October (2 months since leaving Texas)
Whatever I did to piss Jeremy off this time, it’s really bad. The kind of bad where I walk into a room and he stops talking, and if we’re working alongside each other, his eyes slide over me like I’m invisible. I thought maybe we’d start getting along more after I helped him out with his flips, but that one small step forward has been erased by a giant step back.
I don’t get it. So I don’t give a damn about competing—and that makes me the bad guy?
It was humiliating too. Jeremy got up on that platform and read me the riot act, and after, I had to face Andrey’s disappointment and the disdain of the new girl, Valerie.
Over the next couple of weeks, my humiliation simmers and slowly turns into anger. I’m angry at Jeremy because he’s fucking gorgeous and talented and cruel and people like him remind me of my parents and the people I associated with back before they cut me out of their lives. And I’m angry at Andrey and Valerie too, because they’re treating me like a leper as well.
No, that’s not fair. Andrey still trains me exactly the same as before, and he’s endlessly patient. But now I can see that he’s upset when I slack off, or when I don’t take an exercise as seriously as the others.
And Valerie . . . I don’t know what to think about her. She ignores me for days, sticking close to Jeremy, and then one day a switch flips and she’s talking to me like we’re friends.
She finds me before our afternoon practice two weeks after my disappointing show on the springboard. I got to the natatorium early, because it’s chilly outside and the library is packed with people studying, but here I can do my reading for my sociology class without interruption.
“You shouldn’t let him get to you.”
I glance up from my textbook. “Thank you, Valerie, for that helpful bit of advice.” If I’m being rude, it’s only because I’m learning fast that politeness doesn’t work here.
She flashes a small grin. “You can call me Val.” She folds her arms and watches me for a second. “But I’m serious. Jeremy can be an asshole, and god knows he’s terrible when dealing with other people.”
“I thought you two were BFFs.”
Val’s eyebrows furrow for a second while she works that out. “Oh. Best friends. We are. When you spend thirty hours a week practicing, and traveling around the world to compete, it’s not easy to make friends, and Jeremy and I have known each other for a decade. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how big a jerk he can be.”
“Understatement.”
That gets a laugh. “But he’s not wrong, you know.”
I set my book down. I really enjoy my sociology classes; someday I think I might like to be a social worker, help out kids whose families kick them out. So I’m frustrated by the interruption, by Jeremy’s friend pointing out that he’s right.
“Why does it matter if I don’t want to win? I like diving. It’s fun, it’s good exercise. The school gave me a scholarship to come up here and dive, and that’s about all I care about. He is wrong . . . it’s not solely about competitions.”
Val’s arms drop to her sides. “Do you know who Andrey is?”
I shake my head. “A coach with the university?”
“He doesn’t work for the university. At least, not directly. Andrey works with Jeremy, and only Jeremy . . . until now, when he works with us too. Before this, he’d retired from coaching after leading the Russians to victory at the Olympics four times.”
“Okay, so he’s a big deal. And?”
“And he’s taken you on. Andrey came out of retirement because he thought Jeremy had a genuine shot at winning gold at the Olympics. And he’s taken you on because he saw something in you . . . something that said you might be just as good.”
The Olympics? Yeah, okay, I get that those are important. And knowing that Jeremy is good enough to compete . . . that Andrey wants me to train alongside an Olympic-level athlete, that’s huge.
Val must see my shock on my face, because she nods. “Maybe now you’ll get it when Jeremy says that this is a competition.” She tucks her hands into the pockets of her sweats. “Maybe you don’t care about winning, but you’ve been given a unique opportunity here. Stop treating this like it’s just a game.”
She leaves me to my homework, but I’m too wrapped up in processing her words to focus on the pages before me anymore.
It never occurred to me that this might matter.
Watching Jeremy is the best type of research, because he’s so damn pretty. Also, he gets this look on his face when he catches me watching him, a wrinkle of the nose that says he’s not thrilled by the observation, and a flash of heat in his eyes that says exactly the opposite.
So of course I start paying more attention to him.
And not just to his facial features and muscles, although let’s be honest: they’re worth noticing. He has the kind of pale skin that probably turns bright red the second he walks out into the sun, and blond hair that sticks up at all angles because he never combs it after he finishes diving. And his eyes are the most ridiculous shade of brown. Not like boring, dark brown, but this light color that reminds me of milk chocolate.
Yeah, I have a crush. So sue me.
But I also study him when he’s diving or working out. Val’s words have me thinking about what it means to win, but also what goes into winning, and it’s clear that Jeremy is in it to win it. He never slacks off during practice, ever. Even when he finishes an exercise early, he just finds something else to do until Andrey says we’re done for the day.
I actually envy his focus; when Jeremy’s in the zone, it’s obvious that nothing else matters.
Now that I know to look for it, I can see that Jeremy is Olympic quality. I sneak into the pool to watch one of his ten-meter training sessions with Andrey, and he’s incredible.
So I up my game. Winning isn’t in the cards, but Val said I could learn from this chance to train with Andrey, so I buckle down and start listening. At the very least, maybe I can learn some cool tricks, and training along the best in the sport is pretty damn exciting. And I take Jeremy’s advice from that day on the springboard, and start breaking each dive apart into multiple steps.
Toes on the edge of the platform, heels hanging over into the air. Body poised, arms out to the side. Inhale. Then rapid-fire: arms to my side, knees bend, push, and twist. Depending on the dive, I have to move a very specific way, so I visualize the dive ahead of time from start to finish, figure out how to twist my body in the free position—with one hand over my head and the other against my chest—or piked with my legs straight out and pointed, my chest folded down to meet them.
The first time I see approval on Andrey’s face, I get a little rush.
But no matter what I do, I can’t get even a glimmer of positive feedback from Jeremy. He’s definitely paying attention; he watches me working with Andrey during our one-on-one practices in the pool, his head tilted to the side like he’s seeing something. But then he gets this pinched frown on his face and looks away.
It’s worse whenever I relax. I work hard whenever I’m on the mats or at the pool. I do my weight training and cardio without complaint. But if I even think about giving less than one hundred percent, I get that I’m disappointed in you frown from Jeremy and Andrey.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to forget how to have fun, though.
“You can’t be serious every second of the day,” I tell Val one afternoon, grinning.
Since our little talk, she’s been more open with me. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but . . . we’re friendly. She ate lunch with me once, and told me a bit about how she graduated this past summer, how she’s been diving since she was a kid. The stories she has from past competitions are pretty hilarious, actually, and it’s a relief to know that there’s a human being under the diving machine.
“We have to train.”
“Yeah, but not for another half hour.” We’re both early; her because a storm is rolling in and she didn’t want to be caught in it, and me because my classes ended early and going back to my shoebox dorm room was too depressing to contemplate. “You know what we should do?”
She smiles. “What?”
“Diving board contest.”
Val’s raised eyebrow makes it clear that she has no idea what that is, so I explain the rules: we have to run and jump off the springboard at the same time. Whoever gets the most air and the biggest splash wins.
“The springboards aren’t toys,” she says.
They’re totally toys. Holy crap those things are fun. If I didn’t love the adrenaline rush I get from the ten-meter so much, I’d be happy to dive springboard instead. “It’s gonna be awesome.”
She wavers.
“Come on. Consider it practice to see how much air you can get on the springboard when you really try. It’s . . . scientific research.”
She laughs, and I know I’ve won.
And while I have way more practice at making a splash, Val’s a quick learner. She also fights dirty; I didn’t even think about adjusting the fulcrum on the board to make it more springy, but she does and kicks my butt in the second round.
Unfortunately, Jeremy walks in after our third round. He stands at the side of the pool, face like a thundercloud. When Val catches sight of him, she smiles easily and pulls herself out of the pool, her relaxed posture vanishing. Val doesn’t seem ashamed at being caught, but it’s obvious that Jeremy’s appearance marks an end to the fun. Time to be serious.
I give Jeremy a smile too, and wipe myself down with a shammy. They’re little microfiber towels, which means they absorb tons of water, and then you can wring them out and they’re completely dry again. Seriously, divers have the best toys.
Jeremy doesn’t return the smile. “Andrey wants to see us before we start practice,” he says, practically snarling the words.
Woah.
He storms off before I can try to defend myself, and I follow behind, drying myself off, and putting as much distance between us as possible. I know Val explained why Jeremy’s so serious, but I’ve been working harder, and I hate that relaxing for even a few minutes is so terrible in his eyes. I bet Jeremy would still be just as talented if he’d take that stick out of his ass.
I have no idea what Jeremy’s issues are with me, but I’m determined to find out.