She gets the towel

Sophia lunged.

There was no other move left. The class was already laughing. Someone was filming. The locker rooms were behind a wall of bodies and there was no world in which she asked them to let her back through so she could look for clothes. She dropped both hands and went for the towel. Her tits swung free. Her pussy was right there at the pool edge, wet and obvious, in front of twenty people who went up in a shout. Emma yelped, thrilled, and this time she did not pull away. The sodden fabric hit Sophia's palms. She dragged it in so hard it slapped cold across her nipples.

"Okay, okay! You earned it!" Emma said, laughing, as if Sophia had won something.

Sophia did not answer. She wrapped the towel around her torso and tucked it with shaking fingers. It clung. It was too small for her hips. The bottom edge sat high on her thighs and gaped when she breathed. Anyone looking would still see she had nothing on underneath. She did not care. It was the only cover she was going to get, and she had to leave now, while they were still treating it like a joke instead of coming closer.

She turned for the doors. The sports class did not part. They were still looking at her like the towel was a punchline. She had to shove a shoulder, then a gym bag, then a girl who said, not quietly, that it was a waste to cover up now. A phone followed her face. Another followed the place where the towel failed to meet. Sophia kept moving. If she stopped she would have to talk, and talking would mean standing there.

Emma called after her, bright, "You were perfect!" The automatic doors were too slow. Sophia stood in the opening for a second, wrapped, barefoot, with the whole deck behind her, and then she was in the parking lot.

Bright. Wet. Public. A few of them had come as far as the glass. One boy actually stepped outside, still laughing, and that decided it. She could not cut back to the entrance. She could not wait for them to get bored. She ran.

The towel slipped at once. She clutched it to her chest and felt cold air on her ass, then yanked it down and felt it slide off one breast. She kept having to choose. Between the cars she was a blur of red terry and skin. At the edge of the lot she had to cross the open stretch to the road, and there was no way to do it without the people on the pavement seeing a barefoot girl in a badly wrapped towel, thighs flashing, still dripping from the pool.

A car honked. She did not look. She hit the park at a run because stopping in the road would have been worse. The sun was out. People on the grass turned. The towel was not enough, not at that speed, not with her wide hips and the way it kept riding up. She heard her name once, maybe twice, from somewhere she refused to check. She did not take the bushes. She did not look for a longer way. Home was a straight humiliating line and she took it, clutching the towel, until her key was in her own door and the lock turned.

Inside, she sat on the bed and kept it on. Taking it off would have put her back on the tiles. She could still hear them laughing when she grabbed it. She could still feel the gap she had had to push through. She had gotten the towel. She had still had to run.

God knows how many people had seen her today. This time, they had seen her leave.