My Window is Always Open...

Chapter 3: Rebound or Booty Call?

'One miss call' beeps my Blackberry.

"Ugh! That's the eighth time today!" I say irritated. Ever since that little "thing" that happened in Adrian's brother's house, I've been ignoring Adrian. Purposely missing his calls, sending texts back way too late to reply, and just trying to keep my distance.

"Hey sorry! I was at swim practice. What's up?" I lazily text. After I heard the beep that indicated that my Blackberry sent the text, I gently placed it in my hoodie pocket and started to put the rest of my clothes back on. I gathered up my swim stuff and put them in my small bag. I went out the locker room door to meet my coach, er... Dad.

"Ready?" says dad.

"Yep. I'm hungry!" I say famished.

"Alright, let's get some dinner okay?" he says.

I nod with agreement. When we left the swimming complex I felt my pocket vibrate. 'Oh God, please don't be him.'

"Hey, you busy this weekend?" the texts says. I look at the sender info and it read 'Adrian'

"Um, not really no." I text back. My goodness. What am I, a booty call to him now?

"Well, let me know if you want to hang out." he texts back within two minutes, and he finishes the text off with a winky face.

'Ugh! He sees me as a booty call!' I scold myself.

"Saturday morning, you'll be swimming a 200 meter free, 100 meter fly, 100 meter back, and 400 meter free. It's gonna be real tough this time so rest up for this weekend." instructs my dad. Clearly he's still in coaching mode.

"I'll give them hell this weekend, dad." I say with a devilish grin.

"Luna Elle, just get good times for the Junior Olympics. Everyone knows you're the fastest human fish in the county. Take it easy on your competition." says dad, winding back to daddy mode.

"Yes daddy." I say with the cute, irresistible signature smile. Swimming is my life. Out of the other sports I do, swimming truly makes me the happiest. It never fails me, and there will never be a time I'll hate it. The hard training I go trough everyday is absolutely worth it. While growing up, I have always been at the top of my game. Every competition I encounter makes me thirsty for more. Basically I'm a swim fanatic.

My best and most favorite stroke is butterfly. It's not as easy as it looks. Sure, Michael Phelps makes it look easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy, but it takes a lot just to go fast and make smooth strokes. It needs a lot of upper body strength, and that's pretty hard. Try bringing your whole upper body up again and again in the water for a couple of laps.

~**~**~**~**~**~

"Lane 4, Luna Elle Stanley." shouts the presenter. After he calls out the other swimmers he then says, "Take your mark." and off goes the beeper. As soon as I heard the loud beep, I dove into the water, slicing through it as if I were a knife and it a cake. I bring my arms up, and around then they go back in the water, causing me to push against the water.

'Come on Luna! You can do this!' I think to myself. My time for the 100 meter fly is 1:09. That's just about 7 seconds away from the national record for 15-18 girls. I pull and kick so hard I'm already tired, but I know I'm not the kind to give up. I can hear my father slash coach cheering at the top of his lungs. I can hear my teammates screaming to go faster. Before I know it, I punch the wall, finishing. I'm first, but that's always expected. I quickly swing my head to the side to see my time.

'"1:06" it says. As I read it with triumph, I can hear my dad's "Yes!" all the way from the other end of the pool. I can feel my feet dancing with delight. I'm super tired, but I couldn't help but fist pump the air. I cut off three seconds.