My heart races against the clock. As 17:59 becomes 18:00, it looks like the word ‘Boo.’ Mum says a swear-word and I jump. My swimming lesson starts now but we haven’t even parked the car.
On the radio, the newsreader says an asteroid will narrowly miss Earth tonight. I picture myself riding it, flames shooting behind me, and diving into the pool just in time.
Mum stops the car so suddenly that I jolt forward. ‘Jump out here, Thomas!’
My bag is wedged in the space in front of my seat. I tug while another clock inside my head counts down until Mum explodes. Beside me, she inflates like a balloon. Three, two, one…
‘Thomas!’
The bag breaks free, and my water-bottle tumbles out with a clunk. I scramble out of the car and leave it rolling around in the footwell. The door catches on the seatbelt, only half-clicking shut. I can hear Mum’s anger in the slam of the door behind me as I run, bag slapping my legs.
If the edge of the pool wasn’t digging into the backs of my knees, I wouldn’t know where the water ends and the air begins. The oxygen is thick with chlorine. How am I so thirsty in a liquid room? I picture my bottle leaking in the car and tears well in my eyes.
On the wall, the pace-clock whizzes round and round. My swimming hat is squeezing my head so tightly it aches. Muffled sounds bounce off the walls. I wish it would all stop.
‘Go!’ My coach’s voice cuts through the noise. Water splashes me from either side as everyone else jumps in.
I plunge in after them, a cool stillness washing over me, and slowly drift along.
‘Thomas! Thomas!’ they chant when I reach the other side of the pool. I didn’t realise it was a race. I’m last. The pace-clock wags its red finger at me.
Later, in the bath, I dip my head under water to drown out my parents’ voices.
‘Hurry, Thomas! It’s bedtime!’
There are no clocks ticking here. Silence.
Until a loud boom rips through my watery shell.
I sit up, the bath water rippling. Soft sounds swell in the darkness like bubbles. Mum sobbing, Dad whispering. They come into the bathroom and Mum’s carrying a candle, the tears on her cheeks sparkling in the flickering light. Dad wraps a towel around me. I breathe in the scent of washing powder but it’s mixed with the smoky air, filling me with fear.
‘It’s a solar eclipse,’ says Mum in a shaky voice. ‘People are having fireworks.’
Mum and Dad sit on the edge of my bed and give me a pill to help me sleep. I’ll wake when the sun does.
Closing my eyes, I tune into the tick-tock of the clock. It’s like being under water. Time slows until the tick-tock stops and I’m a fish, floating.
A distant light glows. With a flick of my tail, I swim towards it.
