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Middletown High -- Freshman Year
"Hey, Carm,
how come you didn't try out for swim team?" Rachel asked. We were
walking up to the third floor to our lockers.
I probably
should have told her right then about my diving problem, but I don't
know, I just couldn't. I was too embarrassed. So, I came up with
something even better. "Remember, I don't like organized sports anymore
. . .
". . . only
disorganized sports," Rachel and Brooklyn finished for me.
"Something
like that," I said. "Besides, I have my hair to think about." I did my
best Mall-O-Rama Girl voice.
"Right."
"No,
really," I said. "Chlorine wrecks havoc on curly hair. It's like my hair
is a sponge, and it just absorbs all the chemicals and then turns into a
frizz-muffin."
"But you
swim almost every day," Brooklyn said. As my best friend, Brooklyn knew
almost everything. For instance, she knows that I'm kind of vain about
my hair. I have great hair. Shoulder length, kind of dark golden, super
shiny, with this natural wave in it. Before I cut it in seventh grade,
Brooklyn used to tell me I had goddess hair.
"And I'm a
total slave to my hair because of swimming," I said. "I have to wet it
and put this special conditioner on it before I put on my swim cap. And
then I have to use a deep conditioner after I swim. It's a big deal. And
I don't want to have to do it every morning before school. Especially
not at 6 a.m."
"I don't
want to do anything at 6 a.m.," Rachel said.
"Especially
not get into an icy cold pool," Brooklyn added.
"Especially
with the boys swim team at the same time," I added.
"It's not
that cold," Brooklyn said. "Sometimes you just have to dive in."
The bell
rang. Five minutes warning. We had 300 seconds to get to first period. |