It wasn’t until I reached my apartment that I got the notification that Amira had tagged me in the photo. The caption read, “Reunion with this lovely American, @QuinnCHughes. Can’t wait to greet her at the finish line tomorrow for the 200m free final #Tokyo2020.” She’d added a winky emoji and a heart at the end of her caption.
That picture prompted my phone to blow up with her fandom’s comments. And she had quite the fandom in Europe.
“@TheRealMermaidAmira Gold medalist in trash talking,” I responded.
Once my head hit the pillow for my afternoon nap, I checked my phone. I had so many unanswered congratulatory texts about my 400-free that had just played on American prime time. I thought, why not catch up on some while I had the rest of the day off. But amid the friends and family waiting for a reply, I searched for the name I wanted to see the most. Even though Talia didn’t want me to acknowledge anything that wasn’t happening in Tokyo, it was really hard when I had four pending messages from Kennedy. Any time my brain had a break from shielding unnecessary stress, the thoughts of the girl back home came rushing to the forefront.
OMG! YOU WON A GOLD MEDAL! OMG!
Excuse me while I sob during your medal ceremony.
Okay, I definitely cried during the medal ceremony. I’m so, so, so proud of you, Quinn. You have no idea. You’re truly amazing.
Also, that little athlete bio that they showed before your final was super adorable. Might have gotten teary eyed during that too. You looked super pretty.
Those texts pumped potent excitement in me powerful enough to win another gold if that meant I could have a series of texts like those.
I responded, Stop making me blush. And I’m surprised you waited to watch.
She texted back a few minutes later. Since it was eleven p.m. Monday for her, I wasn’t expecting her to text back right away when I was sure she had to wake up early for the last few days of her summer internship. But she texted anyways. I just miss your face and wanted to see it.
I replied with a smiley face, and then let the phone fall front first on my chest, my smile still reaching my ears.
* * *
Tuesday night in Tokyo was when the media found their hook for the rest of the swimming events.
Talia woke me up from my nap and told me about all the articles circulating online. When I sat in the Team USA section with my team and family during the night session, Liam and my parents also told me what they’d seen on the internet: Articles comprised of screenshots of Amira’s Instagram picture and my comment back to her. Pictures captured by the tourists who snuck photos of the two of us innocently walking around the Olympic Village.
By Wednesday morning, article headlines had already built up our 200-free final. Every article mentioned how both Amira and I were lesbians. Half of those articles mentioned how Queer Twitter hoped we had a thing. I’m sure plenty of them were Amira’s fans.
“Two Fastest Swimmers in the World Go Head-to-Head in 200m Free Final.”
“Will Quinn Hughes Upset Defending Gold Medalist Amira Kőszegi Again?”
“Fans Are Shipping Out Swimmers American Quinn Hughes and Hungarian Amira Kőszegi Despite Their Duel for Another Gold.”
“The Biggest Rivalry at the Tokyo Games Could Result in a New Heroine of the Pool.”
“Quinn Hughes and Amira Kőszegi: Friends or Foes?”
I rolled my eyes and shoved my phone in my duffel bag. Another example of how the Olympics magnified everything. An innocent rivalry between two people who mutually respected and liked each other blown up to fit the narrative of two nemesis with seething resentment facing each other in front of the world.
As the eight finalists for the 200-free lined up in the back room, waiting to be called, I stood in front of Amira, forcing my mind into the perfect zone it was in two days prior when I won the gold. I could feel the weight of the headlines suffusing the room, humming between Amira and me. This race already felt different than the 400. Once we stepped out on the pool deck, all the eyes and cameras would be on us. The magnifying glass would hover over us to find one gesture of intense attraction.
“You ready for a chase, Yankee?” Amira asked, and I could hear the crooked grin.
Physically, I still felt as if I could slice through water thanks to the tapering, the drag, and newly shaved legs. And my mind felt good coming off a huge victory, bolstering my confidence. “Let’s just give them a good show, all right?” I said and glanced over my shoulder, watching her smirk grow even more impish.
“That I can do. I can’t let an American be the new heroine of the pool.”
“You might need a new nickname after these games. Sellő isn’t going to do it anymore.”
“Perfect pronunciation. How many times did you practice that line, huh?”
Quite a bit. But I wasn’t going to tell her that.
Once we were all on the deck, the natatorium became quiet when the officials blew the whistle. I took one last deep breath and ignored the cameras and eyes zeroing in on the two of us.
Then the officials sent us off.
Unlike the 400, the 200 was a sprint. A very long sprint. I had to give it one hundred and ten percent for all four laps. I was half a body length behind Amira the whole time, and it really pissed me off. Maybe the fifteen seconds we devoted to trash talking ripped me out of the zone that could have pushed me into the lead. I couldn’t let her win. A “rookie” had to beat the vet, the reigning champ, the heroine, the best female swimmer in the world, the sellő. That was the narrative I wanted the media to write about.
On the final hundred, I squeezed out the very little energy I had left. This was when all the tapering came into play and the hidden energy I saved up from lying in bed, not drinking, not having sex, scootering around San Francisco, and forcing Lillian to get my food, all came out.
I took advantage of my strength during the final flip turn and was able to propel myself right up to Amira. For the last length, I couldn’t tell who was winning. I couldn’t shake Amira. My legs were made of rubber, but I couldn’t give up. Every time I breathed, I saw glimpses of the crowd on their feet, mouths open, the roar muffled by my quick breaths and water splashing in my ears. Taking in one last breath, I sprinted to the wall. No more checking on Amira. Eyes on the line below me, using every bit of energy left.
I slammed my hand against the wall and pulled my head up to breathe. The crowd roared as my body filled with oxygen. I would have sworn that Amira had beaten me. Her red-suited mass never trailed. She was so tall too. Too fast. Too determined.
But when I turned, I saw a one next to lane five, a two next to lane four, and ten hundredths of a second separating our times. My mouth fell open, and my heart raced chaotically as the crowd burst into cheers and applause.
I’d won my second individual gold. By ten hundredths of a second. God, did we give everyone a good race.
The medal ceremony was less leaky than my 400. My heart sprang at the possibility that my nail-biting race and brand-new gold would warrant another text from Kennedy. But after celebrating with my team, I didn’t get anything. I figured she didn’t want to spoil prime time for herself by keeping up with the news on the internet.
Three gold medals cradled me into a deep slumber. I woke up Thursday morning feeling adrenaline pump through my limbs by just thinking about winning another gold in a few hours in the 4x200 meter free relay. I turned off my alarm that was set to go off in ten minutes. But there was still no text from Kennedy.