“Mara, did they have dial-up Internet in the Olympic Village during your first Olympics?” Jordan Siwa asked.
“Very cute.” Mara smiled at her young teammate. She certainly felt old, and comments about her long career were nothing new. They just usually didn’t happen in front of television cameras and boom mics and portable lighting.
But if there had been no cameras, her teammates wouldn’t have joked with her at all. She wasn’t exactly a leader to impressionable young athletes, even if that was the story the powers-that-be were hoping to push.
Mara struggled balancing her own needs and the team spirit that was expected during the Olympics. And she’d had enough Olympic experience to know. She required extra rest, zen, and alone time during competition. “Not a team player” a coach in Alaska had said once when she’d been a teenager. Mara’s father had promptly removed her from that club and trained her himself.
Because Coach Dad had historically worked out so well for so many athletes.
She wasn’t exactly beloved by the other men and women on the US Cross-Country Ski Team and never had been. But her objective was to win, not to girl talk with a bunch of kids getting their first taste of the Olympic rings.
Unfortunately, the cameraswerethere. Theywerebeing filmed, and she had to play her role. She wasn’t going to mess it up like last time.
Shewas the story. Half of it, at least.
“She’s not quite that old,” another rookie, Brandilyn, said, playfully snapping a USA-branded towel. “I bet she commemorated it on MySpace, though.”
Mara nodded and tried to shape her face into something sweet and acceptable. She had to play along even though playing along, joking along, hell, just getting along wasn’t quite her thing.
“Yes, sure. Because I had so much time for MySpace back in the olden days.” Not exactly a sparkling joke, but Mara hoped it passed well enough.
She’d had multiple meetings with her agent, the US Ski and Snowboard communications team, and the Cross-Country Ski Team press officer.
Their goal… No,hergoal was to solidify her legacy—on the course and off. If that meant playing the princess, she would play the princess. If it meant controlling herself, she would control herself. She’d learned her lesson four years ago. She was following a script this time—smiling big, saying nothing.
“Was it hard for you to find eight friends, Mara May? Seems like it might be.” That voice—warm and smoky—was like ice water on top of Mara’s mood. She tried not to glance at Kirby Bonham.
Tried and failed.
You never knew which Kirby might show up on any given day.
Resourceful, dynamic, talented.
Messy, dramatic, attention-seeking.
It was a crapshoot, and Mara hated the unknown.
Today, Kirby had on all black workout clothes. Last night, she had been wearing black too. A black tank top, a distressed black leather jacket, black chunky boots, jeans that seemed to have been made for her alone. She always looked so striking and soherself. She was a brand, after all.
Kirby had more media exposure than everyone in the room combined.
Good exposure. Bad exposure. It didn’t matter. Kirby was just as likely to hock a meal kit on Instagram as she was to appear on reality TV.
Mara swallowed hard.Remember the cameras. Remember the cameras. “Only someone our age would understand that reference, Bonham.”
She would bet her favorite sunglasses that most of the skiers around her had no idea what a MySpace page looked like, much less the drama surrounding who was in your “top eight.”
“Are you two not friends, KB?” the television producer asked, directing the question to Kirby. He had been silent up to that point, just trying to get “some color,” he’d said, by filming the team horsing around before they left for Italy.
Everyone in the room went silent.
No. They were not friends.
“I’m friendly,” Kirby said, her smile sharky.That smile. It did things to Mara’s stomach. Made her feel nervous, uncomfortable, and frustrated all at once. “Right, Mara May?”
“Of course. You’re a ray of sunshine, Bonham.” Mara despised how Kirby said her name. All sing-songy like it was a joke.
“Yep.Golden. That’s me.”
