Read Surviving High School for Free Online

to see her father silhouetted against the sharp overhead lights. His impressive gut cast a large shadow over her.
    “Kessler!” he said. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    Kessler? she thought. Really?
    “Just taking a little break— Coach .”
    A few of the other girls were treading water, watching this little exchange.
    “And who around here said you could do that?” Coach Kessler looked slowly and deliberately over each of his shoulders as if checking for phantom assistants. “You stop when I tell you to stop.”
    “But, Dad—”
    “Coach.”
    “Fine. Whatever.”
    He crouched down and brought his face a few inches from hers.
    “You just bought yourself another hour in the pool—”
    “But—”
    “You want to go for two?”
    Emily shook her head.
    “No, sir.” Looks like being the coach’s daughter won’t get me any special treatment , she thought. Kind of the opposite.
    “That’s better,” he said. He turned and walked a few lanes over, deliberately ignoring her to check in on a few of the weaker swimmers. As Emily turned and positioned herself against the side of the pool to push off for a round of backstroke, Dominique’s head surfaced in the next lane.
    “Making trouble already, eh, Swimbot?”
    Emily’s heart was still beating hard from her sprint aminute earlier. She ignored Dominique and concentrated on her form: feet pressed against the wall shoulder-width apart, her legs tensed, ready to push off.
    “Backstroke’s not your race,” said Dominique. “You might just want to, you know, forget about it. Concentrate on some strokes where you actually stand a chance of winning.”
    Dominique arranged her body against the side of the pool as Emily had, and the girls turned their heads to look at each other. Emily was still breathing hard, and Dominique smiled, recognizing her weakness.
    “I’m trying to remember—have you ever beaten me at backstroke?”
    “You haven’t seen me swim it in competition since May,” said Emily, her knuckles going white around the lip of the pool. The block, which would have been far easier to grip, stood at the far end of the lane.
    “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind a little race?” said Dominique. “There and back?”
    “Not at all.”
    Stupid , thought Emily, still trying to catch her breath. She can tell I overextended myself. She’s trying to make me look bad. Indeed, most of the other swimmers were watching Emily and Dominique talk. Some were treading water and whispering to one another.
    “Three,” said Dominique, tensing her legs. “Two. One.”
    The girls pushed off in unison, streaking for a few meters beneath the water before rising side by side and beginning their strokes. They glided on the pool’s surface like weightlessinsects, matching each other move for move. As they cut down the lanes, Emily looked at the overhead flags, readying herself for the turn at the far wall.
    And then she heard them chanting; the other girls on the team were cheering, “Dominique! Dominique!”
    How could they all be cheering against me? Emily wondered.
    Because you’re a machine , a voice inside her responded. Just like your sister. She suddenly thought of the story of John Henry, hammering his way through the mountain, racing against the locomotive.
    Everyone wants to see the human win , she realized. No one cheers for the machine.
    The revelation hit her at the same moment the back wall collided with her skull. Pain radiated from her bruised head, coming down through her body in waves. Even worse than the physical anguish, though, was the shame. Emily couldn’t believe it: She’d gotten distracted and lost track of the flags, something she hadn’t done since elementary school.
    There was no point in finishing. Emily surfaced and looked down the lane as her rival completed the race. A few seconds later, Dominique touched the far wall to a loud cheer from their teammates, and several swam over to her to offer their congratulations.
    Emily