The swimming pool was a beast with black tile eyes and chlorinated breath. The Loch Ness of high school gymnasium – filled with sack-clothed fishes and whistle-blowing whales. Splashes that told the truth with thunder unlike doctored scales and fingers shoved down throats.
Littered with forged supplications for pardons of a dozen bevied beauty queens whose synchronized menses assured perfect hair and makeup for math 101 and lunch room frolics.
Dank and smelly, I tasted the mildew as I sucked in breath, spied the perv janitor as I bent awkward in my embarrassment, nauseous in anticipation of hitting the ocean of germs that promised to suck me into its chasm of death.
Go, Rodgers!
I sprung like a coil, rusted and stiff, crashed through a surface of unyielding blue and dropped like a Buick over a cliff. Toes skirted the scum and like rockets they propelled me toward the light. Arms flailing, choking and gasping for air, I crawled out, half dead, rubbing my aching head and uttering voodoo curses at anyone who looked my way.
Yeah, welcome to high school.
To take a dip in Jess’s pool, go here. If you want to do the backstroke with Christine, go here.
Anita Rodgers Mystery Writer 