“Second Call Fifty Meter Butterfly,” came over the loud speaker. Brielle felt her shoulders tense up briefly before she deliberately relaxed them. She continued her stretching routine.
“Brielle, are you ready?” asked a voice from behind her. Brielle turned to find her coach at her left shoulder. She smiled at the coach who met her eye to eye.
“I’m ready, Coach Harris,” said Brielle. Today was the first time that she would be swimming the butterfly stroke in competition. Brielle was not as confident about her butterfly stroke as she was of her freestyle, but she was excited and apprehensive. She didn’t want to suck at the butterfly.
“This is just like swimming the freestyle,” said Coach Harris. Intense and competitive, she sported short black cropped hair, currently sticking up as though she’d run her hands through it and tried to pull it out at the roots. “You’re tall enough to just about lay across the pool, no turn to flub.”
“I’m not that tall,” said Brielle, with a laugh.
“Yes, you are,” said Coach Harris. “This is going to be a cakewalk.”
“Okay,” said Brielle.
Coach Harris shoved a piece of paper in Brielle’s face. She pointed at one particular line of typing.
“The time you need to strive for,” said Coach Harris, stabbing the paper with her index finger.”
Brielle’s eyes widened.
“That’s really fast,” she said.
“You can do it,” said Coach Harris. “Mind on the race and not on the boy.” Then she walked away. Brielle breathed a sigh of relief.
“Coach giving you the pep talk?” asked Amanda Seevers. Brielle looked down at the short, thick white girl who swam on the relay team with her.
“Yeah,” said Brielle. “I wasn’t nervous until she came over and told me how easy it was going to be for me to swim a world class time the first time out of the blocks.”
“She is so weird,” said Amanda, laughing. “Good luck, anyway.” Brielle nodded and walked over to the check in table. She made certain all of her information was correct and lined up with the other six girls in her heat. One of the lanes was empty.
“Leighton scratched,” said Eva Goldman, a short red head who also swam on the relay team with Brielle.
“Why,” asked Brielle. “Is she hurt?”
Eva shrugged broad swimmers shoulders. “I don’t really know. She said something about concentrating on her breaststroke.”
“Hmmm,” said Brielle. “No comment.”
“She hates to swim against you,” said Eva. She shrugged and then twirled her arms around to loosen her shoulders. “You beat her all the time.”
“So do you,” said Brielle. She mirrored the other girls stretch routine.
“Yeah, but you always beat me, too,” said Eva, with a laugh.
“Not always,” said Brielle. “We go back and forth.”
“Yeah, but if both of us are in a heat, she’s not getting above third place,” said Eva, with a catty smirk. “She hates to lose.”
Brielle smiled, but said nothing.
Truthfully, Brielle hated to lose, too. But she’d never said a word to anyone on the team about her fierce competitive streak. Because she was so tall and the only black person on the team, she stood out. What was perceived in another girl as confidence would be misconstrued as cockiness in Brielle and the other girls would sabotage her gear or cause all kinds of problems. That very thing had happened freshman year before the coach had put a stop to it by suspending the girls who’d been picking on Brielle. That hadn’t earned Brielle any friends, but it did make the other girls take their dislike underground. Brielle had been ready to quit swimming because she felt so isolated. Her mother had taken her to MSU and found her a black swim coach, who had experienced the same things.
“It was so horrible sometimes,” said Coach Deana Jackson. “I actually had girls not wanting to share the bus seat with me. This one girl who swam on the relay team was especially nasty to me, asking me if black people didn’t have to wash their hair every day and why we used grease on our skin, or what kind of food did we eat, like I was some kind of alien.”
“What did you do?” asked Brielle.
“I beat the snot out of them,” said Coach Deana.
“Really?” asked Brielle.
“Yep, but in the pool,” said Coach Deana. “I couldn’t get nasty with them all the time and I couldn’t beat them up with my fists. I’m a big girl and they always try to emerge as the victim in any altercation. It would end up my fault. Like I was the poor sport or something. So I stopped talking to them. I’d set a time and whip them in the pool. The one girl, who was especially nasty, I took her spot on the relay team. Don’t get mad. Get their spot and make it yours. You be the one to beat.”
“Did you mess with her about it?” asked Brielle. Coach Deana shook her head.
“Don’t say anything to those stupid girls,” Coach Deana advised. “Leave it in the pool. Remember, I got a full athletic scholarship in swim at MSU and swam on the NCAA championship relay team. That said it all. Old girl stopped swimming after high school because she didn’t have the mental toughness.”
After that, Brielle improved by practicing more and following all of the Coach Deana’s advice. She swam so well, that Wimberley’s coach had to put her on the relay team if she wanted to have any chance at the State championship.
As a result, the other girls now clamored for her attention, asking for advice. Brielle gave a few helpful suggestions that Coach Deana had given. Like get enough rest, swim hard and practice. Her teammates now looked at her like she was giving out
