Late July (13 months until the Olympics)
The World Championships are intense on a level unlike anything else. It’s not just a diving competition: it’s the biggest international aquatics contest on earth, apart from the Olympics. They only come up every two years, and thousands of athletes descend to compete in swimming, water polo, diving, and more.
Frankfurt is buzzing when we check into our hotel. The various contests have been underway for a week now, but there was no point in us coming any earlier since the diving events are grouped into the middle of the second week. It looks like the other divers had the same thoughts as us: I hold a hand up in greeting to a couple of Mexican springboard divers that I recognize, and Val grins when she spots some people she knows.
My hotel room feels too big and too cold when I check in. I unpack methodically, and set my laptop up on the desk. It only takes me a second to realize that it’s too quiet.
Somehow, I’ve gotten used to noise and movement around me.
Brandon came over last night to wish me luck and say good-bye. He didn’t seem sad, just . . . resigned. But I could also see a little bit of determination behind his eyes, like he didn’t want to be left behind again, and he’d work hard to be ready to compete with us in the future.
We lay side by side on my bed for an hour, barely touching as I told Brandon about the injury that ended my chances to compete in the last Olympic games. Even though it was years ago, I can still remember the ache in my shoulder from the torn muscle, and the crushing disappointment when my former coach sat me down and told me it wasn’t going to happen this time. Brandon was quiet when I was talking, but after I finished, he leaned forward just enough to kiss me softly. It made the memory less painful.
Now that I’m thinking about Brandon, I want to Skype him immediately. But it’s the middle of the night in Ohio and I don’t want to come off as needy. I’m not sure when, exactly, I started to need Brandon. And maybe it’s not that I need him . . . it’s that I want him. I want him by my side right now. I miss his smiles and the way he’s always sneaking candy, and I wish there wasn’t an ocean between us.
I’ve spent a lot of time in bland, identical hotel rooms like this one, but I’ve never been homesick before now. I know that it’s because I have something waiting for me. Someone.
Since Brandon is probably sound asleep, I send him a quick email instead.
Arrived in Frankfurt. About to head to the pool to check it out and figure out our schedules for the next few days. Don’t slack off on your workout today.
I hesitate, then add one last line before hitting Send:
Have a chocolate milkshake for me.
Then it’s time to stop focusing on Brandon and start focusing on the competition ahead. It’s easier that way. Val is competing first, with preliminaries and semifinals in two days, and finals the day after that. Then it’s my turn.
I got third place at the Championships two years ago. Third in the entire world for Men’s Individual 10-Meter Platform. That was pretty huge, and I think I have a good shot at the podium again this year.
This time around, I have every intention of going home a winner. The alternative isn’t worth considering.
Time goes by quickly, and I find that I don’t have time to feel homesick anymore, because I’m working every spare second I can. I can do cardio and weights in the hotel’s facility, but dryland training has to be done at the facility, where they have mats set up.
“You ready?” I ask Val on the morning of her competition.
She slices a banana into her cereal with practiced ease. “I’m not sure if it matters whether I’m ready or not.” Her voice is faux-calm, with a sharp edge that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.
“What do you mean?”
Andrey comes to join us at the table, and he’s clutching his coffee with a white-knuckled desperation that I’ve never seen from him. And behind him—
Well fuck.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bergmann.” I choke the words out around my own coffee.
Val’s mother sits down at the table across from her daughter, like she’s oblivious to the fact that her presence is causing enough tension that other tables are starting to look over at us. “Jeremy,” she says, nodding. And then she turns to Val. “Honey, I hope you’re going to eat more than that. You should have some eggs or toast.”
I exchange a panicked glance with Andrey, and he takes a big gulp from his mug. I’m guessing Mrs. Bergmann came in last night, although I can’t remember the last time she showed up to one of our competitions. Mostly she seems content to let Val do her own thing, as long as she keeps winning. But, then, there was Val’s epic and purposeful loss during the World Series . . .
Maybe her mother’s appearance makes sense after all.
Breakfast is painfully awkward, but it’s mercifully silent, so I just keep my head down and focus on my oatmeal.
Thankfully Mrs. Bergmann parts ways with us once we get to the natatorium so Val can warm up for her prelim dives.
“Hey.” I pull her aside before she heads off to the lockers. “Don’t let her destroy this for you.”
Val’s laugh is bitter. “Too late.”
I think she’s surprised when I wrap her in a hug—I’m surprised that I wanted to embrace her. Maybe Brandon’s influencing me more than I expected. “If you pull another protest like London, she’s going to yank you from Andrey’s team.”
“Yeah.” She looks like she’s considering it for a second, but then she practically crumples in defeat. “I don’t know what I’d do if I had to leave you guys, though.”
I look around: the pool is still mostly empty, people trickling in. “Come with me.” I take her hand in mine and tug until she catches up.
Her shoulders aren’t quite so slumped when we get to the platform stairs. No one’s watching us, so I start climbing and hear her following behind me.
When we get to the top, I lie down on the rough surface. She lies down facing the other way, our heads next to one another but feet pointing opposite directions. Now we’re alone, and there’s no parents or coaches or other divers to focus on.
“Why do you keep letting her push you like this? You used to love diving, but lately it seems like you don’t.”
She sighs. “It’s not that I dislike diving. It’s just . . . It’s not my dream. It’s hers. There are other things that I would rather be doing.”
“You can do them too. After the Olympics, you could do whatever you want and keep diving with me.”
Val’s silent.
“It’s only one more year until the Olympics. Win a medal there, make your mother happy, and she’ll lay off you.”
If only my own family were so easy to please. But at least I know how to divert their attention when they start getting on my case.
When I still don’t get a response from Val, I turn to look at her. Her eyes are closed, though her face is anything but peaceful. She’s crying.
“Oh shit, Val.” I sit up as much as I dare, not wanting to risk being spotted by anyone on the ground and kicked off the platform.
I’ve never seen Val cry. I’ve seen her tear up with joy after winning competitions and with frustration after losing them, and I’ve seen her injured, eyes watery with pain, but I’ve never actually seen tears fall down her cheeks like this.
“I’m okay,” she whispers.
She wipes the tears with the sleeve of her jacket, taking deep breaths. Feeling helpless, I watch while she tries to pull herself together; I have no idea how to help, and suddenly I wish Brandon was here. He’d know what to do.
A second later I’m fumbling for my phone. My clock app tells me that it’s one o’clock in the morning in Ohio, but today’s Brandon’s day off, and I have no doubt that he’ll be okay with being woken up. I dial without hesitation.
“Jer?” Brandon’s voice is tired, but not heavy with sleep. “I was just lying here watching a movie on my laptop and thinking about you, and then you called. Are you psychic?”
The words make me smile, but this call isn’t about me. “Hey, Val’s having a bit of a rough moment. You think you can give her a pep talk and cheer her up?”
Val’s studying me warily, but she takes the phone when I hand it to her. At first she doesn’t say anything, and her expression doesn’t change, but soon she’s nodding, and then there’s a hint of a smile on her face. After a minute she’s responding in short sentences, and then, finally, a small, weary laugh.
It’s incredible, the change that comes over her. The tears dry up and her body relaxes, and soon she’s chatting with Brandon like nothing’s wrong. By the time she says good-bye and hands the phone back to me, she seems back to normal.
“Thank you,” I say into the phone.
“Anytime.” He sounds like he genuinely means it. “You guys doing okay?”
I meet Val’s eyes, which are clearer, determined. “Yeah, we’re fine. I should let you get some sleep.”
“Skype date tonight?” Brandon says the words around a yawn. “Tonight your time I mean, afternoon for me.”
“Yeah, of course.”
It’s only when I hang up a minute later that his words catch up. Date. We have a date, even if it’s just on video call.
I wait for the terror to flood me, but there’s barely a trickle of panic, and it’s easily ignored. I’m not sure how I feel: nervous, maybe, or anticipatory. Excited almost.
Val’s watching me with the same intensity that I’d been staring at her with. But all she says is, “Thanks,” and then we get up and file down the platform.
In the end, Val does magnificently. She gets fourth place in the finals; I know she can do better, but fourth is a huge achievement given her mother’s stress-inducing presence.
And then it’s my turn. Prelims take forever: too many divers being whittled down. I make it through in fourth place, and then get third in the semis. The finals consist of eight divers, and because of my placement in the semis I’ll be diving third to last in the group; it’s not my favorite position to dive in, because it makes it difficult to know exactly where I sit as the divers on each side are scored.
I happen to check my phone before I tuck my bag into my locker before the finals begin, and there’s a single text from Brandon.
You’re way better than that Greg Louganis guy. <3
The words make me laugh, and send a wave of warmth through me. I turn my phone to silent and start pulling off my tracksuit, and I’m smiling when I head out to compete.
There are days when you realize how cruel the sport can be—days when you can’t nail a single dive, when nothing seems to be working—and there are those rare moments when everything goes perfectly, the world working in your favor. My finals at the World Championships are the latter.
I get good scores with my first three dives, and my armstand back two somersaults with two and a half twists gets me 9.5s across the board, which results in Andrey actually giving me a hug. It’s not my most difficult dive, but it’s the one that’s been giving me the most trouble, and I nailed it.
My fifth dive is a reverse three and a half somersaults, which I wobble on ever-so-slightly, and I know at the end of the round it’ll push me from where I was sitting happy in second down into third behind the Russian diver.
And then the diver from China, who was favored to win, misses his fifth dive so badly that the entire pool goes silent. He over-rotates coming out of his dive and enters at an angle, curved backward.
It’s a game changer, and everyone knows it.
Going into the sixth round, I feel calm. I’m currently back in second place, with about twenty-five points separating me from the guy from Russia. It’s a big margin, but the last dive is my back four somersaults, tucked. With the highest degree of difficulty in my entire program at a 3.8, it’s the dive that could make or break this championship for me.
I nail it. I rip that entry so smoothly that Andrey tells me afterward you could have heard a pin drop in that natatorium. It nets me my first ten of the day, and Andrey is beaming.
I towel off and settle in to watch the last two dives, holding my breath and waiting. The diver who went just before me is from Germany, and he did well—a solid finish. But it wasn’t enough to catch up to me . . . not even close. I’m staring at a medal for sure, and a silver almost certainly.
And then the Russian diver hits the water wrong and dislocates his shoulder.
I wince in sympathy and take a few steps back, making room for the medics. My own shoulder aches in phantom pain, a reminder that my injury a few years ago could have been worse. We’re always aware of how high the risk of injury is when diving, but being faced with it head-on means that everyone is pale and silent.
The judges score him while he’s being helped away from the pool. He completed the dive, but his scores aren’t high enough to retain his first-place standing.
Suddenly I’m pale for an entirely different reason. The Chinese diver had a substantial lead before his fifth round, and a perfect-ten dive could put him back into first.
I can’t even watch the platform. I watch Andrey instead, and let his face tell me what I need to know. There’s a light splashing sound, and the audience cheers, but . . . Andrey’s mouth curls up, and his eyes are shining.
My knees almost crumple as the final scores are announced.
Andrey holds me up as I bury my face into his shirt.
“Holy shit, Andrey.”
He pats my back, and I can feel him laughing. A set of arms wraps around me, and I twist to see Val beaming like she’s won, pride and joy pouring off of her.
“Hey, World Champion, nice job,” she says.
World Champion.
I smile and smile, and it’s like everything that I’ve worked my entire life for has finally started to pay off.