Goodbye Yellow Brick Road ✔︎

23 | Hydrodynamic

| photo by z-pm from Unsplash|

Conner is already in the pool when I arrive. His pace is slow, graceful, cutting through the reflection of the high, narrow windows that line the east wall of the basement. He does an underwater flip at the far end and pushes his feet against blue tile, propelling himself several feet before he comes up for air. He's doing the sidestroke, I think.

Whatever it is, it's effortless, mesmerizing. I don't think I'm going to get much studying done.

When he gets to my end of the pool, he draws a breath and dips under but he doesn't flip. He surfaces at the edge and hoists himself out of the water. His smile erases the reservations I had about coming in early this morning. The cut of his swimsuit raises new ones.

"It's standard issue," he says. "Hydrodynamic."

Heat rushes to my face. I've been caught staring at the cut of Conner's swimsuit.

"Did you know Speedo once hired NASA to conduct research on drag reduction of test fabrics for their competitive swimwear?" I ask him.

He quirks his brow and the corners of his mouth twitch but he manages to say, "No, I didn't," with a serious tone before he touches the back of my hand with one wet finger. "Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for inviting me. But you should get back in the pool now. You were looking kind of slow out there."

"It's called warming up."

There's a glint in his eyes, and maybe it's just a reflection from the morning sun but it feels like an invitation—or a challenge. It makes me want to rise to my toes, steady myself with both hands against his damp chest and give him a very warming kiss.

"Will you time me?" he asks.

"Of course." I reach into my purse and extract my phone.

"Four laps for the 100 meter," he says. "Last year I won State with a 45:12. Right now I'll be happy to break 50. But that will only happen if you sit on the bleachers, out of my line of sight."

I grin and walk around to the side of the pool. Conner dives in and swims freestyle to the other end. He climbs onto the starting platform and I give him the thumbs up. "You say when," he yells.

I hover a finger over the button on my screen and yell, "Go!" as I press. He dives, glides under the water for a quarter length of the pool and comes up swimming hard.

Glenn played football in high school. I went to all of his games but never practices. He didn't ask and I didn't volunteer. I wasn't interested in watching a herd of stinky boys tackling each other. But watching Conner speed across the pool—and knowing he's counting on my help—is exhilarating. I'll have no problem getting myself up early for this every morning.

"Thea?"

The tentative voice registers in the pit of my stomach. I turn my head toward her, my jaw slack. "Paige," I say, but it comes out in a whisper.

"Paige, hi," I say again, loud enough for her to hear me over the sound of Conner, splashing through the water. "I can't believe you're..." Out in the open. Well, almost in the open. She hasn't stepped past the threshold of the gym door.

"Yeah," she says. "I'm surprised to find you here, too."

"Oh, um, yeah. Conner asked me to come—so I could time him."

Could I sound any guiltier?

Conner approaches our end of the pool and we both watch him flip, kick off and speed away. I turn my attention to the shifting numbers on the clock—as if I have a clue what they mean. As if I care about anything right now other than getting out of here.