Although I was exhausted, I couldn't sleep that night. Instead, I stared at the ceiling, studying the texture of the paint and memorised every remain of double sided tape from the glow in the dark stars I had hung up as a kid. Eventually, I craned my neck towards the clock and looked at the glowing numbers on the digital screen. It was just past five in the morning and I was sick of being engulfed by my own thoughts that I finally threw back the covers, pulled a hoodie on and snuck out of the house to go for a run.

I didn't know where I was going, I just knew why: I needed to get out of the house, get some fresh air and get the blood circulating. With my earbuds in and a loud album selected, I hit the road and kept running. There was no particular direction I decided on, I just forced one foot in front of the other; enjoying the delicious burn in my muscles, the sharp inhale of the crisp summer morning air, the way my lungs squeezed in suffocation and the adrenaline that inspired me to keep moving. It was a distraction. The demanding pain was forcing me to concentrate on the physical pain, rather than the mental headache.

But eventually, every engine runs out of steam. Since I had skipped dinner and I hadn't had a chance to have breakfast yet, I went on a Macca's run. The twenty-four hour fast food joint was a couple blocks down the road and the idea of food gave me enough motivation to keep running until I saw the magnificent, glowing sign.

I entered the place breathlessly and searched my pockets for money. I was just short of twelve dollars in coins, but I had enough for brekkie. The place was pretty much deserted, other than a really stressed and caffeine-addicted business woman, who I swear had twitchy-eyes. So while I waited for her to make her order, I enjoyed the sweet aroma of greasy food and strong coffee.

When it was my turn to step up to the register, I asked for a take-away sausage and egg McMuffin, paid and walked away with my breakfast. I had already scoffed the hash brown by the time I exited the parking lot and had already unwrapped my muffin. I slowed my pace to a walk as I ate and kept my earphones dangling from my shirt to keep my ears alert from the early morning traffic that was starting to build.

The shortest way home was to cut through the road where the pool was. Although I didn't want to go within a hundred metre radius of the place, the temptation to go back home and sleep until late afternoon overruled my reluctance. So, I crossed the street and was on my way. The closer I neared the aquatic centre, the more I wanted to turn around and just go the long way. A tightening knot formed in my stomach as I approached but I weakly convinced myself it was the oily breakfast even though I knew better.

Eventually, I figured I was being a wimp. I mean, no one would be at the pool at six in the morning and Dean probably forgot he even offered me a job, judging from how messy his desk was proved he was an unorganised person. With this new state of mind, I walked towards the pool with a new confidence. I even paused at the locked gates of the pool, eating my breakfast and confirmed that my philosophy was correct: the place was empty, not even Dean had showed. That earned a big, broad smirk.

"Oi, you're early."

There was this moment of holy-crap-some-asshole-just-scared-the-absolute-hell-out-of-me, then the realisation of Jesus-Christ-I-nearly-crapped-my-pants until I finally turned around and saw Dean sitting in his sleek, black SUV. He had rolled down the window and leaned across to the passenger's side to get a good look at me with his evil eyes.

And it was because of his evil eyes that I didn't have the guts to correct him, to tell him that he had been mistaken and I was just passing. Instead, I puffed out my chest, beefed myself up and went, "More like, you're late."

And honestly, I had no idea if he was or not. I suddenly wished I had a spontaneous heart attack to remove myself from my utter humiliation. But to my surprise, Dean looked at his dashboard, and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm going to ignore the impulsive outburst of testosterone and pretend you did not just purposely puff out like a peacock. I'm going to go park my car and when I come back, you better be... I don't know. Normal?"

Before I could open my mouth and snap out a smart retort, he was already circling his way back to the staff car park. I took another bite of my breakfast burger just as Dean approached, cocking his head to the side for me to follow. When arrived at his side, he had already unlocked one of the buildings. I pushed in after him, awkwardly standing in the corner of his office and out of the way.

Just as I was about to finish the rest of my breakfast, Dean reached over and snatched it in his hand. He held it like it was a nappy and drew his eyebrows together.

"Tell me, kid, what the hell you are feeding yourself."

I gave him a look. "My name is Holden, not 'kid'. And I went for a Macca's run."

            "Well, I hope you enjoyed it," Dean answered, tossing the remains of my food into the bin. "Because that's the last time you eat that crap."

I stared at him wide-eyed. For some reason, I couldn't comprehend that he had just threw away my breakfast. I suddenly felt like a little kid whose ice-cream fell onto the floor, disappointment and anger flooding through me. I stared at the bin for what seemed like eternity before I turned back to Dean and scowled.

"Dude, what the hell?" I pointed at the bin in obvious speechlessness.

Rather than replying, he plucked the Styrofoam cup from my hands, popped the lid off and started drinking my coffee. While I stood there, gawking at him in disbelief, he raised his eyebrows at me.

"Well, get undressed and jump in the pool."

"What?"

"Seriously, kid, I think all the grease from your breakfast has absorbed into your brain. You're here to train, so hit the locker rooms and meet me by the pool."

I faltered. "I didn't bring any swimming gear."

"You're kidding." It was a statement, rather than a question.

Awkwardly, I answered, "Nope."

Dean tucked his hand beneath his bicep and held the coffee to his lips. Casually, he leaned against his messy desk and crossed one foot over the other. Then, he tilted his head to the side at a rack sitting in the corner. At first, I didn't understand, but when I stared at it for longer, I realised what it was: Lost and Found.

"No way," I said, shoving my hands in my pockets and planting my feet firmly to the floor. "I could get some kind of disease or something."

Dean looked to the ground, shaking his head as he tried to compose himself before laughing. When he looked up at me, he smiled. Then, he leaned back against his desk, opened a drawer and tossed me a plastic package. I caught it before it hit the ground. Inside, sat a neatly folded pair of untouched speedos. As I tore open the packet and held them up, I realised they were untouched because [a] They looked extremely tight and [b] They were the most unflattering shade of yellow.

"I'm not wearing these," I announced, holding it up in disgrace.

"Why not?" His tone suggested a struggle in compressing his laughter.

"Because," I said at a loss for words. Then, because I couldn't come up with anything else  I added, "They're freaking ugly."

"So?" he answered, in a more serious tone. "Get your ass in the locker rooms and put them on. No one is going to see you until the pool officially opens at nine."

Dean used his famous glare -one that probably took years to perfect- and before I knew it, I was heading towards the change rooms. As always, the men's room was cold and damp, the familiar, yet still unidentifiable musky aroma clinging to the stale air.

As I had predicted, the speedos were tight and against my skin tone, made me look extremely washed out of colour. Looking at my reflection, I instantly felt like dying of humiliation because [a] I looked like a banana, [b] A glow in the dark banana and [c] A glow in the dark banana with a massive wedgie.

But like any teenager, faking nonchalance was the only way out of the mess I had gotten myself into. So, squaring my shoulders and keeping my head up, I walked out, trying extremely hard not to think about the fact that I looked like a banana in a mankini. 

Dean looked like he'd turn purple from holding in his laughter. So I scowled and snapped, "Is this really necessary?"

"Well," Dean said, his words cracking from his chuckles, "you couldn't train with what you were wearing. Clothed swimming doesn't come until later."

"But I look ridiculous," I muttered.

He couldn't keep his composure at that point. Dean bent over and let out a howl of laughter. "That isn't my fault, is it? Rule one of being a lifeguard: Always be prepared. Now get in the water and give me a hundred metres breaststroke!"

A sharp blow of his whistle had me diving into the water.

The dictionary definition of pain couldn't even come close to describe how I felt when I finally came home. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest as I groggily climbed up the stairs, feeling like they had been ignited and were still burning. My bones felt like they had disintegrated into ash and my stomach had a repetitive stabbing sensation from all the exercise.

"Holden?" Beth called.

I was half way up the stairs by the time she called me. I was too tired to climb up the rest but I couldn't be bothered to walk back down, so I hovered within the middle and weakly mumbled, "Yeah?"

"Was that you I heard come in?" she asked, voice still coming from the kitchen.

"Yeah."

When she appeared, she was wiping her hands on a tea towel and when she saw me, she acted as if I had Rabies. Hesitantly, Beth made a move to step back, but changed her mind and shifted her weight forward.

"You look tired, honey," she said, softly and carefully, as if I might self-destruct if she arranged her words wrong. "Come on, I'll fix you something up in the kitchen."

Honestly, I would have been quite content just dropping onto the stairs and sleeping, but when I was really tired, I found I missed my mum more. And it was times like this where I, was craving motherly affection. It was something I hated to admit, even to myself so I kept it bottled unless in times of desperation. This was one of these times. So, like a child, I forced myself to slowly move into the kitchen. When I dropped into a chair, Beth tossed an unopened bag of Doritos and fixed me up with a bottle of Jace's Gatorade.

"Don't tell him," she said, winking, like she had just hooked me up with weed.

I couldn't help but smile at Beth's attempt to make me feel better, but I had a feeling that triangle cheese-flavoured corn chips weren't going to make the cut. I mean, don't get me wrong; Beth was a legit step-mum, but there were only certain limitations her affection could breach before it became completely weird. Most of the time, she pretended that we were completely normal, but when it came down to her parental instincts and myself, things got a hell of a lot awkward.

It was one of those moments.

Beth was at the sink, drying glasses with the towel, expertly swiping them clean like a bartender, a distant look in her hazel eyes. But her posture was tense, expression uncomfortable and eventually, she placed everything down, turned to me and I discovered why.

"Are you on drugs?"

I nearly choked on my Gatorade. I placed the bottle down and swiped my tongue over my top lip. "No."

"I don't know whether to tell your dad about this or not. Should I come up with a punishment myself?" She seemed to be talking to herself, looking stressed as she rubbed her temples. "Or maybe I should let this slide. I mean, what teenager hasn't done drugs these days?" She chewed her bottom lip.

"I'm not on drugs," I assured her. "I went for a run this morning."

I didn't exactly want to tell Beth about the whole lifeguard gig. There were multiple reasons, but the main three were [1] She'd make a huge deal over it and tell Dad, and [2] They'd find out how I was offered the job and I didn't want anyone knowing about the incident with Flo. 

Beth seemed sceptical to my answer, but figured it'd be best if she just accepted it. "Okay."

She returned to absentmindedly scrubbing the dishes just as Tess walked in, still stressed in her pyjamas. She sleepily shuffled towards the fridge, took out the orange juice and drank it right out of the carton.

"Tess," Beth scowled, whipping her with the towel.

Tess just looked at her mother with sleepy eyes and smacked her lips together. "What? It's almost empty."

She shook the carton as evidence so her mother could hear the faint sloshing of the remains of the juice. When she finished drinking, she tossed the container into the bin. Noticing the untouched bag of Doritos in front of me, she reached over the counter and grabbed them. It took her a moment, but she finally registered that I was sitting there.

"Holden," she said, mouth filled as she punched me in the shoulder. "You look bloody awful."

"Thanks," I answered, grinning, "you too."

Tess flipped a piece of untamed hair behind her shoulder in emphasis and dropped into the chair next to me. "So...did you...do it?"

She really sucked at being subtle. Beth looked like she wanted to pass out and I was pretty sure if she held the plate in her hands any tighter, it'd snap. Tess seemed oblivious to her suggestive use of vocabulary and due to her lack of knowledge of my previous conversation with her mother; I was now being accused of drugs and sex.

Beth couldn't take it any longer. She dropped the towel, placed down the plate and leaned against the counter. "Tess, you'd tell me if Holden was doing drugs, right?"

"No," Tess snorted. Then she sobered up, turned to me and went, "Wait, are you doing drugs? Because if you are, why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm not on drugs."

The conversation seemed to drone on, responses flicking back and forth across the table. At some point, I tuned out and went to my room with a headache. There was way too much talking for me to handle in the morning.