Lois detested the navy blue swimsuit suit with the white edging and matching cap, but it wasn't like it was a fashion show, she reminded herself as she tucked in the remaining tendril of her hair.
Already, she hated swim practice, and she hadn't even dipped her toe into the water yet. They started practice at the ungodly hour of 7:00 in the morning. Did the dean think it an accident that she'd managed to schedule all her classes for the afternoon? She was taking the History of Theatre Arts for goodness sake, not because she had an interest in theatre or history for that matter, but because it fell into her needed 2:00 time slot. Now, all her hard planning had come to naught.
"I'm Coach Goldsmith," the middle-aged, heavyset woman said, looking her up and down like she was an unwanted project, which she supposed she was. "You're going to eat, drink, and breathe chlorine. You're going to give it your all or Dean Thomas will hear about it. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly." She understood Coach Goldsmith was going to be the bane of her existence from now on.
"I hope you stretched beforehand because you're late."
Only by a couple of minutes, which she had to tighten her lips to keep from saying out loud. She couldn't afford to let her mouth get in her on trouble on her first day of community service, so to speak.
"Lane, in the water now," the coach barked when she hesitated at the edge.
She dove in and found she had a reason to hate it even more. The pool was icy cold. At least, she was awake now.
The coach blew her whistle, "Go, go, go!"
She went, but the girls all went faster. The coach kept moving her down the lanes until she was in the last one and even then she was too slow it seemed. "Faster," her coach called. "Five to ten seconds behind the swimmer out in front. Not twenty. Come on!"
It was grueling. She did the backstroke, the breaststroke, the butterfly stroke, and every other kind of stroke in between. It went on for what felt like hours but was probably more like an hour and a half.
The team's captain and star athlete, Lori, walked up after the practice was over. She figured she was coming over to introduce herself and remind her of the sorority meeting tonight or maybe even to give a few tips. A couple of the girls trailed just slightly behind her like ladies in waiting.
"Lane's in the last lane," Lori mocked. "And here I was thinking I might actually get a little competition."
The girl was beautiful with her tight platinum blonde curls, her perfect teeth, and skin so white it almost seemed opalescent. She didn't think she'd ever seen such a fair-skinned swimmer; they were normally all shades of tan. Too bad none of that beauty seemed to extend inward.
"And the captain's a witch apparently. You realize you're on a team, right?"
Lori chuckled. "Do you? You keep swimming like that, and you're going to get booted off it." She flipped her hair as she walked off, a boringly predictable snub.
She wondered if this was going to be worth it. Maybe she should just drop out now and save some time and effort. See what the real world had to offer her.
She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, intent on salvaging what was left of her morning with a little breakfast and shuteye.
"And where do you think you're going?" Coach Goldsmith bellowed. "It's dryland for you, Lane."
"I thought I was on dry land," she retorted. Her smart mouth came into play naturally. Too bad it wasn't a sport. She'd be the star of that team.
"It's what we swimmers call the weight room. We'll get your butt into shape."
It wasn't her butt that was aching right now but her arms and legs. "I can't wait," she said, pun intended as she turned direction and followed Coach Goldsmith's pointed finger.
Yep, it was safe to say whatever joy she'd had in swimming was going to be thoroughly and completely eradicated.