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SWIMMING WAS DALLAS ADDISON'S LIFE.

And that was the truth. Her mother gave birth to her in a pool of water, and since then, her journey had progressed to the pink inflatable kiddie's swimming pool her parents bought her at age 5, then enrollment in tailored swimming classes at age ten. Her dad bought her a copy of Swim Speed Secrets for her sixteenth birthday. A large glass case in the living room showed off the myriad of medals and trophies she'd accumulated since middle school, displaying her achievements to everyone who set foot in their living room.

Even after losing her mother at the tender age of ten, swimming was still her life then, as it was now. It was all she knew, all she could think of doing, all she could think of being. At age seventeen, she still held the practice close to her heart despite how ... unsatisfied it made her at times.

Sucking in a deep, cleansing breath that quelled the flutter in her stomach, Dallas squared her shoulders and stepped up on the starter's block, the concrete slate cold yet smooth against the soles of her feet. She stood there for a while, taking in the long stretch of water that lay before her, the pool that was rippling and buzzing with chatter from members of the swim team just ten minutes ago. Red and blue land dividers sprawled across the stretch of the pool, lazily floating atop the stagnant, idyllic blue waters, and even the ladders recessed at the side of the pool seemed to add to the ambiance; the railings gleamed under the harsh glare from the overhead lights.

The distant echoes of voices in the changing room appealed to Dallas, telling her to join the rest of her teammates but as tempting as the offer was, she resisted, refocusing her attention on the pool once again. One more deep breath and she snapped her blue and white goggles over her eyes and checked her cap for the umpteenth time before bending over, letting her cold, pruned fingers touch her pink toenails. She glanced at the timer wrapped around her index finger, clicking the button at the top.

Three, two, one.

The shrill beep reverberated across the silent space and toggled her senses, making her propel off the starter block and dive face-first into the water. A wave of chills washed over her as soon as she hit the chilly water, the sharp sensation almost numbing her already aching muscles, but she pushed herself, swerving through the water until she reached the horizon, where she found her stroke. Freestyle, fast, the water seemed to cheer her on as it broke apart before past her streamlined figure, clearing her path to the finishing block, 50 meters in. Within seconds she reached the edge of the pool, where she did a nimble flip under the water, only letting her feet touch the wall for a second before shoving herself off, finishing the next 50 meters with ease.

She slammed her palm against the wall, gasping for breath as she emerged from beneath the aroused waters. As the water gently pushed back and forth against her still form, she lifted her hand and glanced down at her timer. Her stomach plummeted once she read the recording.

57.59 seconds.

Not good enough.

Once upon a time, Dallas could have quickly demolished the 100m freestyle in 52 seconds. That alone earned her the title of one of the strongest swimmers at Ridge Walk High. Now, she was whisked away into the mass of other students, her time reduced to a mere average, pushing her to rank 7/35 at most. Barely average, for that matter.

Dallas released a strangled groan of discontent as she released her hold on the times, letting her heavy body sink into the chlorinated water with a low splash. Her lungs screeched for air within seconds of sitting at the bottom, frowning with her knees pressed to her chest. She pushed herself up, floating to the top.

Dallas sighed heavily one more time. She turned over on her back, letting the quieting waters push and sway her exhausted form as she floated, lazily paddling herself along with her hands underwater. The noise on her head stilled just for a while as she submerged into the moment, losing herself, forgetting everything, and merely listening to the sound of water lapping at her ears.

She completely missed the sound of feet tapping against tiles, marking the presence of another.

"Dallas."

Dallas opened her eyes, and without moving, she looked down. Coach Asia stood by at the edge of the pool, her mouth pinched into its usual tight frown as she stared down at the clipboard in her hands. Her blonde hair was tied into her standard messy bun, causing some of her thin strands to spill out and fall around her square face. Her eyes flitted to Dallas's.

"I'd like to have a word with you, so dry off and meet me in my office." Coach Asia tersely instructed before she spun on her heels, the sound of her shoes clicking filling the room as she matched away.

Dallas dipped her feet back underwater until she threaded the water, where she then languidly ducked under three-lane dividers and took the stairs built into the side. She gripped the firm, polished rails and pulled her tired body out of the water, immediately fetching the purple towel she'd left by the bleachers. Sliding her goggles over her head and letting them dangle freely around her arm, she threw the warm towel around her wet form, almost sighing with relief as a layer of warmth enveloped her. She left a trail of puddles on her way to the changing room.

In no time, Dallas completely dried off and pulled on a pair of ripped black jeans that snuggly hugged her curves, matching it with a white polka-dot crop top that showed off her gleaming naval piercing. After locking her black choker around her neck, next was the part she dreaded most: her hair. Pulling off the cap and seeing that her once straightened hair had reverted to untameable kinks, it confirmed her suspicion that she couldn't stretch hat straightened hairstyle into next week.

Clothes, shoes, pants, her outfit was perfect. Her look was almost perfect. Then she looked at her reflection.

A deep frown twisted Dallas's lips.

Her strand piled on her shoulders. Her thin, transparent, and limp ends sat on her shoulders, laced with snags, fairy knots, and death. Innocently, challengingly, her hair looked back at her through the mirror, staring her down. So infuriating, so humiliating.

For at least ten minutes, she stood there before the mirror, struggling with her hair, mainly because she didn't have a scrunchie or elastic band to just tie it up.

At first, she tried braiding it, but her hair rebelled against that and unraveled, shoving her back into square one. Dallas tried curling some strands around her finger, but without gel or some form of hair milk, her efforts were like getting blood out of a stone. In the end, she ended up using a thin strand of her hair to tie up the mess and tuck it away into a messy puff at the back. She yanked her trusty baseball cap from her gym bag and looked at it for a while, lips twisted to the side as she debated whether to look like an egg wearing it or just wear her natural hair out.

She looked up at her face, her hair, the unbrushed strands that stubbornly stuck up at the sides, and after that, Dallas didn't even have to think; hat it was. Anything was better than looking like an unattractive, nappy-headed mad woman.

Dallas left the changing room after tucking her hair away beneath her hat. She flipped off the lights and slung her heavy gym bag over her shoulder before leaving the room and making her way to the coach's office.

Coach Summer's office was a small, refurbished space stacked at the very back of the natatorium. The walls were painted in flat strips of blue, and it had only one floor-to-ceiling window, which faced the schoolyard outside. On the coach's grey desk sat an Apple laptop and a stack of papers sitting under a turtle-shaped paperweight, and two black swivel chairs stood at either side of the desk, one of which Coach Summers occupied. The woman glanced up and noted Dallas's entry. She waved her hand at Dallas, who then strutted forth, dumbing her gym bag on one of the chairs stacked to the side. She approached the desk and sat on the only chair before Coach's table.

Coach Asia Summers

The golden place card read. It added a bit of personality to the otherwise bland desk. A framed portrait of the coach and her mousy-haired, 8-year-old son also sat at the table, adding a bit more life to it.

For a while, Dallas sat there looking around, the pungent aroma of coffee wafting around her as she waited for the coach to drop whatever she was doing to address her. Dallas shifted in her seat as impatience made its grand entrance in her mind, prompting her to bob her leg under the table while she checked her fingernails. Doing so, she frowned.

Her peach nail polish started to chip; blame it on the chlorine water she basically lived in. Not a good sign. She already had an appointment to make with her hairdresser to get her hair straightened, but now she had to add a nail technician to the list. Dallas sighed. It would be for the best, though, or else she wouldn't hear the end of it from her best friend Leila or her boyfriend, Sebastian.

The sound of pencil scratching to paper abruptly stopped as Coach Asia's pencil stilled. A quiet breath sounded from the woman's mouth, followed by the tapping of the pencil against the desk as she laid it down. Sweeping her short hair out of her face and tucking it behind one ear, she braced herself off her table and leaned back, her chair reclining along with her with an audible creak.

"Dallas."

Finally.

Dallas glanced up from her nails, meeting Coach's tired look.

"Yes?"

"How are you today?"

Small talk? Dallas arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at that. Just how much hot water was she in that Coach Asia, one of the most ruthless swimming coaches and feared physical education teachers in the region, approached their conversation subtly instead of the blunt straightforwardness she usually employed in her words and gait?

Dallas knew why. There was no point ignoring it or beating around the bush. Her gaze wandered down to the rips in her jeans as a coil of excitement slithered in, momentarily shaking her humble resolve. It mingled with another complicated emotion, one she couldn't place just yet.

"With all due respect, I'd like to get to the point, please," Dallas trampled on her conflicting feelings as she boldly spoke up, fighting back a smirk as she held the coach's stare once again. She wouldn't gloat or smile, not until she heard the news. "Tell me why you called me here."

A tiny smile curled the corner of the coach's lips. "I like your attitude, Miss Stevenson," she commented, nodding. She busied herself with a couple of files on her desk, shuffling around the mess until she emerged with her trusty clipboard. "I know you know why I called you here, so let's cut to the chase, as you mentioned."

Dallas straightened in her seat, merely waiting for the satisfying words to come. What would it be this time? A swimming camp with a fellow team of elite schools from across the region? Or better yet, did a scout from a prosperous university take note of her outstanding talent and decide to offer her a full scholarship to their institution? It could be anything. Hard work really paid off.

"Dallas, you're off the team."

The small smile on Dallas's face became a permanent fixture as she remained in a half-frozen position, leaning towards Coach Asia. The words playfully skipped around her mind like a distant echo, one she misheard. Her pink lipgloss sparkled in the light as her lips widened into an even broader grin.

Dallas leaned back into the plush leather of her chair, relaxing because clearly, Coach Asia had ingested some weird medicine that made her a bit more youthful and childish, to the point she decided to play pranks on her athletes. Not that Dallas was complaining. A change in demeanor wouldn't hurt. It only built on the suspense surrounding the real reason why Coach summoned her.

Before Dallas even realized it, the tense silence dragged on for another few minutes. The coach sat behind her desk with her fingers knitted together, lips pinched into a tight purse as she waited for Dallas's response.

"Excuse me?" Dallas said, the absurdity of the situation making her scoff. "Did you ... did you just say I'm off the team?"

"Yes, Miss Addison. Yes, I did."

"And you're not joking?"

Coach Asia pursed her lips as her deadpan expression deepened. "When have you ever heard me make a dumb joke, Ms. Addison?"

Dallas licked her lips, which suddenly became dry as the situation's weight began boring into her, chasing all hints of mirth or revelry out the window. Tucking a loose strand of hair back underneath her cap, she shifted in the chair, trying to get more comfortable.

"This doesn't make any sense," Dallas out as her brain unjammed. "I'm the best swimmer on the team. And I rank in the top five, in case you've forgotten. You can't-"

"We discussed this last semester, and you know how much I hate repeating myself," the coach calmly cut in, her calm tone contradicting Dallas's hard, arrogant one. "I told you that if you intend to get scouted by any university, you have to have at least a sixty percent average on your report card," she pulled up a sheet of paper and placed it before Dallas. It was the list of all forty members on the swim team, containing generic information such as form room, ages, swim times, etc. In the middle of it all, Dallas's name, time, and class average were underlined in bold crimson ink.

Unease washed over Dallas as Coach Asia tapped her finger on the average in question. "Fifty-two percent."

Dallas didn't have an answer for that. She fell quiet as she reclined in her chair and averted her gaze. Her eyes bounced on the shiny white floors, her new pair of airwalk sneakers, then to the shelves displaying the plethora of medals the school won from swimming, and finally, her chipping pink nail polish. She pulled in a deep breath, knowing yet dreading what was to come.

"You're one of our best swimmers, Dallas. I won't take that away from you. But your average - and not only that but your record times contradict who I know you to be," she tapped her finger on the list again, this time pointing to Dallas's shameful fall from grace. "You fell from 50.92 seconds to 57 in less than a month. This kind of behavior makes me worry for you not only as your mentor but as your counselor as well. So then, tell me. Is there something going on at home?"

"There isn't!" Dallas immediately countered, knocking back her chair as she bolted from her seat. She forced out a breath as she paced back and forth for a moment, cupping her face in distress. Swiveling around to the coach, she instigated eye contact. "I admit that maybe I have been slacking off, but you can't kick me off the team."

And especially not when...

Her father's smiling face flashed before her eyes. She remembered how his voice boomed above everyone else's in the gymnasium as he leaped from his chair and chanted words of solace that were both embarrassing and motivating at the same time. No matter how busy work was, he always took time off work to see her at all her swim meets, and he was still there to wrap her in a chokehold hug whenever she tapped the wall first, claiming first or second place.

Dallas bit down hard on her wobbling lower lip as she cast her gaze down once again, curling her trembling hand into a weak fist by her side. "Not yet, not when I'm almost there," her voice cracked as she spoke. "Not when regionals are just around the corner."

Coach Asia sighed, and for a split second, Dallas thought she would have mercy on her and reassess both their positions on the matter.

"Have a seat, Dallas."

Dallas did as she was told, a tinge of hope dwelling within her as she started to calm down.

"This was a tough decision to make, and I'm sorry to see you like this, but I'm doing this in your best interest. Your future," Coach Asia said. "I won't ban you entirely from swimming because I know how detrimental complacency can be to an athlete, but rather give you a short time out.

"know it's a bit late in the semester now, so you may have a hard time working back up your average, so I came up with a suggestion."

Rustling was heard as Coach Asia rolled her chair back and dove into her filing cabinet, threading her fingers along the stacks of papers and folders sitting inside. She pulled out a sheet of paper and flipped out a pen before she started scribbling something down on it. A few minutes of silence drifted along until the coach's hand stopped moving against the paper. She popped her pen back into the cap and handed the sheet of paper to Dallas.

Request for late subject transfer.

"Tomorrow morning, you will go to the office and hand this to the subject coordinator. I've already spoken with Mrs. Troublefield as it pertains to the situation, and she's more than willing to accept one more into her class before official lessons start," Coach Asia explained. "When you go to the office tomorrow and speak with the subject coordinator, you will select between the options available."

The knot in Dallas's stomach tightened even further as her eyes fell to the three choices available.

Home economics

Food and nutrition

Health and Family Life Education

Dallas scoffed. She waved the sheet of paper for the coach to see. "These aren't even really classes. These are-"

Coach Asia laced her fingers together almost mischievously, a smile cracking her usual stoic expression. "Yes, Dallas. These are extra credit classes we offer, and that's exactly what you'll be doing to work your grade up to at least sixty percent by March," she said. "And who knows? Maybe you'll even find yourself again."

Coach braced herself off her desk and pulled up some more files to work through. As she flipped out her pen and reburied herself in stacks of paperwork, she absently waved a hand at the student by her desk.

"You're dismissed, Dallas. You can go now."

Mortified and embarrassed, Dallas became deaf to everything else as she stared at the paper in her hand.

Of all things, why this?

Extra Credit classes.

🍒｡･ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍓｡･ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡

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