Off Pace - Sam

The chlorine hit me first, sharp and chemical, as I stepped onto the pool deck. It always did, that stinging sensation in the air, a reminder that I was about to plunge myself into the cool, slick world of the pool. Yesterday's practice had been cancelled for pool maintenance, but the competition still loomed ahead. I had to fight with my mom and dad just to get the time to go to the cinema yesterday. My dad had nearly forced me to go to another pool instead, to practice with the rest of the team. I had promised them I would try my best today, so the added pressure of not messing up weighed heavily on my mind, like a rock in my chest, threatening to slow me down. It was like I was drowning in expectations before I'd even touched the water.

The air was thick with humidity, the kind that made it hard to tell if your skin was damp from sweat or just from the water hanging in the air. It always felt like this around the pool, like being abroad in a hot country where the air clung to you, oppressive and sticky. The heat was stifling in the space beside the pool, like the feeling of being trapped inside a pressure cooker with no way out. My teammates adjusted their goggles and stretched around me, the sharp slaps of swim caps against their heads echoing off the high ceiling of the swimming complex, each one a loud reminder that we were here for something important, that today wasn't just another practice session. This was competition.

Normally, this was my space—the adrenaline coursing through me, the rhythm of my laps, the almost meditative flow of movement in the water. The roar of the crowd would fade into white noise as soon as my body hit the water; it was like I was in my element, a machine working at full capacity. But today? Today, I felt heavy, like my body wasn't mine to command, like it was a foreign vessel I had to drag across the water. I couldn't shake the tightness in my chest, the restless feeling gnawing at my insides. Everything about the way I moved felt wrong. My muscles were stiff, my breath shallow, and I just couldn't shake the feeling of something lingering in my mind, pulling my focus away from the pool.

I glanced over at Kyle, who was sitting on the bench, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths after his last heat. He looked unbothered, calm, practically glowing with confidence. His face was still flushed from the race, but his expression was easy, like everything was just fine, like yesterday hadn't happened at all. It irked me. I wasn't sure how he could be so calm, so happy with himself after what he said to Jay, how he treated him, how he'd made him feel small and worthless. The words Kyle had thrown at him still echoed in my mind, and I couldn't let go of the image of Jay sitting there in that dark cinema, quietly tense, trying to ignore the hurt piling up around him. I couldn't believe how easily Kyle had shrugged it all off. It didn't sit right with me, not at all.

"Sam, you're up next!" Coach's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, and I snapped to attention.

"Got it," I muttered under my breath, pulling my goggles down over my eyes and stepping to the edge of the pool. The cool tiles beneath my paws felt strange, a hard contrast to the heat surrounding me. The pool stretched out in front of me, the water glistening like glass under the harsh overhead lights. The faint echo of distant cheers bounced off the tiled walls, adding to the surreal sense of detachment I was already feeling.

I took my mark, my legs braced, every muscle coiled and ready. The pool fell silent around me, the world narrowing to this single moment, and then—BEEP. The buzzer went off, and I dove in, slicing through the water with the same practiced ease I always had. I didn't look at the other swimmers; I didn't need to. It was better this way—to not focus on anyone else, to block them out completely. I could only focus on my lane, on the path I had set for myself, on being first, on winning.

For the first few strokes, everything felt normal—the familiar pull of the water, the rush over my fin, the deep breath I took as I settled into the rhythm of the race. It was all automatic, like my body knew exactly what to do. But then, something inside me shifted. My mind started to drift, to wander, to replay the events of yesterday over and over again. I thought about the cinema, the way Kyle had smirked when he'd made his comments, the laughter that had followed, the feeling of being trapped in a moment I couldn't escape. My mind wandered back to Jay, sitting quietly, tension radiating off him, like he was waiting for me to step in, to stop it all. His eyes had flicked to me in that moment, like I could do something, like I could make it all stop.

I kicked harder, my legs pumping furiously, but it wasn't enough. My rhythm faltered. My turn was sloppy—too wide, too slow, costing me at least two seconds. I felt the rush of frustration bubble up, my breathing uneven, shallow. I could feel the race slipping away from me, and no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I pushed myself, I couldn't get back into the groove.

By the time I touched the wall, I knew the result before I even looked up at the board. I'd lost. The numbers staring back at me were a brutal reminder that I wasn't at my best today. But what hurt more than the loss, what stung more than anything, was how my mind had failed me. How I couldn't shake the thoughts of what happened yesterday. How I couldn't put it all aside and just be in the moment. I let my focus slip, and it cost me.

I came last.

After the race, I sat on the bench near the lockers, my towel draped over my shoulders. The air around me felt thick with the sounds of chatter, the distant hum of voices filling the space as swimmers congratulated each other or griped about their own times. It was the same routine after every meet, the usual mix of pride and disappointment, but today it felt far away, like I wasn't even part of it. I stared down at the damp tiles, watching the water pool in uneven patterns around my bare paws. The tiles seemed to stretch out forever, all of them the same, all of them as lifeless as I felt.

"Sam." Coach's voice broke through the fog in my head, calm but firm as he approached. His heavy footsteps echoed as he came closer. He was a sea lion, towering and broad, with a clipboard tucked under one arm. He had this way of commanding the space around him, even without raising his voice. "What's going on? That wasn't like you."

I didn't know what to say. The words wouldn't come. Instead, I shook my head and muttered, "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Coach said, his voice a little softer now, but still with that edge of concern. He sat down next to me, the bench creaking under his weight. "I've seen you swim tired. I've seen you swim injured. But this? This was different. You were uncomposed. Your turn, your stroke, everything was off."

He wasn't wrong. I knew that. But what could I say? What was I supposed to say? That I had spent the entire race replaying the looks on my friends' faces when they made those jokes at Jay's expense? Or how the sound of Kyle's laughter still rang in my ears, echoing in the back of my mind like an unwanted reminder of how cruel people could be? Or how my chest had tightened when I saw Jay walk out of the cinema, shoulders hunched, trying to disappear into the shadows like he didn't matter?

"I'm just... distracted," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn't bring myself to look Coach in the eyes. His gaze was sharp, too knowing. He could see through me.

"Whatever it is, figure it out," Coach replied, his tone softening slightly, but it was still serious. "Distractions in the water will drown you faster than any opponent."

I nodded, but his words didn't sink in. They bounced off me like raindrops on a windshield. Instead, I continued to watch the water pool on the floor as it dripped from my wet skin, its path defined by the slope of the tiles, moving inevitably toward the drain. It was like watching a stream of something simple, something I could understand. Water followed a clear path. It had one direction, one purpose. It didn't hesitate. It didn't think twice. It just... moved.

I envied it. My own thoughts, on the other hand, felt like a tangled mess of confusion, twisting and changing direction every time I tried to focus. Every thought seemed to fight against the other, each one louder and more urgent than the last. I was questioning everything, especially my friendships. I had spent years building bonds with these guys, but now every time I thought of Kyle, I felt a knot in my stomach. The way he acted, the things he said—it didn't sit right with me anymore. I didn't want to be associated with him, but at the same time, I still felt like I needed him. Like we were supposed to be something. We had been close once, I told myself. We used to be friends.

But now? Now, I wasn't so sure.

The ride home with Dad was quiet, but not in a good way. The silence between us was thick and heavy, like we were both waiting for the inevitable. Dad gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles pale against the dark leather. I had managed to avoid him long enough in the changing room, perhaps the delay had only aggravated him further. I could feel the tension building in the air, and I was just waiting for him to say it—the words that always seemed to follow a race I didn't win.

It was coming. I could feel it. The same old pattern. When I won, he was happy, proud even. But when I lost? When I failed? That's when the words came. That's when the disappointment would pour out of him, and I'd get the lecture, the one that always seemed to boil down to how I was letting everyone down. How I was ruining my future. It always blew up into an argument. Always.

"You were off today," Dad's voice finally broke the silence, sharp and accusing. "I expect it's because you were at the cinema yesterday." The way he said it—the hint of a 'told you so' tone—made my stomach tighten. I'd heard it before, the same words, the same judgment.

"I'm fine," I said automatically, staring out the window at the blur of trees and houses passing by, my fingers tapping against my knee in a nervous rhythm. I couldn't look at him. I didn't want to.

"You're not fine." His voice cut through the air like a whip crack. "You can't afford to lose focus, Sam. Not now. Your team's counting on you. Your future's on the line, and you're acting like this is some casual hobby."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. There was nothing I could say that would change his mind.

"You can't just go off to the cinema the night before a race and expect to win," he added, his voice laced with frustration. That familiar tone again, the one that always made my chest tighten.

"Dad, I'm nearly 18," I snapped, finally looking at him, my voice cracking with frustration. "I can make my own decisions, you know."

He sighed heavily, a sound that seemed to fill the car, weighing on me like an accusation. "You need to man up, Sam. Forget whatever's messing with your head and get your priorities straight. Sport comes first. Always."

I clenched my maw, my frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He didn't get it. Hell, I didn't even get it myself. Why did I care so much about Jay? What was it about him that kept tugging at my chest, making everything feel heavier? Yes, what Kyle and the others had said was wrong. It was cruel and unnecessary. But this—this felt bigger than that. Every time I thought about Jay, something twisted in me. Something uncomfortable and complicated that I couldn't explain, not to anyone.

And I hated that I couldn't explain it. I hated that I couldn't make sense of it. But most of all, I resented my dad for making me feel even worse, he was meant to be there for me when I needed him and here he was telling me I wasn't good enough, that nothing else mattered other than coming first.

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Monday afternoon, the math classroom felt unusually bright. The bright light seemed almost too intense, making everything feel sharper, more real. The faint scent of stale chips from someone's lunch lingered in the air, mingling with the sound of desks scraping against the floor as people shuffled to their seats, settling in for another session of Mr. Moon's never-ending equations. It was the usual routine, the mundane back-to-school atmosphere that felt oddly comforting, yet today it felt different, almost too much.

Jay was already sitting at his desk by the window, the same place he always sat. His notebook was open but untouched, the pages still crisp and blank, as if he hadn't yet figured out how to fill them. His gaze was locked somewhere far away, outside the window, lost in whatever thoughts were running through his mind. He didn't look up when I walked in. His body was there, but his mind seemed miles away, tucked in a place I couldn't reach.

I hesitated at the door, my stomach twisting into tight knots. It was a strange feeling, the way everything inside me seemed to ripple with uncertainty. This wasn't like me. I was always confident, always quick with words. But with Jay, it was different. I felt like I didn't have a script to follow, like I was fumbling through lines I hadn't prepared. My paws felt heavy as I made my way to the seat next to him, each step dragging me closer to something I didn't fully understand yet.

"Hey," I said, keeping my voice low, barely louder than a whisper, as if the air between us might break if I spoke too loudly.

Jay glanced at me, his expression guarded, like he was trying to figure out whether I was worth trusting. It was only a brief look, but it felt like an eternity. "Hi," he said, his voice quiet, the way you speak when you're unsure if the other person is really listening.

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. The words stuck in my throat, too heavy to be let out. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, trying to decide whether to jump or pull back. My thoughts scattered, my heart pounding in my chest. I should have texted him yesterday, but I hadn't known what to say. How do you tell someone that you don't care about their sexuality, that it doesn't matter to you, but at the same time, you don't know how to make everything feel normal again? How do you say that you just want to hang out, to let things be simple for once?

I'd never been this tongue-tied in my life, I never had trouble speaking my mind. But here I was, staring at him, trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between us. I wanted to say something that would make it all better, something that would reassure him, tell him that we could go back to being friends. I could just ask him over again, right? I wanted Jay to be a friend, just a friend, and maybe another hangout would help him realize that. We could just keep it simple.

"I, uh..." I cleared my throat, feeling the dryness in my mouth, trying to push through the discomfort. "I was thinking, if you're not busy this weekend... maybe you could come over. We could play Mario Kart again or something."

Jay blinked, clearly surprised. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he seemed to collect himself, his gaze still focused on mine as if he was trying to read between the lines. "You... want to hang out?"

"Yeah," I said quickly, not wanting to backpedal, not wanting to make it seem like I was second-guessing myself. "I mean, if you want to. No pressure, and just me and you... not the others." I trailed off, feeling a bit awkward, as if I was over-explaining, but I needed him to understand. I didn't want it to be a group thing. I just wanted him, without the noise of everyone else, and he'd be safe away from Kyle.

He studied me for a moment, his eyes searching mine for something I couldn't name. It felt like he was looking for assurance, for something he needed before he could let himself relax. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded. "Okay."

Relief flooded through me, like a cool wave crashing over my chest. But at the same time, there was something else, something I couldn't quite untangle. It wasn't just the relief. It was something that made my heart beat a little faster, something that made me wonder if I was doing the right thing.

"Cool," I said, forcing a smile, even though it felt a little off, a little too tight. "I want us to be friends, you know. For real."

Jay's expression softened, and for the first time since the cinema, he smiled. It wasn't a wide smile, but it was genuine, and it made the air between us feel a little lighter, a little less strained. There was something in his eyes, something that made me think maybe we were on the verge of something, but I couldn't place it. Maybe I was just reading too much into it.

Before I could say anything else, Mr. Moon gave us a look that was pointed enough to make both of us stay silent. His eyes lingered on us for a moment longer than necessary, like he was trying to figure out if we were crossing the line. We stayed quiet, the tension between us still hanging in the air, but I felt a little lighter, like maybe I was starting to figure things out. Maybe things would get better, maybe I'd stop overthinking everything.

Maybe.