The pool's packed with a bunch of guys when Fish finally drags me through the double doors, into the Fish Bowl, where everyone can see me in all my depressed glory.

We called it the Fish Bowl because Coach Freeman went off on anyone who referred to it as a gym instead of a natatorium, but no one wanted to sound like an ass by calling it the natatorium, so we called it the Fish Bowl or the Shark Tank depending on who was swimming that day. 

"Hey, look who decided to show up!" One of the guys shouts from the water. "Practice is almost over, genius! You missed all the good stuff! "

"Yeah, like what?" I shoot back, "Did you nearly drown again?"

"Tennyson!"

Oh, shit.

I turn around just in time to see Coach Freeman charging towards me and Fish, his face the color of a boiled tomato beneath his trademark blue baseball cap. He was carrying his usual clipboard and whistle, and looked pissed off as hell.

Fish's eyes round a little, and then he makes a cut throat motion across his neck and points at me.

"Yeah! Freeman's going to slaughter me! " I hiss at him, "I don't need you to give me a visual!" 

"Practice started an hour ago, Tennyson!" Coach Freeman screams once he reaches us, spittle flying from his lips. "Where the hell were you? This is the second time you've skipped practice. Do you want to be on this team or not? "

"I--er..." I sputter for a response, and any justification that I had thought up in my head for missing practice just vanishes in an instant. There was no lie I could tell this man to keep him from ripping off my head and using it as a pool float for the first graders that came to swim.

"Your grades have also been falling," Freeman continues his tirade, "What's going on, Carter?"

Fish suddenly steps in when he hands Freeman a pink Post-It note.

"Carter's your tour guide?" Freeman grunts, and then he glances up at Fish, then over to me. 

Fish bobs his head, smiles, and it's like a switch is flipped on Coach Freeman's temper. 

The old man brightens in an instant, and he lowers his clipboard, "Well, why didn't you say so!?" He exclaims,  "If Carter's helping you out, I don't see a problem with that. Especially since you're one of the best swimmers on our team. Even faster than Carter, if I might add. "

"Coach Freeman!" I gasp in horror, my jaw dropping.

"You should have seen him at practice, Carter," Freeman exclaims, "Fastest little dude I've ever seen in the water, looked almost like a sealion. Now, hurry up and go get changed. I want you to do as many laps as you can until practice is over! Right now, Tennyson! " He blows his whistle shrilly, and I run for the showers, but not before glancing over at the new golden boy of the team.

Fish shoots me a smug little smile, his ocean blue eyes narrowing a little. 

The bastard.

I slam into the locker room, hot and blushing from Coach's lecture. He was right about my grades, I had let myself slip ever since dating Creed. And I had been spending more and more time near the ocean instead of actually showing up to class. But how could Fish be better than me at swimming when I had been doing it for so long?

"Alright, Carter..." I whisper to myself as I open my locker door to grab my swim trunks, "You can handle this. Don't let some new guy show you up out there. "

I grab my shorts, turn around, and see Monty Gray, glorious captain of the swim team, standing there.

A short scream bursts from my lips before I can stop myself, and he lunges forward, slapping a hand over my mouth. My back hits the cold lockers and I jerk slightly against the sensation, my hands coming up to hold onto his wrists.

"Alright," Monty whispers, "What's the new kid on?" He demands. 

"Mmf?" I muffle, unsure of just who the hell he's talking about. 

"You know who!" Monty growls, "I'm talking about Fish! What kind of drugs is he taking? Did someone give him a pack of 'roids before he showed up to practice today? "

I slap Monty's hand away from my face. "What the hell are you talking about?" I demand, "Fish isn't taking steroids. Have you seen the guy? He weighs half of what we weigh combined. "

"No, dude." Monty replies, his voice grim. "This was something else. I just saw something I've never seen before, and I've seen a lot of shit. Why don't you look for yourself? I recorded the whole thing."

"This Fish kid isn't normal, Carter," Monty tells me. "This is some Michael Phelps shit right here."

The video ends right when Fish pops his head up out of the water and turns to face Monty's camera.

And I knew then that this guy wasn't human.

Maybe Anderson Crick was right. Maybe Fish really was from the ocean.