Burn Before Reading(71)

“Blackthorn!” Coach shouts. “James isn’t on his game. You’re up for the breaststroke 200.”

Great. Just as she says that, the announcer comes on with the introduction. He calls for the breaststroke 200 first, and I get up and move to the starting platforms. I pull on my swimming cap and goggles. The other guys look driven and concentrated as hell, and here I am, just wanting to get through this meet with the least possible stress. Some of them wave to their families in the stands, who cheer and wave back. It’d be nice if someone was here for me like that. But Dad never came to these. Not that I expected him to – he was a busy man full of busy money-making school-boarding. Not that I want him to. He’d just haughtily look on, never clap or cheer, and make some offhanded stinging comment about how I must love this sport since there are a bunch of men without shirts around.

I’d given up a long time ago waiting for him to come to these.

Burn and Fitz do, instead. Well, Burn does. He likes watching me compete. Fitz is a little less enthusiastic about it – preferring his computers to actual sun and exertion. But today I watch them slink into the stands; Fitz with a too-thick layer of sunscreen and massive sunglasses on. He even carries a black umbrella to shade himself, the drama queen. Burn is much less picky – only a bottle of water to his name.

My eyes widen as one more person slides along and sits with them.

Bee, carrying sunscreen and looking a little lost, sits next to Fitz. He makes her hold his umbrella. Thankfully they’re in the highest row of seats, otherwise they’d have people complaining. Like last time. Wherever Fitz goes, it turns out complaints follow. But she holds the umbrella without a fuss, laughing at something he said. Burn offers her his water, but she shakes her head. They all see me looking their way, and start cheering, but I can’t understand a word they’re saying. It doesn’t help that Bee’s smile has me mesmerized.

“Swimmers, on your marks!”

The voice of the ref shakes me out of it, but barely. My blood is thrumming in my ears, my heartbeat so fast I could’ve sworn I already swam a two hundred meter twice over.

“Get set!”

The other guys lean in, touching their fingers to the board, and I follow suit.

I’m not competitive at all.

So then why do I suddenly feel the molten urge to crush everyone and win?

“GO!”

The sound of the blank in the gun propels me forward. I cut through the water, throwing all of my muscles into pulling me to the end. Water splashes everywhere, my vision a blur of waves and turbulence. I hit the end of the pool hard, and turn underwater, shooting off to the next lap. My lungs burn, every inhale like fire on its way down my throat. There’s only me. I can’t see anyone else, or how far ahead they are. I can only see the water. I can only hear the roaring crowd when I pivot, the rest of the time I’m underwater, with only aquatic silence and a little splashing.

This is the thing I like most about swimming – it becomes only me. It feels like I’m the only one in the pool. Everything else just drops away; my worries, my fears, my past chasing me. It all melts in the water. There’s only me, and the burning of my body, and the thought Bee’s eyes are on me.

Three laps down. One more to go.

My lungs beg me to stop, but I push them harder. Faster. I’m almost at the end, I can feel it. And then my fingertips touch the metal of the sensor board, and I come up for air to a buzzer sound. The crowd cheers, and I haul myself out of the water. I find Bee’s eyes in the crowd, her excited smile in the morning sun so gorgeous I suddenly have an even harder time breathing. She’s smiling to me. Because of me. Is this the first time I’ve made her smile? Because it feels like the first.

The shouts of the announcer blur, and Coach’s arm around my shoulder is the only thing that tears me from the crowd.

“Christ, Blackthorn! That was incredible! Where were you hiding that time in practice? You broke the state record!”

I blink water out of my eyes. “What?”

“Look!”

She motions to the board that shows 2:13.36.

“The world record for juniors is 2:09! Goddamn it, Blackthorn, you might have what it takes to get us to finals!”

I should be happy. I should be proud. But all I can think of is Bee. Coach sits me out for the next round. My team looks less than thrilled I’ve done well, but I don’t care about them. As I’m drinking water, Burn and Fitz squeeze from the stands and dash over to me, Bee on their heels.

“Holy shit, Wolf! You were like lightning! Not that there’s lightning in water, or you’d die –” Fitz cuts himself off. “I’m so proud of my little merman. Look at you, all grown up.”

Burn merely smiles at me, his eyes crinkling in that special way. And Bee, as smiley as she is, suddenly looks shy. She sets her eyes on my face determinedly, her own cheeks red.

“G-Good job.”

“That’s all you can say?” I smirk.

“It almost looked like you were being chased by sharks,” She manages a half-insult. I give her a ‘not bad’ look.

“You can do better.”

“You –” Her gaze wanders down my body, snapping back up. A surge of hot pride prickles my skin.

“Sorry, am I distracting you? Let me put a shirt on.”

Her face goes beet red as I pull my shirt on. Fitz makes a suggestive whistle, and I throw him a glare.