But that was the trouble, wasn’t it? At every point along the way, he made a choice to lose a tenth of a second rather than risk total failure, and all those tenths of a second added up to a time that was never going to be better than not-good-enough.
So, all right. He’d try.
He put on his shoes as his turn neared. He wore lace-ups for speed climbing, lightweight but hard soled, the most comfortable of the six pairs he’d brought to Tokyo. He cinched them tight and was ready just as his turn came. One last dusting of chalk, a psychological double-check to make sure he was clipped in correctly, and he and Shino were given the signal to approach the wall.
Shino wasn’t someone he had any chance of beating, so there was no point worrying about winning. Just climb like it was a ladder, like it was nothing, like no matter how fast or how foolishly he launched himself at a hold, he was guaranteed to grab it. He pretty much was. These were big, familiar holds. He might bobble one or have his feet skid around, but it would be a challenge to actually fall off.
“Beep. Beep.” Get ready, get set. “Beep.” Go!
It felt fast, like skiing through trees, like watching a GoPro video of someone else climbing. His right foot skated at one point, but he’d already taken his weight off it by then, moving so fast his feet were almost superfluous. Was this how it felt to climb like Flynn? Just grab and pull and throw and jump, his vision narrowing to the next hold, never looking back at where he’d been? For the first time, he understood why this was fun.
The ending sequence was either two short moves or a single long jump. He’d always chosen the two short moves, because it would be so awful to blow a good run at the very top. People did it too—jumped for the buzzer and missed. But not him, not today. Today he was invincible. Rawr.
He made the jump, slapping the buzzer hard enough to sting. There was an almost imperceptible moment of weightlessness and then the cable caught him. As it lowered him gently to the ground, he leaned back in his harness to check his time and saw… Shino. He’d beaten Shino. Maybe Shino had slipped somewhere? No, that was a decent time for Shino. His own was just a tiny bit better. It didn’t count for anything, but it was the best time he’d ever put up. Ever.
As soon as his feet touched down, Flynn was on him. He didn’t understand how Flynn had gotten down there so fast, but he let Flynn hug him, a little dazed with adrenalin. It’d only been a practice run. Not a big deal. But Shino came over and shook his hand and then everyone was smacking him on the back as if he’d done something amazing.
“That’s what you have to do,” Flynn said. He still had a hold of him, his arm around his waist leading him over to the benches. “I knew you could do it, too. That was so hot.”
Hot? Spencer turned to look at him, but before he could ask what that meant, someone else slapped him on the back, jerking his attention in the other direction.
“You want another go at it?” Flynn asked.
He shook his head as he lowered himself onto the bench. His arms were tired and his feet hurt, which meant he shouldn’t have been able to pull that off. He glanced up at the clock to double check that it’d really happened, but the timers had already been reset. No evidence remained.
“I think I’m done for the day.” He felt loopy, like he was still up there dancing over plastic. Only Flynn’s warm mass at his side kept him anchored to the ground.
“Dinner?” Flynn asked hopefully. “Maybe a movie?”
“Dinner,” he agreed. “Then game films. Footage from previous comps,” he elaborated when Flynn gave him a look like he had no idea what Spencer was talking about. “We know who the route setters are, and we know what other comps they’ve set for. It’s like scouting the other team in hockey. Football,” he corrected, remembering Flynn was American.
“I don’t watch either of them,” Flynn said. “I don’t watch any of it. Hockey, football, or footage from past comps. I can’t believe you study this shit.”
“I can’t believe you don’t. We’re professional athletes.”
Not that Flynn acted like one. Flynn acted like he was still a seventeen-year-old prodigy having fun on a holiday weekend. This was a job, for all that it didn’t pay like one.
“That’s what you’re doing tonight?” Flynn asked.
That was what was on the agenda. Shower, dinner, game films, asleep by ten.
“Well, you’re the boss.” Flynn’s words sent a little ping of something straight to Spencer’s groin. “If you say watch game tapes, then I’ll watch game tapes.”
Being the boss of Flynn was fun. Spencer nixed half the food Flynn tried to put on his tray. “No dairy. Causes inflammation.”
“Does American cheese even count as dairy?”
“Barely. And no red meat either. Step away from the hamburger. The best thing for your ankle would be a vegan diet.”
“Vegan!” Flynn squawked, his curls bouncing with indignation. His hair was freshly washed, buoyant and shiny. “Do I seriously not getting any meat? I ran today.”
“You ran for half a mile. I can show you the stats. But I’m not going to put you on a full vegan diet because now’s not the time to find out how your body would react. You can have chicken.” He steered Flynn away from the fried chicken sandwich he immediately headed for over to the counter where they served broiled chicken breasts with rice. Then he made him pick two different veggies. And no, potatoes didn’t count.
“This is the secret to climbing better, huh?” Flynn looked down at his plate with such mournful eyes that Spencer nearly relented, but he didn’t. It was about time Flynn learned something about dedication. If there were more time for Spencer to whip him into shape, he would take gold for sure.
Flynn dropped his tray next to Chelsea, who gave him a significant look Spencer couldn’t guess the meaning of. He took Flynn’s other side and before long the rest of the table had filled in. Ashley ended up across from them, which was probably going to keep happening whether Spencer liked it or not since they were the native English speakers.
“Someone lit a fire under your arse today,” Ashley observed.
“Trying something new,” he muttered in response. Now that he’d had more time to think about it, he wasn’t sure how he felt about his romp up the speed wall earlier. It wasn’t as if he was going to climb that way during a comp, so learning that he might do better if he climbed like Flynn instead of like himself was disconcerting.
“And look who’s eating broccoli,” Ashley went on, pointing his fork at Flynn’s plate. “I thought you were allergic to the color green.”
Spencer expected Flynn to riff on that, maybe add a joke about how un-fun Spencer was, but he grinned and said, “My boy here is teaching me some things,” before spearing a broccoli stalk into his mouth.
“You know,” Ashley drawled. “Between the two of you, you’d make a pretty good climber. Too bad Flyin’ Flynn’s body can’t be grafted onto Static Spencer’s brain.”
Liv, who was sitting on Spencer’s other side, threw him a confused glance. He knew from his own experience that it wasn’t always easy to figure out whether or not something was funny in a foreign language. But Janco picked up on the dig just fine.