Akara smiles. He stubbornly wanted to be here for this.
It means something to me. His presence has a calming factor. Like a reminder of before. Four years ago. When I did succeed.
Banks’ shadow of a smile plays at his lips, and I hang onto the comfort inside his gaze. “Swim your heart out, mermaid.”
“Go kick ass,” Akara cheers.
I will.
I can.
And I go.
A referee blows into a whistle, signaling swimmers to enter the pool. Backstroke starts in the water, not on a starting block.
Dean hops in the pool with the other seven swimmers and readies himself. America versus Japan, Spain, Great Britain, Italy, China, Australia, and Canada. We didn’t come first in our semifinal heat. Great Britain beat us and is super competitive in this relay. Everyone at home is watching and hoping.
“Take your mark.”
If we don’t win for our country…don’t think about it, Sulli. Pressure packs tight, and I swing my arms out again.
Beep.
Dean propels backwards, arms in perfect stroke.
“You have this, Deano,” Kingly mutters over and over and fucking over. More than I’ve ever heard him mutter Dean’s name. Frankie is closest to the starting block, already crouched and ready to dive. She’s up next, and I’m last, standing behind Kingly’s muscled back.
Crowds roar and cheer.
The noises fuel me. Adrenaline amped, blood pumping.
We all try to stay focused.
I peek out at the lane.
Dean is ahead, but not by much. Great Britain is only fingers away. My teammate reaches the first fifty. Makes a smooth fucking turn. As he swims back to the starting block, the breaststroke swimmers prepare for the exchange.
He touches the wall.
Frankie dives into the pool. Her head breaches the water for the breaststroke, and Dean climbs out of the pool, sopping wet. Kingly briefly touches his arm in a good job—but for the most part, we’re all focused on the event.
Against better fucking judgement, my eyes flit to the stands.
I can make out more signs than faces.
Kingly for Gold!
The King GOAT
And then…
Sullivan Meadows is my idol!
Swim, Sulli, Swim!
Kitsulletti Kicksass
That last one makes me smile the most. I expected more Kitsulletti Ruined Everything signs, and I don’t try to search for the hate.
I just breathe in the love I see.
The cheers I hear.
We can do this.
When I see Frankie reach the first fifty, my stomach nosedives. We’ve lost our lead. Great Britain makes the turn before us.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Dean says, clapping behind me. “We can make it up. You’ve both got this.” He squeezes my shoulder. Kingly is already on the block.
Oh fuck.
We’re really behind.
Like third place behind, and Frankie touches the wall, huffing and puffing. Kingly dives into the water—the stadium erupts like God fell from heaven. Frankie pulls herself out of the pool, looking crushed. Cheeks beet-red.
“It’s okay,” I whisper before I need to take the block. Dean gives her a consoling hug.
I prepare myself for the exchange.
And I have the greatest view of Kingly in the water. Possibly the best view of a lifetime. Staring down our lane, Kingly swims the butterfly with power and precision. Like the greatest before him, he is a phenom. A marvel.
A soon-to-be legend.
He barrels ahead of Australia. And he shortens the distance between us and Great Britain. But he doesn’t completely close the gap. Their swimmer for fly is still too far out in front.
I can already hear the commentor in my head.
It’s all coming down to Meadows. Can she pull it off?
Kingly swims towards me. And the first time we practiced relay, I nearly fainted seeing him touch the wall at my feet. Now, now I know he’s just like me.
He’s just human.
Never meet your idols, they say.
They always let you down.
I know I’ve let little girls down. I know I haven’t been what people expected, but maybe Kingly did more for me by being human. He’s not a god.
He’s not untouchable.
And the pinnacle he’s reached—I can reach it too.
Kingly’s hand meets the wall, and I dive into water. Coolness all around me, I kick and sink my arms into the surface in my favorite stroke. I’m unthinking.
Just swimming.
Just power and fuel and happiness.
Fuck, I love this sport.
I love the way my breath burns in my lungs. I love the way my muscles stretch and sear with power. I take a breath, then return my face to water.
I love the way I glide.
The way I soar.
Like every race, I hold nothing back. I expel everything in the tank. And when I crash a hand into the wall, I pop my head up to voracious roars. Kingly is bellowing in a cheer, and Dean is jumping, his hands on his head. I splash my hand in the water, my lungs full of light.
Gold.
“SULLI!” Frankie cheers as I climb out with them and yank off my goggles. We all stare at the scoreboard like it might erase. Like this might just be a big fucking dream.
It is.
It’s our dreams coming true.
“You did it!” Frankie screeches, crying.
I’m tearing up too. “We did it!” I shout, panting breath.
And then Kingly hugs my shoulders, his breath still coming out in heavy waves too, and he tells me, “You’re a great swimmer, Meadows.”
I smile and let out a laugh. For the longest time, I fantasized about hearing Kingly praise me, but the funny thing is, I don’t need to hear those words from him.
The ones that should’ve always mattered most—the ones that I know from now on will always lift me higher than high—are from them.
I turn and find Akara and Banks on the pool deck. They’re clapping with love and pride in their eyes, and through a glassy, tearful gaze, I burst into a greater smile.
This isn’t the end.
I have more to prove to myself here.
Individual gold.
But at least I know one thing, I’ll never take their admiration for granted. To be loved is an awfully wonderful thing.
32
BANKS MORETTI
Gold medal is heavy in my hands as I flip the exalted thing back and forth over my palms. The year and city are printed on pink, yellow, and turquoise striped ribbon, which I saw looped around Sulli’s neck last night. I nearly smile, remembering.
The greatest in the world.
Damn right, she is.
Something this monumental, this fuckin’ rare shouldn’t be in oil-stained, scar-lined, rough as hell hands. After a solid minute of staring, I offer the medal to Akara.
He raises his palms. “She gave it to you to hold onto.”
“And we all know that was a trash idea—”
“You’re calling our girlfriend’s ideas trash now?” Akara tilts his head, being playful with me.
“Nine,” I say seriously. “I lose everything. I’d lose my damn mind if you two didn’t remind me where I put it.” I intake a sharp breath. “I’m the last person who should be carrying around her gold medal.”