Locker 13 Read Online Free Page A

blew his whistle, then shouted for Stretch to cut the horseplay. Stretch gave the two guys one more vicious splash.
    Then he turned and saw me. “Hey, Champ—” he shouted, his voice booming off the tiles. “You’re early. Drowning lessons are next week! Ha ha! Nice swim trunks. Are those your girlfriend’s ? Ha ha!”
    A few other guys laughed too.
    I decided to ignore them. I was feeling pretty confident. About twenty guys were trying out. I knew there were only six spots open on the team. But after all my work last summer, I thought I could make the top six.
    We all warmed up for a bit, taking easy laps, limbering up our muscles, getting used to the warm water. After a few minutes, Coach Swanson made us all climb out and line up at the deep end of the pool.
    â€œOkay, guys, I’ve got to get to my night job by five, so we’re going to keep this simple,” the coach announced. “You have one chance. One chance only. You hear the whistle, you do a speed dive into the pool. You do two complete laps, any stroke you want. I’ll take the first six guys. And two alternates. Any questions?”
    There weren’t any.
    Everyone leaned forward, preparing to dive. Stretch lined up next to me. He elbowed me hard in the side. “Give me some room, Champ. Don’t crowd me.”
    Okay, so he’ll come in first, I figured, rubbing the pain from my side. That leaves five other places on the team.
    I’m good enough, I told myself. I know I am. I know I am….
    The whistle blew. All down the row, bodies tensed, then plunged forward.
    I started my dive—and slipped.
    The pool floor—so wet …
    My feet slid on the tile.
    Oh … no!
    I hit the water with a loud smack .
    A belly flop! No kind of dive.
    Struggling to recover, I raised my head. And saw everyone way ahead of me.
    One unlucky slip …
    I lowered my head, determined to catch up. I started stroking easily, forcing myself to be calm. I remembered the slow, steady, straight-legged kick my instructor had taught me.
    I sped up. I passed some guys. Hit the wall and started back.
    I can do this, I told myself. I can still make the team.
    Faster …
    At the end of the second lap the finish was a furious blur. Blue water. Thrashing arms and legs. Loud breaths. Bobbing heads.
    I tried to shut out everything and concentrate on my stroke … ignore everyone else … and swim!
    At last my hand hit the pool wall. I ducked under, then surfaced, blowing out water. I wiped my hair away from my eyes. The taste of chlorine was in my mouth. Water running down my face, I glanced around.
    I didn’t finish last. Some guys were still swimming. I squinted down the line of swimmers who had finished. How many? How many were ahead of me?
    â€œLuke—you’re seventh,” Coach Swanson announced. He made a large check on his clipboard. “First alternate. See you at practice.”
    I was still too out-of-breath to reply.
    Seventh.
    I let out a long sigh. I felt so disappointed. I could do better than seventh, I knew. If only I hadn’t slipped.
    As I started to trudge back to the locker room, Stretch strode up beside me. “Hey, Champ!” He slapped my bare back with his open hand, so hard it made a loud smack . “Thanks for making me look so good!”
    I got dressed quickly, standing in a corner by myself. A few guys came over to say congratulations. But I didn’t feel I deserved it.
    Across the locker room Stretch was still in his swim trunks. He was having a great time, smacking guys with his towel, really making the towel snap against their bare skin, laughing his head off.
    I tossed my towel in the basket. Then I stepped up to the mirror over the sinks to comb my hair. A ceiling lightbulb was out, and I had to lean over the sink to see.
    I had just started to comb my wet hair back—when I saw the jagged crack along the length of the glass.
    â€œWhoa.” I stopped combing