| |
“TEN MINUTES UNTIL RACE time. You ready, man?”
Pete gives me a playful punch, and I remove my ear buds. Howie Day’s Collide tries to soothe my nerves, but it isn’t working. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes pacing the locker room, my pulse racing a million miles an hour as I try to get into the zone. There’s so much riding on this one meet—including my future. If I screw it up, I’ll never hear the end of it.
Pete hands me a towel. “You’ve got this, bro. Focus is all it is. The Golden Boy has never failed.”
I give my friend a fist bump and smirk. “Thanks, man.”
“Donovan?”
Coach Simms strides over. Pete claps me on the back and joins the rest of our teammates. I lift my chin. “Hey, Coach. What’s up?”
The man wipes a hand across his balding head and sighs. “Your father’s expecting a lot today.”
Hard not to roll my eyes. I’m more than aware of what Joe Donovan wants. He has my entire life mapped out for me.
No doubt he’ll have scouts in the crowd, too.
Dad’s used his political contacts to get schools here the last few meets—along with a high-ranked Olympic coach from one of the universities. He wants me to go all the way. To be the best.
And an Olympic gold medal is my father’s ultimatum.
“I can do this.”
Coach smiles grimly. “I’ve never had an athlete with such ambition, son. I don’t want you going into this with too much pressure on your shoulders. You still have another year to prove yourself. Just go out there and do your best. That’s all you can do.”
I grip my towel, my adrenaline spiking. My coach’s expectations aren’t the ones I need to worry about. If I don’t break the state record today, I won’t have a life outside of swimming. My father will see to that.
Slamming my locker, I give him a curt nod. “I know what I need to do.”
Slapping my back, Coach mutters, “Go get ’em, Donovan.”
*****
DEEP BREATH IN. FOCUS.
The 100-meter breaststroke. I’ve trained for this for a year. Standing on the starting block next to seven other competitors, I can’t see anything but the end game. I’m not worried about my competition. None of these swimmers are finishing anywhere close to my times.
The current record is 60.2 seconds. I beat it by .2 seconds during practice. And today, I have the advantage of swimming at my own pool.
I can do this.
A loud buzz echoes off the glass ceiling of the complex. On instinct, I spring from my block. Adrenaline races through my bloodstream. Muscle memory takes over. My arms extend in front of me, gliding. My heart pounds profusely. Sweeping my wings wide, I cut a path through the water. As my arms recover, my legs flex and release to propel my body farther. Faster.
Glide, sweep, propel.
Glide, sweep, propel.
The worst thing about the breaststroke is my head is out of the water a majority of the time. The roar of the crowd echoes through me with every recover.
Pure ambition drives my turn at the end of the pool. I twist and porpoise back into formation, never missing a beat. As I break the surface of the water, I hear it.
“Go Lukey!”
Christy’s voice rises above the din of the others, encouraging me to push myself harder.
Glide, sweep, propel...
My chest heaves. Another surge of adrenaline. I’m almost there. With one more strong propulsion, I extend my hand forward and hit the timer panel. Exuberant cheers hit me full force as I break the surface.
Pulling my goggles from my eyes, I blow water from my mouth and look at the clock. 59.8 seconds. Holy hell, I did it!
Applause fills the complex, but I hardly hear them. I suck in deep breaths, my heart pumping blood through my body like a rabid wolf’s. As my teammates lift me out of the pool, someone drapes a towel over my shoulders.
“Congratulations to Luke Donovan of Rochester Hills High School. He’s set a new state record of 59.8 seconds for the 100-meter breaststroke.”
As the announcer’s voice echoes off the ceiling, my teammates chant my name. Regaining some semblance of control, I scan the crowd. Dad stands in the bleachers, his chin lifting in acceptance. He winks. I grin. It’s the first time my father’s ever shown his pride in me. Guess there’s a first time for everything.
The coach joins us poolside. Smiling broadly, the man claps me on the back. “Good job, son. Hell of a swim.” He nods to a gentleman sitting in the front row of the complex. “Coach from U of M wants to talk to you. After your relay.”
“Yes sir.” An otherworldly feeling of excitement mixed with fear speeds through me. All of a sudden, it’s getting very real. U of M? That’s my dream. I’d be able to see Colt a lot more if I got a full ride there.
A strange tingle flies down my spine as I glance at the crowd. Like a radar dish, my gaze zeroes in on a crown of familiar golden curls. Penny is standing near the doors talking to Christy.
Fuck yeah, my day just got better. “She came?”
Pete nudges me. “Hell yes, she did. Your girl rocked it, man! Pulled out her best cheer voice. You two will be the talk of Homecoming Week. The Golden Couple.”
Ignoring Pete’s ass-kissery, I stride toward my family. “Hey, tell Coach I’ll be back. I want to see my mom and dad.”
Slipping on my deck shoes, I stalk toward the people waiting for me. My mother has joined Christy and is talking to Penny as well. Appreciation and love swell from deep inside. All the people I care about are here to support me. Best of all, Penny came to my meet. That has to mean something, right?
Life can’t get any better than this.
“Mr. Donovan?”
Startled, I halt. It’s the coach from U of M. “Y-yes sir?”
“I’m Todd Severson, head recruiter for the Wolverines. Son, that was an impressive run. Your father and coach tell me you’ve been working hard this year.”
Tingles erupt across my skin as I stand taller. “Yes, sir!”
The man chuckles. “I’ve already spoken with your father. I just wanted to introduce myself. We’ll talk soon, alright?” Patting me on the back, he turns and leaves.
I puff my chest out. I was wrong. Life can get better. This proves it. And right now, there isn’t anything I can’t do.
Racing toward Christy, I sweep her into my arms. “I did it! I broke that damn record, baby!”
She squeals, her happiness flooding through me just like her cheer had. I kiss her cheek.
A strange feeling skitters across my neck, and I look up. Penny is staring at me as she always does, like she doesn’t know whether to hug me or disappear into the crowd.
I smile at her. “Hey, Pen! Glad you could make it. Thought you had a study group.”
Swallowing hard, she darts a glance at both my mother and Christy. As quiet as a mouse, she steps away. “Um, I do. The library was closed, and there wasn’t anything better to do. My lab partner is a timer.” She motions toward the announcer’s box where a nerdy girl with thick glasses bounces on her toes. Penny takes another step toward the door. “Well, um, I’d better get to the library. Congratulations, Luke.”
A tiny ache bounces in my chest as she ducks her head and flees. My mom follows her. I frown. So, Penny didn’t come to watch me after all.
A sensation like I’m losing my soul sits at the edge of my throat. “What the hell was that?”
Christy grips my fingers tighter as my dad approaches. “Don’t worry about that girl, son. She isn’t important. We’ve got a lot to do.” Clapping me on the back, he does the unimaginable. He winks at my girlfriend. “Maybe dinner with the Mefford’s after your meet? We should celebrate.”
Jesus, it’s like the freaking Twilight Zone. I stare at Christy. The porcelain skin of her face illuminates as she happily jokes with my father. When did they become so friendly? And why did Penny leave so quickly? Even stranger, why did Mom go after her?
Forget Twilight Zone. This is a bad remake of The Matrix. And I’m not sure I want either the blue pill or the red pill.
As my father and Christy talk, I hold my breath, wishing to God Pen would walk back through those doors. For some reason, I crave it. I want her acceptance. I need it like air.
Get over yourself. She doesn’t care.
As I stare at the starting blocks, a lump the size of Texas sits in my chest. Suddenly, the euphoria of the best day of my life has morphed into emotions that I can’t comprehend.
*****
This is the private journal of Penny Elaine Ramsay. Do not read!!
OCTOBER 15, 2007
If I hear anything else about Homecoming, I’ll puke. Why is this high school ritual so important to everyone? Sports competitions, fancy dances with stupid dresses, crowning Mr. and Ms. Popularity king and queen... I don’t get it. Worse, Mrs. Donovan expects me to participate in the activities or she’ll call my mother. Again.
Homeschooling is looking better by the minute.