He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed with my response.
I sigh, rolling my eyes. “It’s achy, Dad, but fine. Probably just sore from the landing.” Then, pointedly, I add, “I think Antony had too tight of a grip on my arm and didn’t release me soon enough.”
The words hang in the air for a beat too long.
Antony turns in his seat, his expression the perfect picture of disbelief. “Geneva, really?” he scoffs. “I think you need to take responsibility for your error in timing. You’ve had the same issue in practice. Maybe if you were getting enough rest—if you weren’t out so late—you wouldn’t have wobbled.”
My jaw clenches.The audacity of this prick.
“Antony’s right, Geneva,” my father chimes in, his voice dripping with authority, the same voice I’ve heard him use with his hockey team.
I let out a sharp huff, crossing my arms over my chest as I sink deeper into the seat. Of course he agrees with Antony. Healwaysagrees with Antony.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and my fingers twitch with the urge to grab it. I hope it’s fromthem—my guys. The rapid buzzing tells me there are multiple messages, which only makes me more desperate to see what they’re saying.
Antony sighs dramatically, shaking his head as if I’m the problem. “See? Justlistento that. She’s glued to her phone. Too much social life, not enough dedication to her craft.”
I grit my teeth, gripping my phone without pulling it out. “Whatever, Antony.”
“Geneva,” my father says, his tone sharp.
I snap my gaze to him. “What?” I ask, exasperated.
He sighs heavily. “He’s not wrong.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, come on! He’s acting like Ithrewthe landing on purpose. We placed second, Dad. We’restill moving forward. It’s not like we’ve hurt our chances at anything.”
“That’s exactly the problem, Geneva,” Antony interjects, his voice dripping with mock exasperation. “I’m thinkingfirst place, and you’re just thinking aboutgetting by.”
I glare at him, my hands curling into fists. I swear, if he weren’t sitting in the front seat—if I didn’t already know my dad would lose hismind—I’d launch my ice pack straight at his smug face.
My father exhales loudly. “Okay, you two. Let’s put a plug in this until we get home.” He shifts his focus back to the road as the light turns green. “But Geneva, I need you to think about what Antony is saying, because he’s not wrong.”
The smug look Antony shoots me over his shoulder makes my blood boil.
I narrow my eyes at him, then, without thinking, stick my tongue out at him.
Petty? Yes.
Effective? Absolutely.
His expression flickers with irritation before he rolls his eyes and turns back around. Small victories. I have to take them when I can.
Finally, I pull out my phone and scan through the messages, lighting up the screen.
Carter: How did you do?
Chase: Did you place first?
Blake: She did amazing. We know she did good.
Chase: Can you come over when you get back? We miss you. We’ll even have food for you.
Chase: How’s subs?
I can’t help but smile. They don’t care that I was first, just that I did well. I’d love to head over there as soon as Dad puts the car in park, but I know it’s not happening. As soon as we get home, the lecture will continue as I get berated by not only Dad but Antony about my shortcomings.
Me: Came in 2nd. Not shabby, just tenths of a point from 1st. I wobbled on a landing no thanks to Antony and twisted my ankle a little. I’m currently icing it in the back seat and shooting daggers at the back of Antony’s head.
