In the bed I woke up in yesterday, where the words I’m saying weren’t true yet, it’s really hard to make my mind accept this new reality.
“I’m an Olympian.”
I blink away the last vestiges of sleep and roll over, only to be met with the sight of Emma’s body launching across the space from her bed to mine.
“We’re Olympians!” she shrieks, landing at my side, her red hair flying into her face.
Yeah, that one sounded real.
She lifts her phone and leans her head against mine. “Smile, Rey—we’re going to Tokyo,” she sings as she records, and I let a smile spread across my face. Her thumb swipes against the screen. “Perfect. Steve said I should post at least three or four times a day leading up to the Games. Oh! I forgot, while I was totally running interference with the parents for you and Leo yesterday, Steve was chatting up your mom and dad. He wants us to do some promo together before we leave for training camp.”
Steve Serrano is Emma’s agent. She signed with him after world championships last year, giving up her amateur status and going professional. Technically, I’m pro too. It was an easy choice to make once we realized I wouldn’t be able to compete in college.
My phone buzzes somewhere near my head, and I dig it out from under my pillow, where it ended up after we crashed back into the room last night, totally exhausted in every possible way.
It’s a direct message from Leo.
Not sure if I made it clear before. It was really great talking to you last night.
And then beneath it, it’s his number, his actual phone number, which feels kind of serious.
“Who is it?” Emma asks, rolling over and squinting at the screen and then letting out a small squeak.
“What do I say?”
I pull up a new blank message.
“Tell him that he missed a great party,” Em suggests, “and that you wanted to dance with him.”
Yeah, that sounds good. Normal, but kind of flirty, without being too much. I type it out and press send.
I swipe out of the message and look at the time. “Ugh, I’m going to be late. I’m supposed to meet my parents.”
One foot gets tangled in the sheets as I leap out of bed, which causes my back to spasm, but I ignore the pain. Wracking my brain, I try to remember what Gibby told us to wear to the meeting, but realize he said we’ll be getting our new Olympic team clothes there, so for once it doesn’t matter what we wear. I follow Emma’s lead, yanking on a pair of shorts and anNYC GYMT-shirt, then throw my hair up into a ponytail, slide on a pair of flip-flops, grab my phone, and race out the door.
The door where Leo almost kissed me last night.
I’m an Olympian, and I had an amazing almost-kiss with a really hot guy last night.
This is going to be a good day.
The lobby restaurant is relatively empty. It was a long night for everyone, even the fans. Most people probably won’t be up for a few hours, but I spot my parents at a table near the windows.
“See you later,” Emma says, sliding away from me. Her parents and Steve are at the other end of the restaurant. Chelsea and her boyfriend are in a booth in the corner, and she shoots me a quick wave before looking at whatever papers he’s showing her. I wave back and then head for my parents.
“Morning, guys!” I slide into the chair beside Dad. They already got me an egg-white omelet with veggies and a huge glass of orange juice.
“Morning, Rey,” Mom says, smiling widely. She and Dad stare at me for a long moment.
“What?” I ask, looking between them. “What is it?”
“You’re an Olympian,” they say together.
A brilliant chill runs through me from head to toe, and I smile with them. It’s been a fourteen-year journey, and my parents have been with me every step of the way, through state championships and elite qualification, through NGC camps and international assignments, through injuries and surgeries and doctors and physical therapists and finally Olympic trials.
The pride radiates off of them in their smiles.
“So, that boy, Leo, he seemed very nice,” Mom says, her eyes twinkling at me with mischief.
