Glass Waves, Byler

Chapter One: 'Pre-Practice'

Hawkins High had recently gotten a large enough amount of money donated to them to build an indoor swimming pool in the old gymnasium a little ways back in the woods. The building had used to be a notorious smoking spot, until the start of the construction. 

The announcement of the upcoming swimming pool had been made in late May, and now, months later--on the first day of September--it was finally ready to be used.

Will Byers entered the pool building early. He carried with him a bag containing a towel, a pair of goggles, and a change of clothes. 

Even before the school year had started, Will had known that with this new pool, Hawkins High would be, of course, starting up a swim team. Will had also known that he would automatically get a place on the team, whether there were tryouts or not. Because he was--not trying a brag, but--an incredible swimmer.

The boy had started competing when he was ten years old, joining an old team that had been started at the community pool downtown. Everyone had said that he was too joining late to be any good, but after just a few meets, he was already one of the--if not the most--skilled swimmers on the team.

Joyce Byers was ever-so-proud of her son's newfound talent. She praised him and congratulated  him on it whenever she got the chance. Lonnie Byers, however, did the complete opposite--when the entire Byers family would go to Will's meets every Wednesday, he would bring a piece of paper and a pen, and write down everything wrong with his son's performance. Then, after the meet was over, he would sit Will down at the dining room table (as Joyce made a celebratory dessert), and he would tell his son what he'd written down. He would yell at the cold, wet, tired boy until he started sobbing--and then, the next morning, he would drag Will out of bed a 5 a.m, and take him to the pool to 'fix' those flaws, for three (or sometimes more) hours while his mother and brother slept.

Every. Single. Time.

But this cruelty hadn't made Will despise the sport--in fact, he knew he owed his dad every single thing (good and bad) that had come out of swimming. Making a new friend--Dustin Henderson--while doing meet warm-ups in middle school; one time winning every single championship heat he had (when he was only 12 years old! After that, whenever anyone found out they were going up against Will Byers, they would shiver with fear. At least--that's what Joyce said.); competing, at 13 (and a half!) in a race that won him nearly a hundred dollars (his dad was really happy about that. Will never saw the cash again, though. He wasn't sure why, but his mom and dad fought later, seemingly about its sudden disappearance. He blamed himself.); and, though he didn't know it yet--

Swimming was also about to lead him to Mike Wheeler.

**

The water, once Will had gotten in, was cold and fast, running beneath him. The pool floor made out of a rough white concrete, the lanes were already set up. It smelt like window-cleaner and chlorine, early morning light reflecting off the water in a soft golden glow. 

Will swam a few laps silently, undisturbed and seemingly unaware of the fact that, after what must've been his fifth or sixth lap, the swim team coach walked in.

A muscular man he was, with a broad build, a square jaw, and far-apart eyes. His skin was practically wrinkle-less, but when he spoke, his voice rumbled with an old, slightly sleepy quality.

"Well--I'll be damned. William Byers, is that you?"

Will hadn't noticed the man until now, too lost in the soft, magnetic rhythm of the water as it beat against him, cool and calming. But once he realized he wasn't alone, he froze, in the middle of the lane, face flushing red.

"I'm your new coach," the older man said, walking towards the diving block in front of Will's lane. He smiled, a toothy, wide smile, showing a single silver tooth a little ways back in his mouth. "My name's Joseph Howards--but you can call me Joe."

Will tried to return the smile, but his face already stung slightly from the chlorine, and his goggles only made it more difficult. He allowed his expression to drop for a moment, as he reached up to remove them.

"Hi," he finally said, wrapping his goggles around his wrist and swimming slowly back towards the shallow end. "I'm Will."

Joe chuckled, a warm and lucid sort of sound--Will couldn't help but relax a little, knowing now that he wouldn't be in any sort of trouble for arriving early.

"I've heard of you before, Will. They say you're a pretty great swimmer--I can see now that they're right."

Will's smile now was completely natural. "Thanks," he beamed.

"No problem. You're a little early, you know. Not that there's anything wrong with that--" Whew. "--but it's interesting. Most kids are late, if anything." Joe had been leaning on one of the diving blocks, but now stood up straight, turning his back to Will.

"I brought some things for the practice today--I'm gonna go get them, if you don't mind. I'll be back," he said, then disappeared through a door Will hadn't noticed before, leaving him alone again.

For a moment, as Joe had been talking, Will had felt the knot of nerves in his stomach begin to loosen. But now, eyes flickering to the clock, he realized that there were only five--or less--minutes until the rest of the swim team members would be arriving.

It was at that thought exactly that the door from which Will had first entered the pool building slammed open, the noise echoing throughout the nearly-empty space. A mess of black curls could be seen bobbing up and down, frozen in the doorway, face hidden from view by the bleachers that were leaned up against the wall.

Will's fingers dropped to fumble with the hem of his swim trucks, a nervous habit of his that sometimes resulted in the tearing of his clothes. He glanced at the door that Joe had disappeared through, praying that the cheery man would come walking back into the room, sparing him from any sort of awkward 'introduction.' 

The curly-haired head was now beginning to move, Will noticed. He swallowed hard. Maybe, he could just go underwater and begin swimming--pretending he hadn't seen whoever it was that was coming in.

Too late. The person stepped out from the side of the bleachers, and Will could feel his stomach drop. He worried that he was going to throw up.

Because, standing there on the slick white-tiled floor, hands clutching what must've been a swim bag, was none other than Mike Wheeler--a loud-mouthed, mouth-breathing, insanely obnoxious boy who just so happened to be staring right at Will.

...God, this was going to be a nightmare.

**