Skin and Water
Copyright© 2025 by Danielle Stories
Chapter 7: The Pact
The following week was a blur of skin, water, and a strange, new normal. Practices were no longer about ignoring our nakedness, but about embracing the sensation of the water against every inch of us. We were getting faster. The lack of drag was undeniable, a physical fact that began to overshadow the psychological hurdle. We were becoming athletes in our most elemental form.
The initial, paralyzing self-consciousness began to recede, replaced by a fierce, protective focus. We stopped seeing each other as naked girls and started seeing each other as muscles, technique, and drive. Allan’s powerful shoulders, Symone’s flawless kick, my own reach—these were the things that mattered. The rest was just ... packaging.
One afternoon, as we were finishing a brutal set of intervals, Coach Evans called us to the side of the pool. We climbed out, dripping, and stood before her, our breathing the only sound.
“The State Junior Finals are in four days,” she began, her voice serious. “I’ve received the final participant package. I need you all to understand something.” She paused, letting her gaze sweep over us. “All of the school districts that will be competing against us ... will all be clothed.”
A collective wave of disappointment washed over us. It was a letdown I hadn’t anticipated. We had started to think of this as our new reality, our strange, hard-won strength. The idea of being the only ones—a spectacle for a clothed world—sent a fresh chill through me. We would be freaks again, not pioneers.
“I know,” Coach said, seeing our faces fall. “It’s not fair. It’s going to be a challenge.”
Just then, the natatorium door opened. In the field, the Wilson Senior High varsity female team. They walked onto the deck, a silent, solemn procession of confident, unadorned bodies, and formed a line behind Coach Evans. Their support was a physical presence, a wall of solidarity.
Wilson Byrd stepped forward. She looked older than her seventeen years, her expression serene and resolute.
“We heard,” she said, her voice clear and carrying. “And we’re here.” She looked at each of us in turn. “What you’re feeling now, we felt it before our first meeting. The fear of being the only ones. But listen to me. What you are doing is bigger than a race.”
She took a deep breath. “After our last practice before our first naked meet, we made a pact. It was the last time any of us would adorn clothing at the high school, or for most of us, at home.”
A stunned silence greeted her words. No clothing? At all? My mind reeled. At school? In the cafeteria? At home?
“This is our protest,” Naomi Wyatt added, stepping up beside Wilson. “This is our power. We are reclaiming our bodies from their rules, their money, their shame. We are forcing them to see us, not as objects, but as a consequence of their decision. We are making it normal, on our terms.”
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