She looks over us as a group, standing together.
“Yes, he did.”
My alarm is set for seven, but it’s no surprise when I wake up before it goes off. Emma is already awake and looking back at me. In all the years we’ve roomed together at competitions, she never fails to wake up before me.
I wrinkle my nose at her. “Were you watching me sleep, creeper?”
“I was staring at you until your survival instincts kicked in and woke you up,” she says, laughing.
We throw our covers back at the same time, and then I turn to her. “Hey, Em?”
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Today, we’re gonna be Olympians.”
She lets out a high-pitched shriek of joy from the back of her throat, throwing her covers off, and leaps up onto the bed, bouncing up and down. I haven’t seen her this excited in a long time, and it’s contagious. Goose bumps fly over my skin, and I throw my head back and giggle.
My phone buzzes underneath my pillow.
Kick ass today!
Leo’s text is short and to the point. I send a quick heart emoji back, but that’s all I have time for this morning.
It’s qualifications day. The day when our fates will be decided, one way or another.
An extra hop on that tumbling pass? Kiss floor finals goodbye.
Hesitate between connections on beam? Sorry, try again in four years for that beam medal.
Score a thousandth of a point lower than two of your own teammates in any given discipline—even if you’re better than the rest of the world on that event? Too bad, because only the top two athletes from a country can compete in a final, which means your two-percountried ass will be sitting in the stands.
Our leos are bright metallic white with crystals covering both arms from shoulder to wrist, and after quick showers, we take extra care with our hair and makeup. Everything needs to be perfect today.
I stare at my makeup kit, trying to pick out the right eyeshadow, my personal battle armor for big competitions.
“Hey,” I say, turning to Emma, who’s blow-drying her hair into a shiny red curtain. “What if we all wear teal eyeshadow?”
“Teal?” she asks, after a moment, wrinkling her nose.
“It represents sexual assault awareness. I could give everyone an awesome cat eye too to make it really pop.”
Emma stares at me for a second. Finally, a slow smile appears on her face. “That’s actually a really good idea.”
“I have to run it by Dani first.” I leap up from the floor, about to cross the hallway, but Chelsea is already leading Dani into our room, with Brooke and Sarah on their heels.
“We heard what you said, and it’s perfect,” Chelsea says, and Dani nods, suspiciously wiping quickly at her eyes.
“Here,” Emma says, holding out a box of tissues from her nightstand.
We all freeze. It feels like … I don’t know, it’s a box of tissues, but suddenly it feels like something more, like a peace offering. So much more so than what she said at the press conference yesterday because it’s just us, no cameras, no reporters, just her teammates.
Dani is stock-still for a moment, and then she reaches out and takes them.
Emma cringes with a small shrug, like she knows how awkward this is. “I’m, uhh … sorry they’re the cheap kind, not the kind with lotion.”
Dani’s smile is wobbly for a moment again, but she takes a tissue and wipes at her eyes. “Thanks, Em.”
Emma looks away, focusing way too hard on putting the tissue box back on the nightstand, her own eyes suspiciously glassy.
