“Banks,” he called to Austin, who was supposed to be trying to steal the ball from me but couldn’t quite keep up, “come on. Your mom can do better than that.”

“How would you know?” Austin muttered.

“Don’t,” I said.

“I want him to share some emotion,” said Austin, “gotta prevent that toxic masculinity.” He pushed me to show he was joking.

“Dude.”

“Fine. He’s scary when he gets emotional anyway.”

Austin continued to fail at stealing the ball from me.

“What time is it?” I asked, once we were back at the sidelines, hydrating after our first drill.

“Time to get a watch,” said Austin.

“3:30,” Carter answered from where he squatted on his ball.

Two hours left.

When practice was over, I still had about half an hour before I was supposed to meet Eliza. I headed for the intercourse’s pool.

The pool was one of the coolest and most unsafe parts of Cassidy High sports. First, it was giant—the same size as what Olympic athletes compete in, but way warmer, since old ladies could get a swimming membership at our school, and they don’t joke around.

The scalding temperature deterred the rest of us, except the swim team when they were in season. There wasn’t even a lifeguard on duty—only people with swimming memberships were allowed to use it, and you had to pass a swim test so they knew you wouldn’t drown.

The lone person in the pool, I tore off my sweaty shirt and headed for the diving board.

Although I was supposed to, I didn’t shower first. No one ever came to the pool building. Who would know?

(I realize I’m part of the problem.)

When swimming at Carter’s house, we had this ongoing contest where whoever got the biggest splash out of a cannonball won. Austin, bless his heart, was currently in first place.

He must come here for extra practice.

The water splashed over me, warming up my stiff back and tired legs. I held my breath as I kicked to the other end of the pool without coming up for air. Even though Coach Dad’s soccer drills got me in the best physical shape I could possibly be in, swimming the entire length of the pool completely under water made my lungs scream.

I hit the concrete on the other side, dizzy and panting. Geez, Maguire, you’re such a wuss.

A minute later, I was back at it. Pushing my body to its limit was a dangerous game, but the rush of my lungs panicking and knowing I had a breaking point made me feel alive.

When I came up for air for the fifth time, someone called across the water, “You trying to drown yourself? I think it might be working.”

Eliza hovered by the shallow edge of the pool, wearing her maroon-and-gold volleyball uniform, etched with the outline of an owl, and flip-flops. Her hair was pulled back in a tight braid.

I treaded water and maintained a comfortable distance. “Practicing up for the new Finding Nemo,” I shouted. “Apparently they want real actors instead of animation.”