Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

Dr. Davis is so spectacularly incompetent, I’m never sure whether he’s rooting for the patient or the disease. Mrs. Reyes has been in pain for a long time. She deserves to be treated by someone who’s not mediocre and will take her seriously. Would you agree?”

“Ain’t no party like a Coach Sima party.” Tragically true. Because a Coach Sima party is compulsory.

A pinch of discomfort is well worth the obscene amount of lo mein I’ll stuff inside my face once I’m home. I can be brave. I can be anything for noodles.

I’m starving, but my walk to the athlete dining hall is slow, because I’m busy writing an email to one Dr. Olive Smith.

Plus, with my luck, I’d swipe right on someone who stormed the Capitol and hates routine vaccinations.

“You were born in Lincoln, Nebraska, on August thirty-first. And yes, I did grow up in Stockholm, but my mom was from Skellefteå.” I try to shape my tongue around the name. Instantly give up. “That sounds like…” “Say, ‘A piece of IKEA furniture not even the Swedish king would be able to assemble,’ and I will throw you back into the pool.”

“Confidence is not about being able to do shit, Vandy. Confidence is showing up, and trying, and not giving up because deep in your heart you know who you are and what you’re capable of.”

U GUYS ALREADY HAVE IKEA AND LIVABLE WAGES, LEAVE US SOMETHING