Chapter 3

In the girls’ changeroom, Salma takes a deep breath, then turns around to face the mirror.

Her reflection looks terrified. Her eyes are wide, her lips are tight, and her cheeks are white like paper. Maybe she is not ready for this. Maybe she will drown today. The pool’s water is warm, but not warm enough. She will freeze, and all her muscles will go numb, and then she will drown.

Her swimsuit is not helping. Salma has never been out in public in such a small outfit, even in the summer. Her arms are exposed. Her legs are cold. She tugs the neckline up. It’s hard to breathe.

“Salma?” Riya calls from the door to the pool. “The coach sent me to check on you. Where are you?” Though Riya is not in the swimming club, she came to support Salma for her first lesson.

Salma quickly wraps herself in her towel. “I’m here.” Her voice shakes.

“What’s wrong, Salma?” Riya approaches and takes her hand. “The training started five minutes ago.”

“I’m just afraid.” Salma leans on her friend.

“Maa says that what matters is that we try our best,” Riya says. She tightens her hand on Salma’s. “You can do that for sure.”

Salma nods, but she is not sure she wants to do this anymore. She really wants to be a swimmer. This swimsuit doesn’t feel good on her, but Salma knows she has to wear it to get in the water.

“C’mon, Salma,” Riya insists. “You got this.”

Salma hesitates for a second, then walks toward the pool with her best friend.

The moment she steps through the changeroom door, she hears the shouts of everyone in the water. Mr. Heatherington, the Physical Education teacher, stands in his red tracksuit with a whistle in his mouth. He is the tallest teacher in the whole school, and he always looks like he just finished a run.

“I will be right here,” Riya whispers. Salma squeezes her hand one last time, then watches her head back to the bleachers on one side of the pool.

“Salma! Come here,” Mr. Heatherington calls. Salma hurries toward him, careful not to slip in the puddles everywhere. She notices Ayman swimming laps. On a tall chair, an older boy in shorts and a red jacket keeps his eyes on everyone in case of an emergency.

“Hello, Mr. Heatherington,” Salma says quietly. She has to crane her neck more than usual to see his face.

“Salma? Where is your kickboard?” the PE teacher asks. Salma realizes she forgot it in the changeroom. She feels tears gathering in her eyes. This is not going well at all.

“I am glad that you joined us, Salma,” Mr. Heatherington says. “But we need to set some ground rules here: never be late to training, always come prepared, and do your best every single time.”

Salma nods. She sniffs in her tears. This is her dream. She is better than this, and she will do everything she needs to do.

“Here, use this kickboard for now,” Mr. Heatherington says. “We are going to start with some flutter kicking, to see where we are.”

For the next forty minutes, Salma stays in the shallow end of the pool, kicking her feet and learning how to float. Mr. H. is strict. He speaks in short sentences and insists on good form. Somehow, that makes Salma feel better. Mr. H. knows exactly what he is doing.

“Salma, you may try out the deep end now with your kickboard,” Mr. H. says. “We will all keep an eye on you.”

Salma nods. She holds on to the board, and walks, water dripping from her feet, to the deeper end of

the pool. Her heart beats faster, but she takes a deep breath and tightens her fingers on the foam edge of the board. She stands by the pool, looking at all her classmates leaning on their boards and paddling away with their feet splashing water everywhere. She remembers Yusra standing at the edge of an Olympic pool, diving elegantly into the water. She will be that strong; she will be as elegant as her idol. Salma pulls the goggles over her eyes, holds the board to her chest with both arms, and jumps right in.

Salma sinks feet first into the pool. She squeezes the board and keeps her cheeks full of air like balloons. The sound of her friends’ shouting dims. She firmly shuts her eyes, too. The water is colder in the deep end, but slowly it turns refreshing. She points her toes and they touch the bottom of the pool. She opens her eyes and sees everyone splashing above her, playful and happy. The water murmurs to her softly. Somehow, her anxiety evaporates, and she is now at peace.

Salma feels a smile forming on her face underwater.

The kickboard pulls Salma up, and she emerges from the water. She takes a deep breath, then laughs in joy. She loves the water so much. She moves her feet and feels the water flowing over her skin, bubbles floating everywhere. She kicks, suddenly moving fast like a little dolphin. She rests her elbows on the kickboard, kicking even faster. She laughs loudly, then lifts one arm to wave at Riya.

That makes Salma lose her balance.

She slips off of the board and sinks to the bottom of the pool.

Salma’s arms and legs spread out like a starfish. She can see the surface, where her kickboard floats by itself, and her chest tightens. Salma just learned how to float, but panic fills her head. What is she supposed to do? Did anyone notice her slip? Will they come to help her?

Salma feels her back touch the bottom. Somehow, that lights up all the fire that she saw in Yusra

Mardini’s races. She pushes with her feet and turns herself upright, then with all of her strength, she pushes off the tiles, moving her arms the way she saw Yusra swim. Within seconds, Salma breaks the surface. She moves her legs in circles, like Mr. H. taught her earlier, and instead of sinking again, she floats. She grabs her kickboard and removes her goggles. She sees the lifeguard swimming toward her, and Mr. Heatherington stands on the edge of the pool with Riya. They are all staring at her.

“Are you okay?” the lifeguard asks.

“Yeah, I think so.” Salma is surprised that she feels totally fine, despite how scared she was a moment ago.

“We thought you were drowning,” he says, guiding her to the edge of the pool. Mr. Heatherington holds out a hand to Salma and pulls her out of the water.

“Salma, you are a natural swimmer,” he says. “Are you sure this is your first lesson?”

Salma wraps her arms around herself and nods. The teacher smiles and hands her a towel, which she quickly cuddles into.

“I think you have a bright future ahead of you, Salma,” he says. “With enough training and determination, you might be the best swimmer this school’s ever had.”

“No. I will be the best swimmer in the world,” Salma announces, to the laughter of everyone around her.