Page 137 of Kickoff

Trying to be subtle, I surveyed my teammates. All the girls had less curves than I did. I was the only one with boobs and a full ass. I felt even more naked than I already was when I realized why the guys were checking me out. I was the outsider.

Once the coaches finished their spiel about sport ethics and what they expected from us this year, we were asked to stand in a line by the end of the pool so they could see our form. Two laps. First, breaststroke. Second, backstroke. I could do this. I was good and fast.

Someone behind me started giggling. “She should be good at breaststroke since she looks like her parents gifted her breast implants for her birthday. And that ass should be considered a flotation device. She is wearing her own buoy. I would die of shame if my butt looked like I had slipped a watermelon in my bathing suit.”

“Maybe she’s older and got redshirted too many times. She has no right to compete in grade nine. Do you really believe her boobs are fake?”

I kept my head down, blinking fast to avoid crying. If these girls saw my tears, they would never leave me alone. Chris, my half-brother, taught me that. He always told me to never show my weaknesses in front of bullies. I repeated his words in my head to block out the sound of the mean girls’ voices.

“No idea, but I didn’t think they allowed fat people on the swim team.”

“Shut up, Reagan,” a voice I recognized as Matteo’s spoke up. “Leave Mel alone. You’ll see, she’s much better than you’ll ever be. She has always been the fastest on the team.”

When it was my turn to show my form, I did just that. I dived forward and put everything I had into those strokes.

After I returned home at the end of the afternoon, I spent too much time browsing through magazines and analyzing my figure in front of the mirror instead of showering. Sure, I had curves, more than girls my age, but Mom said eventually they would have them too. I had grown up faster than the girls in my class. Perhaps if I lost some weight and dressed differently, people would not notice them as much. Perhaps they would go away until I was a bit older and ready for them to show.

That night and the days following it, I learned all about calories and how I could cut them so my body would shrink, and I wouldn’t appear much different than my teammates.

I started obsessing over what I looked like.

It was the first time since the perky boobs incident in tenth grade that I felt bad in my own skin. Where I felt like being invisible would benefit me.

As long as I could control what I ate, how I trained, how I looked, and still be the best one on the swim team, I believed nobody’s words would ever hurt me again.

Elk River High - Senior year

Pre-Homecoming Dance

I kicked the wall with all my strength, slicing the clear water with precise arm strokes while executing a perfect flutter kick. I reached the opposite side of the pool in no time, doing a flip turn and going for another lap. My heart pounded in my chest, my breaths hastening, each movement of my body fluid and resolute.

Every inch of me hurt with the exertion, but I had nine-hundred more meters to cover. Now wasn’t the time to slack off. I had missed too many swimming hours in the last few weeks due to my appendectomy, and I had to make up for it.

Counting in my head to keep pace, I pushed through the water, kicking my feet and rotating my arms with perfect precision. My lungs burned as exhaustion settled inside me. Eight hundred-fifty meters to go. I kicked the wall and kept the count. Six hundred meters to go. Two hundred. I could do it. I was almost done. Seventy-five meters. Yes, I would make it.

Reaching the end of the pool, I removed the silicone swimming cap, freeing my hair, and resurfaced after diving my head in to push the wet strands back. I panted, my heart racing inside my chest. I placed a hand over the left side of my abdomen, trying to catch my breath. My arms had turned into spaghetti. I couldn’t recall the last time I had swum this big a distance in one go. Usually, midday swims on Fridays were more about form than beating a personal record, not this time, though. I had all these numbers swirling in my head—the ones obsessing me—and I had to do something about it. Even though I pushed myself almost up to my breaking point, the exercise helped get rid of the tightness in my chest that had been lingering there for the last few days.

Lowering my hand back in the water, I stroked my scars. Just to make sure they were still okay. I felt no discomfort, and relief washed over me. I would be back at the top of my game in no time. With my crossed arms propped on the white tiled coping, I relaxed, waiting for my breaths to even and my pulse to decelerate. Swimming had always been my favorite way of dealing with my conflicted emotions or the stress in my life. It helped me think more clearly. And get rid of the angst suffocating me. Tomorrow was Homecoming, and I felt giddy at the idea of dressing pretty and having an evening of dance and fun planned with my friends. My only concern was fitting into the cream dress I had bought last summer with my grandma. Since my surgery, my body looked different. I just hoped the dress would still fit me. I always felt like an outcast when I dressed cute. My body was more muscular than the other girls my age. After the surgery, my stomach looked swollen all the time, my arms saggy, and my thighs touched. Nothing to be proud of. I was desperate to go back to my pre-appendectomy figure.

“Good job, Melinda,” Coach Vivien said as I lifted myself out of the pool and toweled my body dry, pushing away all my conflicting thoughts about Homecoming to a safe corner of my brain. “Your form was impeccable today. We’ll work on your speed next Tuesday. I’m glad you’re back. Don’t push yourself too hard, okay? Your body went through a trauma, follow its lead. I would prefer if you stuck to a shorter distance next time. No need to overdo it. You’re not training for the long distance. The meet is in two weeks. You have enough time to be ready and perform like we both know you can. I have hopes you’ll make the podium again in freestyle and backstroke. If you hurt yourself because you are pushing too much, it will only slow down your progress.”

“Do you think I can make it to number one even though I haven’t swum in a while?”

“Absolutely. You gained speed since last year, and I’m confident in your abilities. Even with the setback of the surgery, you’re still my top swimmer. You possess every quality of a winner.” If only she knew how much I needed to hear that word. Winner. “There’s no reason you can’t grab the gold.”

“What about the medley relay?”

I wanted to be the best, the legend. If only to shut the voices in my head. The control and the perfection I was aiming for, it wasn’t to prove something to me, but to prove something to everyone else. It was warped, I was aware, but I had no idea how to stop. I watched Tanya and her squad, pretty and thin in their cheerleading outfits. I checked Lydia, Beth, Gabriella, and all the other girls Mason was usually seen with. They all shared something: willowy figure, shiny blonde hair, perfect smiles, long eyelashes. I had none of those things. My hair was brown and not shiny because of the time spent in the chlorine pool water, my feet were a size too big, and my shoulders were wide due to all the training and swimming. I sighed. Since when had I started comparing myself to other girls? I knew how destructive it could be, and yet, in my head, I was competing with those girls for Mason’s attention, and I didn’t fit the profile he always went for.

“I’m optimistic we can score high if the doctor clears Sonja for the competition. That pneumonia has kept her on the sideline for far too long already. You two make a great duo.” Her attention switched to Dillon and Raoul, two of my swim mates, closing in on us. “Hey guys, get set. I’ll be with you shortly.” She clapped my shoulder. “Melinda, I’ll talk to you next week. Get some rest this weekend. You deserve it. Have fun tomorrow night. Don’t party too much, though.” She winked.

“Like I’m that girl.”

Twenty minutes later, I showered and changed into a pair of Heather gray sweatpants and an oversized navy-blue sweater with the white swimming team logo stamped on the front. My choice of clothing wasn’t optimal. Sweats always covered my figure and made me look like I’d gained twenty pounds, but right now, I didn’t feel like sliding my damp legs into a pair of jeans. I averted my eyes when I crossed the locker room and passed the row of mirrors mounted above the sinks.

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I hurried across the yard toward the football field. A black knitted beanie covered my still damp hair that I was too much in a hurry to dry. Mom wouldn’t be happy if she knew I’d ventured into the crip fall air with wet locks, but right now, I had no time to blow-dry them because Paige was waiting for me. I promised I’d make it on time.

Dizziness made my head turn, and I had to decrease my pace. The cup of tea I’d drunk this morning and the handful of grapes I’d eaten were long digested. I had skipped lunch earlier and had gone for training instead. No need to ingest more calories when I already doubted I’d fit into my dress. I fetched my bottle of water and took a big gulp, praying it would silence my grumbling stomach. This would do for now. It had to.