“Relax your grip,” I said. “Think about placing the blade instead of stabbing it. Wait that half-second longer for the boat to run under you. And don’t freak out if it feels wrong for a while. Fixing your catch always feels wrong before it feels right.”
Evan nodded. “Thanks. Seriously.”
“Anytime,” I said, and this time I meant it.
Future captain here.
He sat down at an erg and put in his earbuds. I felt strangely grounded, like maybe I could become the kind of rower Hale thought I could be.
I reached for my phone and texted Emily:
Liam
Got the single. Racing Kingswell. Long story. Can we talk later?
Emily
Talk? No. Celebrate. 7pm. Spaghetti Palace. Pick me up at my dorm. ??
Despite everything—the nerves, the matchup, the uncertainty of the day —I felt the corners of my mouth lift.
Maybe tonight, I could breathe a little and let the scrimmage take care of itself this weekend.
Chapter 8: Alex
By late afternoon the Kingswell courtyard had settled into that quiet lull between classes and evening activities. It was almost the weekend and students were preparing for their first weekend parties.
During my freshman year, I went to this Delta Chi party, and they had this ridiculous three-tiered champagne fountain to welcome in the new semester. It looked classy for about thirty minutes until everyone got way too drunk on champagne.
Someone tried to do a backflip off the couch, hit the table, and the whole fountain crashed and shattered. The pledges had to clean it up with rags, wring the champagne into cups, and drink it like it was some noble tradition.
This was Kingswell. This was the future my father is so proud of.
That wasn’t why I was here though—not anymore. I was here to push myself to the limit as an athlete. Today’s schedule was relentless—water in the morning, classes stacked through lunch, another practice coming up in less than an hour.
And I was happy for all of it.
This year, I was going to break out as a rower, as a student, and as myself.
The scrimmage had been announced two days ago, but the lineups were still a mystery. Everyone kept pretending they didn’t care who they were paired against, but I knew better.
This whole impromptu scrimmage against Riverside was fishy.
Something was going on.
I didn’t know what it was, but I was planning to come out on top, even if they shoved me in a single scull.
This was my year.
My phone buzzed against the metal table.
Dad.
I felt the shift in my body before I even answered. I picked up the phone.
“Good afternoon,” I said, colder than I meant to be.
“I hope you’re not wasting daylight,” he replied. His tone was controlled, polished, clipped. “Coach Eldridge sent me the scrimmage lineups.”
