When Keith had first woken up one lazy Sunday morning to the sound of his alarm clock, it had seemed like any other day.
The cool sea blue of his thick, sprawling cotton bedsheets enveloped the frazzle-haired blonde in a warm, all-encompassing embrace as vast as the ocean itself as the red-haired boy gingerly opened his eyes. Right there, in that moment, Keith Bannon was the picture-perfect definition of pure, undistilled comfort. It was so cozy, in fact, that really, he was content to simply let the alarm go off, taking in the semi-melodious sounds of his dad belting out a triumphant ballade to a chaotic cacophony of jazzy tubas and smooth country guitars:
Feeling like a spring breeze,
Feeling like a spring breeze,
Making sure you're lovely,
Lovely, yeah!
It wasn't necessarily a bad song, per se; Keith would never go as far as to say something so blasphemous. But really, at this point, he had heard it so.
many.
damn.
times!
...that he may as well have been born with a permanent implant in his brain playing that tune 24/7. Every day, Keith told himself that eventually, he was going to replace that annoying jingle with some actual music, but there was always something that stopped him from just pulling the plug. After all, his dad had gone out of his way to compose that entire piece just for him, so there was no way he was just going to just...throw it away like some piece of trash. Dad deserved better than that. Besides, finding a new song for would've have been way more work than it was worth, anyway.
...ok, maybe he did find it a little catchy even now.
With that fleeting conflict resolved, his eyes leisurely wandered around his bedroom, as though to take stock of everything that was inside. So far, everything was as is should; that decorative plastic anchor was still hanging above his bed almost perilously from the sloped ceiling by three thin plastic wires; the old, worn-out seaman's chest that he and his dad got at an auction was still neatly tucked away somewhere in the corner next to the canted bay window, which was shaped like an oversized porthole. Even the wallpapers were present and accounted for, sticking true to the nautical theme with their broad, sweeping waves glistening with sea foam, with colorful spackles of red and green fish swimming along the walls.
Eventually, Keith's eyes caught on to the boat-themed calendar hanging right across from his bed. They practically popped out of his head as he saw, right there, emblazoned in bold red marker, the words "SWIM MEET" writtten right over the date March 14th.
The shock that coursed through his body at that moment was indescribable. How could he have forgotten!? Today was supposed to be the first swim meet of the semester, and here he was lazing about like he had all the time in the world!
Well. Technically, the swim meet didn't start in another five hours, so he did have all the time in the world. But that was neither here or there! There was no room for slaking on swim meet days!
With newfound vigor, Kieth leaped straight out of his cozy-blue twin sized bed and landed two feet flat on the white carpet floor. As he rushed straight to his navy-blue "Captain's Wardrobe", a cocky grin had already formed on his freckle-spattered face as he imagined all the ways he was going to crush everyone at the swim meet.
He could hear it now: the awe-struck screams of the crowd going wild as he shot through the water like a bullet, the whoops and cheers of his friends and friends growing louder as he lapped his opponents by the dozens, their mouths gaping in disbelief as they realized they never had a single chance! And then, the guys would be swooning all over him, asking for his phone number, calling him over so that they could-!
The fantasy was abruptly broken as he registered his legs getting tangled in the dark-blue swim trunks he was struggling to put on, his arms failing all about as the redhead fell flat on his back with an unceremonious thud. The pain as dull as it was fleeting, but the embarrassment stung nonetheless.
Good thing dad was off for some convention downtown this morning. Keith didn't think he could handle the idea of him walking in on this, especially when none of the doors in the house had working locks. There was only a padlock and chain to keep the front door secure, and that was good enough as far as dad was concerned. What a cheapskate.
Groaning, Keith pulled his legs up to his face, owlishly looking straight at his swim trucks as they were struggling to make it past his thighs. Now, he really wasn't an expert in spatial recognition, but it looked like that somehow, his swimsuit was too small for him.
Huh.
His facial muscles were strained to their limits as he tried his damnedest to recall: didn't he just buy this thing from the thrift store two days ago? He knew this because the owner had said it once belonged to some old sea captain named Percival, and he bought it on the spot, much to the exaggerated dismay of his dad. Plus, just yesterday he had put it on as a test run, and if anything, it had been too big him, barely being able to hang on to his waist!
Wait a second... if that was the case, then maybe.... Was it possible that he managed to finally get a growth spurt after all this time!?
...that, or it had shrunk in the wash again. He did have a bad habit of setting the heat too high when it was laundry day (something his dad loved teasing him about, much to his con-ten-shion, as dad put it).
There was only one way to find out. With a huff, he pulled him back on the ground and managed to vault him back on his feet with a gymnastic flourish, swim trunks still hanging precipitously by his thighs. After taking a moment to smirk at that feat of athletic prowess, he stretched his arms up as high as he could. He wasn't sure, but staring up, he swore that he could just about touch the ceiling now!
...although, now that he thought about it, maybe that wasn't anything to write home about, considering that the ceiling was sloped downwards, and he was at the lowest point....
As Kieth tried to shimmy his way over to where the higher end of the ceiling, his eyes once more caught onto something that shocked him to his core. This time, it was the height chart that been left long neglected by the closet, still displaying his meager height of 4'0" from when he was 8.
Right. He still had a height chart. Probably should use that instead trying to compare himself to the ceiling.
Before Keith could let himself get too self-conscious about how he somehow managed to miss something that obvious, he rushed over to get to marker that was stuck onto the chart with Velcro. If he recalled correctly, his height right now was around 4'2". If it turned out that he was now taller than that, he'd know for sure that he'd gotten his growth spurt.
And about time, too! He was already starting to get teased at school for lagging behind everyone else. He needed this more than life itself!
As he finished measuring himself with the marker, and turned around towards the height chart eagerly to see just how much he had grown:
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