He asked her what type of animal she'd most like to be. Without hesitation, she replied, "An auk." He wrinkled his nose, confused and dismissive, skating over her answer to answer his question himself. "I'd be a lion," he said. "King of the jungle." They sat in silence, on the edge of the concrete wall that bordered the parking lot outside the youth center. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and a single drop slid down her temple. He jumped down and began to dribble the basketball, every so often tossing it against the wall and scrambling to catch it as it bounced back. She sat and stared, seeing not the cracked asphalt and peeling paint, but instead the glistening of the sun on the surface of the sea, imagining the salt spray and the whoosh as she, wings spread auk-like, dove down to catch a single gleaming silver fish. In that moment, she could both fly and swim. She wasn't too thick for the desks at school, too heavy to jump rope, too rounded to wear a stringed bikini. She was no longer the only girl she knew who couldn't swim, the only one who wore a bulky orange lifejacket when in girl scouts they'd practiced paddling a canoe in the deep end of the city pool. As an auk, she was sleek and beautiful, diving down and down into the glass green sea, finally in just the right body to be wild, to be free.