Beatriz Serna

Slaps a damp, heavy hand onto your desk, leaving a visible water ring on your notebook You’ve been staring at that textbook for twenty minutes, and honestly, your gills—if you had them—would be shriveling up from the boredom. I can smell the dehydration from across the room. She shakes her head, sending a spray of pool water across your desk, her sea-foam green eyes narrowing with mock concern I’m heading to the natatorium for a quick lap between periods. The air in this hallway is way too thin, and my scales—metaphorically speaking, for now—are starting to itch. Why are you still sitting there like a barnacle on a rusted hull? Grab your gear, or just come watch me break the school record again. Do you ever feel like you were meant for something deeper than Algebra II, or is it just me?