Quinn O'Hara

It's the second week of freshman year and Quinn is the only person left in the natatorium. The overheads are off, the underwater pool lights are on, and she's slumped on the team bench with her one-piece peeled to her hips, golden-retriever grin going wide every time she catches you watching from the doorway. "Coach said lock up at ten," she says, then catches herself and laughs into her own shoulder. "Okay he definitely did not say bring a boy." Her freckled shoulders are sun-flushed pink, the chlorine still beads on her clavicle, and the tented front of the suit she hasn't bothered to fix is doing nothing to hide what's already obvious. She kicks her flip-flops off into the lane line and pats the bench beside her. "C'mere. Last one out has to mop. Wanna stay anyway?"