, and the ball hits the water. Chaos follows. Arms cut through the surface, shouts echo off tile, Nicole yells about the rules no one is following. Reese dives under, slippery as a fish, popping up behind Maren to steal the ball. Maren spins, blocking her with both hands, and their laughter blends with the splash.

It isn’t competitive, not really. It’s the kind of game that’s more about being together than winning. Someone calls for a pass that sails completely off target, someone else tries to dunk a teammate, and the ball vanishes for thirty seconds before reappearing at the far end.

Coach Hensley watches from the deck, his clipboard tucked under one arm and coffee in the other. He shakes his head and mutters, “This is the reason none of these girls play sports that involve balls.”

Maren loses track of the score quickly, if there ever was a score. The water is everywhere, alive with motion and sound. For the first time all morning, she forgot the weight of goodbye. She swims hard, laughing when Reese splashes her straight in the face, sputtering out a fake complaint.

“Unfair,” she calls. “That’s interference.”

“Play harder,” Reese answers, grinning.

By the time the whistle blows again, everyone is out of energy and sweating. The noise starts to fade as the players pull themselves onto the deck, collapsing in rows along the tiled floor. Reese is still in the water, holding the ball above her head like a trophy.

“Final score,” she announces, “Divers Win!”

“Lies,” Nicole shouts from the deck.

Coach Hensley shakes his head. “You’re all terrible referees.”

The laughter rolls again, easy and bright.

Maren stays in the water, her arms resting on the lane line, her body slowing down. Around her, the others start climbing out, wrapping towels around their shoulders, shouting about breakfast plans, and whose car has room for extra passengers. The sound fills the space, then slowly moves toward the locker rooms.

Reese lingers, floating on her back in the diving well, eyes on the ceiling. She turns her head toward Maren. “You ready to get out?” She asks, nodding toward the locker room.

“Maybe in a minute,” Maren says.

Reese nods, then swims a slow lap, silent except for the sound of her arms breaking the surface. When she reaches the edge, she pulls herself out and sits on the deck, feet still in the water.

Maren watches her for a moment. The noise from the locker room fades, replaced by the hum of the pool and the slow drip of water coming off the high dive.

Coach Hensley claps his hands once, gathering the few last stragglers. “Good work this season,” he calls. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend. There are doughnuts on the benches for you. You earned it!”

The door closes behind him, and the sound settles back into quiet.

Maren ducks under water. The world muffles instantly, her heartbeat steady in her ears. The water is cold and clear, the lane lines above her bending into ripples. She stays under until her lungs burn, then surfaces near the middle of the pool.

Reese is gone.

For a second, Maren lets herself float there, eyes tracing lights above her. The smell of chlorine sits sharp in her nose, and the stillness feels strange after all the noise. She swims one more lap, just to feel the motion again, the way her muscles know exactly what to do without thinking. When she climbs out, the water runs off her arms and legs, leaving small puddles on the deck that will vanish before she’s out of the locker room.

Her eyes land on the stool by the whiteboard. Two coffee cups sit there, side by side, both half empty. She picks them up and carries them to the trash, stopping halfway. Her fingers hover for a second, then she sets one cup back down. The one with her name written on it in black marker, the heart at the end of the “n” already fading where the ink bled through the cardboard.

The locker room hums with the sound of running water and hair dryers. The air smells thick with body spray and conditioner. Maren moves slowly, folding her towel before dropping it into her bag. Most of the team has already gone, their laughter bouncing down the hallway. She opens her locker and starts pulling out the small things that have lived there all season: extra goggles, an old bottle of lotion, and a handful of loose hair ties. She stacks them neatly before tucking them away, one by one. It feels staring, like closing a door she isn’t ready to walk through.