Coming Up for Air(6)

"Yeah, we couldn't find a weekend where our meets didn't clash, so I decided to skip it to come to this orientation."

"That's why Roxy is here this weekend too. I imagine you swim in many of the same meets."

"Yeah," we say simultaneously, side-eyeing each other.

When the athletic director turns away for a sec, Roxy gets in a jab: "Yep, we swim in many of the same meets … which I always win."

"In your dreams," I reply under my breath.

Before we join the academic tour with the other athletes-mostly field hockey, lacrosse, and basketball players-Roxy and I go with Mr. Watts to check out the brand-new, open-air aquatics center.

I love it. It's bright, airy, and yellow and blue Bears flags are draped over the calm blue pool. The air smells fresh and only a tiny bit chemical-y. My pool back home is humid because it's indoor. I can totally see myself swimming here in college.

The first time I ever jumped in a pool, I was two years old at a church barbeque. The way Dad tells the story, I was a crazy ass toddler my parents couldn't control. I saw the pool, took off running, and did a belly flop into the water. People started freaking out, screaming that I was going to drown, and Dad jumped in to rescue me, but by then I was doggy paddling. The way he tells the story, I was even making a pouty fish face, pretending I was a goldfish.

To this day, anytime I see water, it's hard for me to resist the pull to dive on in. The Cal pool is beautiful.

"Maybe we'll have time to grab a swim before we fly home," I tell Roxy, bouncing on my toes. 

She doesn't respond.

"Are you really going to do this?" I ask.

"Do what?"

"Pretend like I don't exist."

She rolls her eyes.

That's that, I guess. What else is new?

After we spend time exploring the pool and facilities, Roxy and I join up with a group of about twenty new athletes from across the country for a campus tour of the library, dining hall, and classrooms. She immediately starts clinging to this super cute lacrosse player.

To be honest, I don't know the rules of lacrosse. It's too bad I couldn't attend the orientation for swimmers, which is next week, but I'm competing at conferences, and unless I qualify there, I can't go to regionals. Still, I don't mind checking out some of the guys. A super cute one with glasses and cropped black hair glances at me and smiles. But he's much shorter than I am. Ugh, I hate being taller than most guys.

With her arm looped around Lacrosse Boy's elbow, Roxy stares over at me and smirks, as if to say, I'm hotter than you, and I know it.

I ignore her and try to focus on the tour, but she keeps laughing loudly to show off.

Is it too late to pick a new college?

The guide leads us back to Haas Pavilion, the arena where the basketball team plays, to watch their game against Stanford. The stands are already filled with rowdy fans. The guys on my tour start horsing around. Two of them rush out onto the court and pretend to shoot an imaginary basketball.

"Get off the floor!" the guide screeches, and they hurry back to the sidelines, where they keep pretending to take shots.

I don't blame them for being excited. The arena's smaller than I imagine it looks on TV, but it's still gorgeous. I take a picture of the basketball hoop and the gleaming wood floors with Cal written in blue.

I text the photo to Levi: Guess where I am?

Levi: Stop trying to make me jealous you evil woman

I grin at his response.

During the game I keep texting him, giving him a play-by-play. Levi wants to know what it smells like (sweat), if the seats are soft (hard), and what the fries taste like (they've got nothing on Jiffy Burger's, but I tell him they are a perfect ten just to make him jealous).

The game is great. The team beats Stanford in overtime, and afterward, the guide leads us back to the boardroom to hear the university's president give a short speech about how thankful they are "athletes of our caliber are attending Berkeley." Then he announces that our student hosts will show us where we'll be staying tonight.

I lift my overnight bag and walk to the K-N table and tell them my name is Maggie King.

The name checker drags a finger down her list. "You're paired with Sylvia."

Please don't let her be a raging lunatic. Please don't let her be a raging lunatic.

The athletic director comes over when he hears my name, and checks a chart. "Sylvia's one of our highly talented freshmen on the dance team. She'll walk you around and you'll stay with her in MacDonald, the dorm you'll be living in this fall. All of our athletes live there freshman year."

A dance team member? That's good news. Georgia's a cheerleader, so I know all about routines. She's tried to teach me some, and I can do Beyoncé's "Single Ladies" dance. I may look like a bumbling octopus with my huge hands and flipper feet, but hey, I can do it.