Page 27 of The Last Five Yards

Reese appears behind her in the mirror, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped. She sits on the bench with a donut in hand, crumbs falling to her knees.

“You’re quiet,” Reese says.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Maren shrugs. “About how weird it’ll be, not coming here every morning. Not hearing the filters or smelling the chlorine. I’ve spent half my life in this pool.”

Reese nods and smiles. “Yeah, I’m going to miss it too. Even the smell.”

“At least you get the summer,” Maren says, trying for a small grin. “I am sure you will be here tightening up your dives before you leave.”

Reese hesitates. “Not really. I leave on Thursday, after graduation.”

Maren looks up quickly. “Thursday!?!”

“For Chapel Hill. Summer training camp.” Reese’s voice is soft, almost careful. “Freshmen have to be there early for the conditioning sessions.” She laughs once, a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Guess I’ll get a head start.”

“Oh,” Maren says, the word is small. “That’s soon.”

“Yeah.” Reese looks down at the floor, turning the crumpled donut napkin in her fingers. “I thought I’d have more time, but I guess not.”

The locker room hums around them, but it feels far away.

Maren closes her locker slowly, pressing her palms against the cool metal. “Still. It’s good. You worked hard for it.”

“I know,” Reese says. “It just feels like leaving before it’s over.”

Maren doesn’t answer. She can feel the words building behind her teeth, but none of them sound right.

Reese stands and slides her lucky hair tie from her wrist. She holds it out to Maren. “Here. For when you forget to breathe.”

Maren looks down at it, the elastic soft and frayed from years of wear. Still warm from Reese’s skin. “Reese–”

When she looks up, Reese is already walking toward the door, her reflection fading from the mirror as the sound of her footsteps drift down the hall.

Maren stands there for a long moment, the hair tie curled in her palm. The sound of the showers fades, leaving only the hum of the lights and a faint drip from the ceiling. She closes her fingers around the elastic and closes her eyes.

Outside, she can hear the pool settling, the steady beat of the filters moving water she isn’t swimming in. It echoes loudly inside her head.

11

First Light

Maren slowly pulls into the parking lot, windows down, and music off. She can hear the lake before she even sees the shore. The waves roll softly against the sand, the wind threading through the dune grass. The sound has always been kind of a breath for her when her own lungs forgot how.

She slides out of the car, reaches into the back seat, and grabs an oversized hoodie. Pulling it over her head, she kicks off her shoes and leaves them on the seat before walking toward the water line.

This is her favorite time of day, when there is no one else around. As she gets closer, she can hear the faint squeak of her feet in the sand. When she was little, she never understood what people meant by singing sand because she was never quiet enough to hear it.

It has always been her tradition to come down to the lake on the first day of summer vacation and watch the sunrise. She used to tell herself it was the right way to start summer. But today it feels different. She did not come here on the first day of break, because there is no break anymore. School is over. This is just life.

Something about that feels wrong. The words feel tilted, like she missed a step she was supposed to take. Maybe that is why she could not sleep. So, when the clock hit five, she stopped trying, got in the car, and drove down to the lake.

A car door shuts somewhere behind her. The sound cuts through the soft rhythm of waves. Maren turns, squinting toward the parking lot, and sees Reese walking down the same worn path through the dune grass. Her hair is pulled up, a few loose strands dancing around her face in the light breeze. She is carrying two cups of coffee.

She reaches Maren and hands her a cup.