Sink or Swim

“Jamie Evans.”

Oh no. Please no.

Please tell me that Coach Cafferty did NOT just say my name. Not for that event. Not the one-hundred-meter breaststroke. Except all eyes were turned to me when she announced it, and her eyes met mine over the clipboard that held the list of events and swimmers for the Plain Township Aquatic Center meet. The PTAC meet was the first of the season, and I was not ready.

Sweat broke out over my upper lip. Of course, that might have been from the humidity of the pool hall.

Whispers arose from the bleachers where Callie and her friends sat. I didn’t have to guess what they were laughing at.

Morgan pressed her elbow into my side, trying to offer me moral support. It didn’t help. My stomach sank to my knees like a brick in water, and no amount of treading was going to bring it back.

Coach Cafferty finished the list of names, but I barely heard them or the whispered celebrations of swimmers who got their choice event.

“Remember, the meet is Wednesday night. Be here at four-thirty for warmups. Individual medley kicks off at six. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

The bleachers cleared as we headed back to the locker rooms.

“It’ll be fine,” Morgan said, pulling off her swim cap.

“You got your event. I wish I had backstroke. It wouldn’t even matter the distance.” I threw my goggles in my duffel bag and yanked out my towel. “What was she thinking?”

“Maybe Coach has more confidence in you than you think.”

“Or maybe,” came a voice from across the locker room, “she wants to give the rest of us a laugh when you sink to the bottom of the pool.” Callie folded her arms across her chest and grinned wickedly. A few girls snickered.

“Shut up, Callie,” Morgan said, rolling her eyes.

I said nothing, just slammed my locker shut and made for the showers.

“Did you find out your events for Wednesday?” Mom asked as she slid the pizza box across the table to Mason and me.

I grabbed a slice and started picking off the pepperoni. “Yeah.”

“And?”

I took my time adding crushed red pepper to my slice. “One-hundred breaststroke,” I finally said, not meeting her eyes.

Mason gagged into his pizza then asked me, “Can I have your pepperoni?”

I tossed him my slices and wiped my fingers on a napkin. “I don’t know why Coach didn’t give me backstroke. She knows it’s my best. I can’t swim breaststroke!” I crumbled the napkin and threw it on top of the pizza.

“Maybe she sees something you don’t,” Mom said.

“Or maybe I should just quit the swim team.”

Mom frowned. “Is that what you want?”

I sighed. “No.” I took a bite of my pizza. “I’m terrible at breaststroke. What happens when I show up on Wednesday and race, and I sink to the bottom of the pool? Or worse, come in last?”

“Someone has to be last,” Mom pointed out.

“But I don’t even know if I can swim breaststroke for one-hundred meters!” I set my pizza down. “I’m going to ask Coach if I can drop this meet. There’s no way I can do this.”

“You could. But how will you know unless you try?”

“Yeah, but if I try, I could fail. In front of everyone.” I pictured the entire crowd watching as I finished last. Pointing and laughing. My belly squeezed.

Mom set her pizza down and gave me her I’m-saying-something-important-so-listen face. “Don’t worry about other people. Just race against yourself. Forget about anything else except doing your best and swimming your own race. Prove to yourself that you can do it.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. But for what it’s worth, I think you can.”

“Thanks. But I think I’m going to talk to Coach tomorrow.”

Coach Cafferty was reading over the drills and taking notes on a clipboard when I found her at practice. She looked up and smiled. “Hi, Jamie. All set for today?”

My hands squeezed the strap of my duffel bag. “Actually that’s what I want to talk to you about. I don’t think I can do the meet tomorrow.”

She frowned, tapping her pen on her chin. “Why’s that?”

I took a deep breath. “I can’t do breaststroke. It’s my worst stroke, and I’m always last in practice. I’ll drag the whole team’s score down.”

She capped her pen and set it down. “Is that what you think?”

I nodded, twisting the strap across my shoulder.

“Jamie, you’re a strong swimmer. I know you love backstroke and you’re very good at it, but I think you can do more. You just need confidence in yourself.” She held up a hand when I started to speak, and I fell silent. “You haven’t given yourself enough time to practice breaststroke, and I want you to push yourself outside of your comfort zone.”

“OK.” I nodded. “I will. But just not for this meet.”

“Sorry, Jamie. I’ve already submitted the names.”

My teammates arrived and headed toward the locker rooms, laughing and joking with each other, the sound echoing throughout the hall. I saw Morgan, and she waved. I shook my head.

Coach placed a hand on my shoulder. “Go get ready. Practice starts in five minutes. You can do it, Jamie.”

Practice was a disaster.

I lost rhythm on my strokes. I messed up my turns. I even had to stop and catch my breath a few times. Callie made sure to point it out to everyone and laugh at me until Coach silenced her with a withering look.

“Just ignore her,” Morgan said, nibbling on a granola bar as we waited for her dad to pick us up. “You did really well. You have the stamina, you just need to have confidence in yourself.”

“Easy for you to say, you were on fire.” Morgan had sailed through her laps with ease. “Maybe a miracle will happen, and the meet will be canceled tomorrow.”

“Don’t say that."

“Then I won’t have to make a fool of myself in front of everyone.” Callie’s nasty laugh rang in my ears. “I keep messing up my pull.”

Morgan shook her head. “Don’t overthink it. Just count your strokes. That’s what I do.”

“Really?”

“Stop worrying about everyone and just focus on your own race. That’s all anyone can do.” She tossed her damp hair over her shoulder and grabbed her bag as her dad’s car pulled up.

I arrived at the pool hall on Wednesday with a boulder-sized ball of dread in my belly. Teams from other schools were already suited and warming up by the pool or in the water. The bleachers were full.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I said, twisting the strap of my bag. 

“You’ll be fine,” Mom said, dropping an arm around my shoulder and squeezing. “Mason and I will be right here watching.”

“Yeah,” said Mason, not lifting his eyes from the game he was playing on his phone. I rolled my eyes.

“You got this,” Mom said.

I bit my lip and looked out over the other swimmers. “You sure?”

Mom leaned forward. “Remember, it’s just you. Don’t worry about any of the other swimmers. Just swim your race.”

“OK.”

The warmups and prep were over before I knew it, and the first round of swimmers were up on the blocks.

I felt sick. I watched my teammates swim, and they looked so strong and fluid in the water. The events screamed by, one after the other. Morgan placed second in her event, and I gave her a thumbs up.

My knees shook as each event clicked closer to mine. The knots in my stomach twisted and coiled like a bag of ropes.

Then the one-hundred breaststroke was announced.

Nerves choked my throat. 

“You can do it, Jamie!” Morgan smiled and waved as I unzipped my warmup jacket and walked to the starting blocks.

Just swim your race. Don’t think about the other swimmers.

I crouched on my block in line with the rest of the swimmers, waiting. My body tensed up like a spring. My heart pounded in my ears.

The buzzer sounded. I sprung forward, diving into the water and kicking like a dolphin.

Then my head broke free of the water.

Just count strokes.

I kept my eyes focused on the black line in front of me, ignoring the splashes of movement on either side.

Pull. Breathe. Kick.

I hit the end of the pool, and my first turn. I sucked in a breath and flipped, pushing hard against the wall and bursting back the way I came. My legs started to burn, but I kept kicking and counting strokes.

Glimpses of swimmers ahead of me and on either side filled my periphery, but I brought my sight back to the line.

Pull. Breathe. Kick.

My arms protested and my lungs burned, but I reached the end of the first lap. I flipped and pushed forward. My goggles dug into my eyes as I swam, pushing through the water like a torpedo.

The wall appeared before I knew it. I flipped again. Just one length to go. My heart hammered against my rib cage as I started the last stretch.

I’m doing it!

Then everything crashed.

My legs were pillars of lead. I kicked, but it felt like I was moving through cement. My arms were on fire, and my lungs were bursting.

Splashes of swimmers gained distance ahead of me. The wall was so far away.

I gritted my teeth and pushed myself forward, counting strokes and staring at the black line until it broke and the wall came into sight.

I slapped it with what little energy I had left.

There was no one else left in the pool.

I had finished last.

I hefted myself out of the water on shaking arms. All my energy had been left in the water, and I stumbled back to my team.

Morgan draped a towel around me. “You did it!” she squealed.

I collapsed in a chair, wrapping the towel around me, too tired to answer.

After the meet Mom found me sitting outside the locker room. I had showered and changed, but waited until everyone was gone.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

“I lost.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “But you did it, right?”

I bit my lip. “Yeah. I guess I did.” I didn’t come close to placing, but I had given everything I had to finish. “I swam my race. And I think I won.”