“Wind-up!” Dean called.
The metronome got faster and so did I. Out of my periphery, I saw nothing but green and yellow. We were neck-and-neck with New Haven Prep.
Not good enough.
My shoulders screamed. The grunts of my teammates echoed mine. The other crews were slipping away into obscurity. Insignificance. Only New Haven Prep mattered, and they were losing ground. Soon enough, I was parallel to their bow seat—a red-haired guy, puffing his cheeks with every exhale. I attuned my focus to Dean’s metronome to keep my pace steady but turned my head enough so that the bow seat knew I was staring straight at him. He couldn’t see my eyes; we both wore the same style of reflective sunglasses, but there was no mistaking my intent.
Dean covered his mic. “Dude, what are you doing?”
“I’m saying hi,” I gritted out between breaths.
New Haven’s bow seat caught sight of me staring at him and did a double-take. It wasn’t much but enough to cause a short break in rhythm. And because Dean Yearwood was the best damn cox I’d ever rowed with, he saw our opponent’s fault and instantly pounced.
“Winding up in three, two…go!”
I turned away from New Haven again, giving everything I had to the new pace. A few more strokes and we were surrounded by nothing but open water.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Dean shouted, all traces of his usual happy-go-lucky natured erased. “Come on, fucking pull!”
We pulled like nothing else mattered. Not the choppy water, nor the sky that was going to break open at any second. Just our team working in perfect mechanical harmony: legs, body, arms, then arms, body, legs, carving our way through turbulent water as one entity, inhaling with the drive, as if we were sucking energy out of the wind and channeling it through our oars.
To my starboard, I saw the curve of the land—a riot of color as spectators rose from their chairs—but we kept pulling toward the finish. New Haven Prep was making a valiant effort, but we were a length up, and there wasn’t enough water to catch up.
The bell rang from the docks, signaling that we’d crossed the finish line, and then Dean was gripping my shoulders and shaking me.
“Holy shit, Xander! We won. Wewon!”
I wanted to smile, but I didn’t have the strength. The oar fell out of my slack hand and fatigue swooped in. I sucked in deep breaths, each inhale of cold air scraping against my throat, while my lungs burned as if on fire. From behind, Henry thumped my shoulders. With heavy limbs, I turned to congratulate him. My team wore identical masks of exhaustion, breathing hard through wide, victorious smiles.
We’d won. I should’ve been ecstatic. Instead, race over, my mind went straight to thoughts of Emery.
On dry ground, we lined up to shake hands with the other crews, earning grudging nods of respect from New Haven Prep. Afterward, we changed into our black and gold tracksuits for the awards presentation, where the association president put a crystal trophy in Tucker’s hands. There were more speeches, and then they released us.
Family and friends rushed the crew, and girlfriends hugged boyfriends. Aria embraced Rhett while Kai Thornton’s girlfriend leaped into his arms. Dean was congratulated by Coach and a few officials. Tucker high-fived his friends with loud cheers and whoops, then lifted Emery off the ground and spun her around. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away, so he only got her cheek. Her expression was blank. Resigned. Defeated. My stomach clenched with guilt. I’d vowed to save her from anyone who tried to dim her light, and then I’d dimmed it myself.
In our clubhouse, Coach gathered us around again. “Gentlemen, you did good. Your time was impressive, given those conditions, and you should be proud of yourselves. We’ll do a postrace debriefing at next practice, but now it’s time to celebrate!”
We went to our lockers to change into street clothes. As I swapped out my contacts and put on my glasses, Orion and Dean appeared at my side.
“Bloody hell, Ford. I nearly put out my shoulder trying to match your pace. Good on ya, mate!” He jostled Dean. “And Yearwood, no one’s a better coxy than you.”
“Nah,” Dean said. “You should’ve seen the shit Xander pulled with their bow seat.”
“Which you jumped on and used to our advantage,” I put in. “Orion’s right. You’re the best, my friend.”
“Aw, shucks,” Dean said, grinning ear to ear. “You guys do the hard work. I just sit and yell at you. Oh, and steer the boat, but that’s not important.”
“I hear the Castle Hill Country Club is going all out for this party,” Orion said. “You’re both coming, yeah?”
“Is pi an irrational number?” Dean grinned.
“Huh?”
“That would be ayes.”
Orion rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Dorks, the lot of you. Ford?”
“I’m not going.”
