Page 27
“Cheers to that,” I agree.
Cora leans back in her seat, stretching her arms over her head. “Who are you swimming with?”
“No one.”
“What?”
I munch a fry, the salt and malt vinegar biting on my tongue. I do my best to explain the situation to her, not at all surprised when she echoes all of the concerns Javier has vocalized over the past few days.
Cora stares at me with a mixture of uncertainty and pity that doesn’t help my confidence. “And what’s your backup plan?”
I pick at the hangnail on the side of my thumb, wincing at the sharp bite of pain as the skin tugs. “Don’t have one.”
Diverting my attention to the fries in front of me, I pop another into my mouth. They’re starting to get cold, and there’s nothing worse than fries when they lose their crisp heat and become cold and floppy. Closing my eyes for a second, I think about the last time I had good panucho, one of my favorite Yucatec’an foods from childhood.
When I look back at Cora, she’s watching me, thoughtful. “What?”
“Nothing. You look good. Like yourself.”
My lips quirk up into a genuine smile. “I am myself.”
She grabs a fry and holds it between her teeth. “Did I see you got Coach Zamora? How did that happen?”
I wonder if my face gives anything away, if she can see the heat I feel on the back of my neck at the mention of him. “He showed up at my place out of nowhere and offered to coach me.”
“I mean, you’ve always been one of the best.”
I roll my eyes, even as the praise warms something inside me. “I don’t know,” I finally say. “He says it’s because I deserve a chance to compete as myself.”
“Seems like a good enough reason to me,” Cora offers.
We finish our meals, trading small talk. It’s nice, seeing her, talking with someone who knew me before and who doesn’t seem to have any trouble seeing me as I am now. This feeling, though, the ease and kernel of hope in my chest starts to grow, making me wonder what my life would be like if my mother had accepted me. If my family, my clan, had met me with this same sort of easy, effortless acceptance.
I hate hoping. It makes the inevitable disappointment hurt that much more.
“Good luck out there,” Cora says after pulling me into a tight hug. “I can’t wait to see you dance. You’re going to be incredible, Aleks.”
“Thanks,” I say, a little caught off guard by how tight my throat feels. “I’ll make sure to see you perform, too.”
She leaves me with a wave, striding off into the crowds like she feels as at home here at the games as she does anywhere else in the world. The already vacant feeling in my chest expands, slightly, like her departure somehow widened the sense of emptiness I’ve been running from all morning. I rub a hand over my head, feeling the soft, short hairs under my palm, and will myself to get it together.
I can’t avoid the water any longer.
It’s time to get my shit together and train.
I work on the same jump for ten straight minutes, but everything about me is off—my timing, my alignment, the angle of my head. This is the same routine I’ve practiced thousands of times over the past two years, that I have memorized to the point where I can do the movements in my sleep, and now, when I know I need to be at my best, I’m failing.
I’m falling apart, and it’s Javier’s fault.
My hoodie clings to my still-damp skin as I jog up the path to the cabin. I want a cigarette, a nap, and then maybe when I wake up I can start over again, give this day another try.
The cabin is empty. I light a cigarette on the front porch, sucking down smoke like maybe the burn in my lungs will fix the incessant emptiness in my chest. When the first one doesn’t work, I smoke another one.
I feel like shit.
I take a shower, but the water on my skin makes me horny, which makes me think about growly Daddies with soft bellies and whispered Spanish falling from their lips. I turn the water as cold as it will go, and only when my fingers are purple and I can’t stop shivering do I get out.
Laying on the floor doesn’t help. There’s nothing but dust and cobwebs on the beams above my head. Pacing is equally worthless.
