24 September 2007 | Vol. 7, No. 3

Plunge Bath

by MONICA PACHECO

The day we snuck into the pool, everything changed between them.

We're a product of, what they like to call, 'total institution'; most of our formative years were spent in various sleeping, dining, studying, and relaxation facilities, supervised by quasi-parental housemasters. Ian was my best friend; we slept side by side in the same dormitory. A distance of 0.9 m was supposed to be maintained between us (and any two beds) at all times, but after lights-out we'd sometimes push ours together for a late night game of Risk. Ian's twin sister, Kate, slept in the girls' dormitory, in the house adjacent to ours.

It was Kate's idea to go swimming. Actually, she said it was a surprise, and asked us to follow her out of the refectory during lunch, while the prefects weren't looking.

"Where are we going?" Ian whispered, as the three of us scuttled down the hall.

Kate was between us, linking our arms with hers, pulling us faster and faster, her tiny corduroy-clad legs, spinning frantically.

"You'll see."

Outside the building it was freezing. The blanket of pure, white snow that had covered the school walkways just a few days earlier was partially melted, leaving behind a swamp of brown slush. Sneakers soaked, we slowed down once we got behind the gymnasium.

"Guess what I did yesterday after last period?" Kate said, panting.

Ian and I stood silently with our arms crossed, shivering and staring blankly at each other through clouds of breath. She pointed to a door, further down, on the adjoining building, propped open only slightly.

"It's the pool's back entrance! I had swim class on Friday and wedged a Coke can in the doorway."

"Aw, yes!" Ian kissed her on the cheek.

I sprinted towards the doors, without hesitation; Ian and Kate close behind me, pushing and shoving—propelling me forward. Once at the door, I crept in slowly, excited and relieved to feel the warm, humid air—mingled with the thick smell of chlorine. On the opposite end of the Olympic size pool, was our school motto, painted in large, sweeping, chirographic strokes: Scientia Auget Vires (Knowledge Increases Strength).

"Is anyone else in the building today?" I wondered aloud, suddenly nervous.

"No," Kate shouted from the equipment closet. "I made sure to check the schedule at the front desk yesterday." She was