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I turn around and walk down the hallway again, pushing through the
locker door and seeing the impressive, ten-lane indoor pool.
Parents sit on the bleachers, observing and taking pictures, while Dane
leans against the wall. I walk over and stand next to him, following his
gaze.
Ryen stands in the pool with four students—all kids, probably younger
than ten—and moves her arms in big circles as she dips her face in the
water.
The students count. “One-two-three-breathe!” they scream, and Ryen
twists her head to the side, taking a breath before dipping it back in. She
circles her arms again, pretending to push herself through the water, doing
three strokes as they count. “One-two-three-breathe!”
She lifts her head up and stands up straight as she pushes her hair back
off her forehead. “Okay, now your turn!”
All the kids begin mimicking her as she counts.
And I just watch her. She lets out a big smile, clearly proud as they all
fall into sync, completing their strokes and breathing when they should, and
I have to fight not to laugh when one of the boys splashes her accidentally.
She feigns a growl and splashes him back.
“Alright, again!” she shouts. “One-two—” And then she stops, her eyes
falling on me.
They narrow, and I hold her gaze, recognizing the temper flaring as her
smile falls.
“Again!” she bites out at the kids, her eyes dropping to my hand with
the notebook.
“That water looks cold,” Dane comments, a quiet laugh following, and I
know what he’s referring to.