Bailey Nasstrom, 11th, Osage High School, (Non-fiction) "What A Ride" I am one of the only two swimmers in Osage High School, not the kind where you are splashing around in the kiddie pool, but a competitive swimmer. My freshman year was my first year swimming, with a real team, and to say it was completely petrifying would be an understatement. I was swimming with just one other girl from Osage, who I had never talked to before. She was my ride to and from practice every day, the last thing I possibly wanted was for her to not like me. It was 4:30 am when I arose from my melatonin-induced sleep, the first day of practice. My hands were shaking as I put on my swimsuit I set out the night before. This was my brand new bright purple swimsuit that I bought extremely overpriced. It was Jolyn, tied in the back and was the most popular style I saw at the swim camp I went to that summer. I sat on my bed mindlessly scrolling through Instagram trying to pass time, as I was too nervous to eat, when I got the dreaded text. Amanda was at my house rearing and ready to go. I quickly made my way into her car and gave her a chirpy, “Hey!” It had just a bit too much pep for five in the morning. I put my swim bag in her back seat and got buckled. We began driving and I soon realized that I was the only one that looked like they took a shot of five-hour energy. I sat as quietly as possible in the passenger seat, my leg bouncing up and down with nerves and my fingers woven tightly together. My stomach tied itself into knots as I tried to gather up the courage to finally talk to Amanda. Attempting to make conversation I asked, “So, what is the coach like?” Amanda explained that she wasn’t sure if the new coach was very good because it was his first year. It settled my nerves just a bit, knowing that I wouldn’t be the only person unfamiliar with others on the team. I attempted to relax, but it seemed to be extremely difficult. My job in the passenger seat was to tell Amanda if we were in the other lane. I pursued casual small talk while silently fearing for my life, when I found out that her grandmother bought her an emergency call button for her car. After gaining that knowledge, I had my arm ready to press it at any moment. Amanda’s car had two solid plastic pink balls hanging from her mirror that were completely captivating. We were talking when suddenly the brakes were slammed. My first reaction was to grab the balls for dear life, and hope we don’t crash. I soon realized we were still moving and I slowly cracked open my eyes. I noticed that we had turned, instead of crashing off the side of the highway. My heart was thumping as loud as Jack Lowe on the bass drum.
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