Noah nudged me. “You ready?”
I didn’t answer.
I pushed through the crowd. A few of them clapped each other on the backs, others craned their necks to see the sheet pinned to the cork board with a single silver pushpin.
I reached it.
There it was.
Varsity Single — Liam Moore vs. Alex Harrington
Everything else around it faded.
It was like the words hit some invisible switch inside my chest. A tight, bright spark that spread in two directions at once: one of pure, instinctive adrenaline, and the other total fucking dread.
I was damn happy that I was put in a single... but against Alex? I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
I figured it was going to happen, but now that it was a reality, I wasn’t sure if I should be excited to beat him in front of everyone... or scared of the exact opposite. Alex was good, and he already beat me once this year.
Would it happen again?
Behind me, someone muttered, “Oh shit. The rivalry really begins.”
Another guy snorted. “Moore versus Harrington. Can’t believe they’re letting that go down one-on-one.”
Some freshman who didn’t know me added, “Bet he wants that one-on-one action.”
My jaw snapped tight. “Fuck off,” I said, turning toward him.
He raised his hands like he was about to be attacked by a wild animal. “Damn, man. Just a joke.”
“Hilarious.”
Noah scooted in. “Breathe,” he said.
I gave Noah my “okay dad” eyes and backed off.
“Moore.”
I looked up.
Coach Hale stood in the doorway of his office, one hand braced against the frame.
“Step inside,” he said. “I want a word.”
“We’ll talk later,” Noah said.
I nodded before I headed in.
The small office smelled like old paper and burnt coffee. The walls were lined with mementos: mounted oars, silver medals, and a framed clipping from an Olympic championship. The desk fan hummed in the corner. It was comforting because it was real. I couldn’t imagine what the Kingswell coach’s office looked like—probably marble floors and caviar.
“Sit,” Hale said.
I dropped into the cracked leather chair opposite him. It had molded to generations of rowers before me. I felt the weight of all those conversations—pep talks, warnings, and legendary ass-chewings. I wasn’t sure what this was going to be. Maybe he found out about the race with Alex.
Fuck. Please no.
I would just have to deny it. I prepared myself to do it.
