CHAPTER EIGHT
“Yes, he made the qualifications,” I yell into the phone so Cyrus’ dad can hear me.
“That’s so great. Tell him we’re going to bring home work tonight and watch him compete on the TV. And wish him luck from everyone back home.”
Even though Cyrus’ father can’t see me, I smile and nod my head, agreeing to let Cyrus know. What I really want to do is scream that a good dad wouldbe at his son’s competition to tell him in person. It’s the damn Winter Games! It’s the biggest competition of an athlete’s life.
Cyrus has worked for years to get here and his parents couldn’t skip a simple tax season to support him? It drives me crazy. I want to scream at them every time we talk. Especially his father because he’s the parent who got him into snowboarding in the first place.You would think he’d be the one to push his kid to succeed…like mine. But from what I’ve learned over the years, it feels more like Cyrus’ parents got him into snowboarding to keep him out of their hair. It’s sheer dumb luck he’s good at it and they had money to keep up with the growing demands of a pro athlete as a teenager.
It’s no wonder he likes my mom. She may be overbearing and nosy, butat least she openly cares about him.
At ten o’clock this morning, Cyrus and the other competitors for the men’s parallel giant slalom competed in the qualification rounds. The parallel giant solemn is a side-by-side racetrack with different color flags — officially called gates — set up for athletes to zip around in a race to the finish. Two snowboarders start at the top and race each other tothe bottom, each making their way back and forth in a zig-zag fashion between their colored flags. Then they switch sides of the track and race again. The top sixteen fastest combined times advance to the final meets.
It can get confusing, but basically it’s one big long grueling day full of races. And that’s the best outcome. Worst case, you race twice and don’t qualify. The athletes who makeit to the end will race over six times today. I have no idea how they have the nerves or stamina to do it. I’d much rather race once and get it over with. Let the cards fall where they may. The nerves of this event are enough to age me ten years.
When the qualifying races were finished, Cyrus came in at number eleven. It’s not a great place. No one wants to start at the lower half of the topsixteen, but he’s in the top sixteen and that’s the important part. He’s not done yet.
While waiting for the final numbers to come in, we ate lunch, had a team pep talk, and generally fretted about the day. Well I fretted. Cyrus, for what it’s worth, looked calm and collected even if underneath all his bravado he’s a wreck.
Now an hour after finishing the qualifying rounds, they’ve movedon to the first of four elimination rounds. Each one more nerve racking than the next. Once Cyrus wins the gold, he’ll have to melt it down and sell it to pay for my therapy bills.
“You got this,” I say staring into his eyes.
He smiles. “Of course I do.” He leans down going to give me a kiss, but I pull back in the last second in case the cameras are watching. “Screw it, Charlie.” The secondtime he moves too quickly, catching me on the cheek.
“Focus on your race.” I pat him on the shoulder once like an awkward best friend. I have no idea what else to do with someone who was my best friend less than forty-eight hours ago and is now my boyfriend but is seconds away from competing for a gold medal. It’s a damn crazy time to be me.
Cyrus steps away, but turns back before getting far.“Don’t go sit with the spectators. Stay here, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree.
Satisfied with my answer, Cyrus finishes his short walk to where the rest the competitors have lined up for the races in this round. The sixteen competitors will face one another in the two-by-two match. The first-place finalist from the qualifying round races the sixteenth-place finalist, which means Cyrus has to competeagainst the sixth place person. I warned you it’s a confusing mess. They literally have a bracket system set up so we can follow along.
Cyrus is racing a Russian who is highly favored to place in the top three for this event. The two of them line up side by side at the top of the slope. A series of short dings sound and their starting gates open. My vantage point from here is absolutely horrible.I can’t see anything past the first flag, and as Cyrus speeds around it, I’m forced to crank my neck and search out a TV to see the remainder of the course.
Cyrus passes the blue flags one after another zooming down the hill. He makes it look easy as his body leans to the side and he uses his snowboard to pick up speed. It all happens so quickly, and both snowboarders are side by side for mostof the race. At one point I swear their boards almost connect as there is no divider between the two courses. At the end of the slope, the Russian snowboarder crosses the finish line by a quarter of a second faster than Cyrus. He knows he lost before he even stops his board at the bottom.
His shoulders slump, and without any fanfare he makes his way over to the lift to bring himself back up thehill. Unlike my event, the snowboard cross, the giant slalom gives competitors two chances for each meet. Cyrus will race again, this time on the opposite side of the course where he’ll dodge the red flags rather than blue. But because he lost the first race he’ll start the next a quarter of a second later. I swear this event has so many rules only a man could have invented it. Another reason Icould never compete in this event.
Cyrus walks by me quickly taking his spot at the start of the red course and reattaching his snowboard.
“You got this, Cyrus!” I scream, my hands cupped around my mouth for maximal noise.
He shakes his head like he doesn’t believe me and I’m worried. If he doesn’t believe in himself, there’s no way he can win, but there’s also nothing else I can do at thispoint. Waiting for his rival to finish buckling his snowboard, Cyrus lifts his head and smiles at me across the distance. He winks and then while getting himself into final position shoots me a thumbs up.
To be frank I have absolutely no idea what it means. I hope to God he’s found motivation and belief in himself because he’s going to need it, but I have no idea what’s going on his head.
Thebells ding and the lights flash while I hold my breath this time. Cyrus is a flag and a half behind the Russian before he gets to leave his gate for his delayed start. He works hard to catch up and by the third flag the two are almost neck and neck. On the fourth, Cyrus leans, transferring his weight on the board to skim past the red flag. His hand skirts the snow, his body sideways, almost parallelwith the ground. It’s a smooth transition and he sets himself up to do the exact same thing on the opposite way to the next flag, but the Russian doesn’t. He falters, leaning the wrong way for just a second and costing himself valuable time.
For some unbelievable fucking reason, the cameraman pans out away from the action limiting what we can see on the television screen. I close my eyes, lowermy head, and cross my fingers…and my toes. You can never be too safe. This race determines the winner by whoever crosses the finish line first during the second run.
A huge roar of cheers goes up from the crowd, and I slowly open my eyes to see who they highlighted in the video footage as the winner.
It’s the dirty blond hair and blue-eyed face of Cyrus flashing across the screen. He smilesway too big for someone who didn’t just win this race.
American flags wave for a few seconds before the next two competitors line up to start their meets.
He won!
