Page 86 of The Last Five Yards

Jess smirks. “Sure.”

Rowan elbows her lightly but feels her cheeks warm. She focuses on her own team again. On the water. On breathing. On anything else.

Her coach, Coach Ramirez, claps her hands loud enough to cut through the noise. “Alright, Wildcats. Suits, caps, and goggles. Warm-up starts in five.”

Rowan stands with everyone else, legs steady but stomach tight. She pulls off her jacket and tucks it neatly into her bag. Her heartbeat speeds up again.

This is real now.

She is here.

She is on this team.

She belongs.

At least, she hopes she does.

She walks toward the edge of the pool. The surface glitters under the bright overhead lights, broken only by the steady back-and-forth of swimmers already warming up.

Rowan crouches, dips her fingers in. The water is cool. Familiar. Ready.

For a moment, she lets the nerves settle.

Just her and the water.

Then she stands.

She adjusts her cap.

She takes a breath.

Warm-ups are about to start.

Her first high school meet is really beginning.

Warm-up goes by in a blur.

Rowan swims her laps, feels the water slide along her arms, the rush of each flip turn, the steady rhythm of her kicks. For a few minutes, she forgets she is nervous. Her body knows what to do. It always has.

But once she climbs out and walks toward the blocks for her first event, the nerves return. Not sharp. Just present. Like a hum under her skin.

The swimmers for the heat before her step up. Splashes echo off the tile. The crowd noise lifts in waves. A timer calls out splits. Someone shouts a cheer across the pool.

Rowan stands behind lane five, adjusting her goggles even though they are already perfect. Her hands feel warm and shaky. Her heartbeat is fast. She tries all the grounding techniques Maren has taught her through the years. Nothing seems to calm her in this moment.

She focuses on the lane in front of her.

The water looks calm.

Waiting.

She lifts her head and scans the stands instinctively.

Her mom is easy to spot. Bright jacket. Coffee cup. Cheering already even though Rowan has not stepped onto the block. She waves when she sees her.

Sitting right next to her is Coach Hensley, hands folded calmly in his lap, eyes steady on the pool. He looks exactly the same and somehow older at the same time. Softer around the edges, but still unmistakably Coach Hensley. He nods toward Rowan when she looks his way, the quiet kind of nod he always gave Maren before her big races.

Rowan’s chest warms at the sight of them together.