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He didnothave a tough summer. When we were fooling around, he added me on Instagram. Stupidly, I didn’t unfollow or block him once I called it off, which means I got a front row seat to him fucking his way around Oregon over the last couple of months. It was a familiar sort of torture by the time it came to head back to Franklin West. The only comfort was that there didn’t seem to be any guys. I’m not sure if it would have hurt more if that had been the case.

Honestly, I don’t even know if he’s out. I think he’s like me. It’s not a secret, but it’s only really something that would come up if we were dating a guy. Which I haven’t. I fooled around a bit in high school, but I’ve still never gone all the way with a guy. That’s one thing I’m grateful for. With Doug, it never progressed further than hand jobs and sucking each other off. I shift my stance as my blood starts to pump south at the memory.

“You sure you’re okay?” Joy asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Are you DJing next week?”

Her face lights up and my smile widens in response. “Yeah. It’s going to be great. I’ve been working on some mashups and I’m going to drop them at the party. I can’t wait.”

As I listen to Joy explain how she spent a solid twenty-four hours doing something involving loops, mixers, and balancing levels that I just don’t understand, I realize, I’ve never really seen her like this. We’ve been on the team together for three years but plowing through water doesn’t lend itself to chit chat and, although we train together, the women’s team and men’s team tend to segregate.

Danny put a few social gatherings together, but now I think about it, I’m wondering whether I’ve ever actually had a proper conversation with Joy. If I’m completely honest, I’m a little intimidated. She’s lightning in the water—our fastest female swimmer since halfway through sophomore year. She was captain last year even though she wasn’t a senior. It’s no wonder, though. And because both her parents are freakin’ legends.

Her dad, Roger Blake, is an Olympic two-time gold medalist in the four-hundred and 200-hundred-meter freestyle for Team USA. Her mom, Emi, won a bronze and two silver medals for Japan in artistic swimming. She’s a sports model and sportswear designer now. I’ve seen her ads. She looks like she could be Joy’s sister, not mother.

Joy’s pretty. Really pretty. Beautiful, even. I nod along to her story, taking in the perfect black eyeliner that accentuates her dark eyes and the small diamante stud in her delicate nose that wrinkles as she talks. Transfixed, I’m semi aware of Wes lifting his drink to signal that he’s going to get a refill, but even as I half acknowledge him, I find myself drifting closer to Joy.

At the pool, people tend to blend together. Between the spandex, caps, and goggles, it’s just a blur. One of my classmates asked me a couple years ago whether I was in the swim team so I could see girls practically naked.Filthy fucker. It’s not like that at all. The racer back swimsuits are not sexy, and when you’ve grown up around swimming, you just don’t see it like that. Plus, the feeling of chlorine on skin and rapidly cooling swimsuits are just not things to get hard about.

“What about you?” she asks. “You’re going next week, right?”

I flash her a bright smile. “If I wasn’t, I definitely am now. I can’t wait to hear your mashups.”

The excitement radiating from her is contagious and my heart speeds. During practice she’s all business and kind of scary. This relaxed ‘off duty’ Joy is throwing me for a loop and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

“Do you dance, Aldo?”

I push a hand through my hair and shrug. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

This makes her laugh and my blood warms at the sound. It’s not a tinkling, feminine sound. It’s a throaty, mirthful laugh that has me leaning forward, as though I might be able to swallow down the sound like molten chocolate.

“Come on, then,” she says, handing her glass to Elsie before grabbing mine and handing it to Jordan.

Within seconds, we’re crowded on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the Den as the beat shifts into ‘Don’t Forget My Love’ by Diplo. Joy lifts both hands in the air and hollers, her head thrown back and I almost scoop her into my arms and nuzzle against her neck. I shake my head. How strong was that drink?Fuck.

The beat thumps in my chest and I let myself go as Joy loses herself to the music. Her glittery black top hangs off one shoulder exposing her tanned skin, the tip of her tattoo just visible as she moves her body in time to the music. Her ink is incredible, although I’ve never seen it in full. Her swimsuit covers most of it at the pool, but I know it’s a full back piece.

It’s then that she looks up at me, and I realize the smile I’ve had on my face since she jolted from my thoughts hasn’t slipped once. There was a time in freshman year when I thought her name was ironic, but right now it couldn’t suit a person better. She’s joy personified. Reaching for her, I spin her, taking hold of her hips as I move us to the music. She reaches up and winds her hands behind my neck and I exhale for what feels like the first time since setting foot back on campus.

Maybe this year isn’t going to be terrible after all.

JOY

Taking a hair elastic from my wrist, I slide my headphones off for long enough to tie my sweaty locks up off my neck. The Hive is heaving, and the dance floor has been packed since the formal opening. So far, I’ve dropped two of the three mashups I had planned for tonight and they both went down a storm.

This is what I live for. The bass pumping my blood and the treble caressing my skin. Swimming comes to me as easily as breathing, but I don’t find any pleasure in pulling through the tepid water until my lungs burn. Not anymore. This is ecstasy in comparison. My dream is to be a DJ and producer, making songs that fill people with hope and happiness, letting them forget the shitstorms of their lives for just three minutes.

At least our meet yesterday in Seattle went okay. We won. Only just. But still. Coach wasn’t happy but at least he didn’t shout at anyone this time. My blood boils when I think about how he spoke to Aldo at our first meet. He crossed a serious line. I don’t give a fuck how shitty his summer was, he doesn’t get to speak to people like that. It doesn’t help that his British accent makes him sound more condescending than he probably means to be.

The crowd screams as I fade in another tune, and I smile to myself. I live for this. This is a different type of adrenaline, and I don’t ever think I’ll get enough. Tucking one headphone off my ear, I nod my head in time to the beat as I survey the crowd. The party is a success for sure. We spent ages planning and preparing and it’s paid off. Everything is gold and black, like our bee logo. Even the drinks. It’s classy and elegant in the best way. Not like the testosterone fueled fest that was the Wolves’ party last week.

A small smile pulls at my lips as I find Aldo in the crowd talking to some of the guys from the team. I had more fun than I’d expected dancing with him. It’s weird how you can spend so much time with someone and not really speak to them. When we travel for meets, the girls and guys tend to sit separately and although we’re all friendly, I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation with Aldo that wasn’t poolside.

He's hot. I mean, I already knew that. I’ve seen him practically naked almost every day for three years. But it was different last week. When he didn’t smell of chlorine. It must be a weird swimmer thing, but he looked sexier with clothes on.

I figured I should make an effort seeing as we’re both captains this year, but I hadn’t expected it to feel so comfortable. He’s easy to talk to. As if sensing my thoughts, he looks up and smiles when he finds me watching him. He has a beautiful smile.

My heart speeds a little as he starts to maneuver through the crowd toward me, and I take a steadying breath. A crush is fine, but that’s it. It’s senior year. There is zero point getting into a relationship. Everyone is going to be scattered to the wind after this year and I have enough to worry about with confessing to my parents that I’m quitting swimming after graduation, without dealing with a long-distance relationship. Just nope.

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