Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
I glare like he’s way off.
He cracks a grin.
Sulli laughs a short laugh, still unable to recover her breath. It’s good. I don’t want to bombard her with twenty questions right after her swim.
On our way out of the pool, we hear a reporter saying loudly, “It looks like Sullivan Meadows whispered to you out there.”
We all look behind us. Frankie stands nearby in front of a GBA News camera.
“What did she tell you after your win?”
Frankie, equally winded, takes large breaths. “She said…I deserve…it. And thanks…for the good…competition.”
Sulli stares at her feet, but she’s smiling softly. Lost in her head somewhere.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
She nods.
I lead her to the rec room where we wait before the medal ceremony. It feels a little like déjà vu. Another silver. Another second place finish. But she’s not as broken up about this one.
“You alright, Sulli?” Banks finally asks when we find a quiet private corner on some yoga mats.
Sulli keeps her towel around her shoulders. “I think so…” She tries hard not to cry. “I am happy for Frankie. I meant all that stuff I said.” She goes quiet for a second and then just whispers, “I don’t really want to talk about it though…if that’s okay?”
I nod strongly. “Yeah, Sul.”
Banks gives her hand a squeeze. She interlaces her fingers with his fingers, then she picks up my hand with her free one.
I can tell she’s kicking herself over the loss, and it doesn’t take Banks, the Sulli Whisperer, to see that she’s not going to climb over the defeat that easily. But I’m not pushy.
When a coordinator gives Sulli the “five minutes to ceremony” call, we all stand up and Sulli tugs on a Team USA jacket over her arms.
Static suddenly scratches my eardrums. Someone must be pushing the wrong button on comms.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Please, don’t be Frog.
Just as I think it, her bubbly voice comes over muffled. “Don’t any of you temps know how to use deodorant? Or is BO like some sort of weird intimidation tactic?”
Banks laughs lightly at the sheer look of horror on my face. Sulli frowns, and he dips his head and quietly catches her up to speed while I click my mic.
“Akara to Frog, turn your comms off.”
“Shit, sorry, Nine.”
I cringe again.
“But seriously,” she adds, “can you tell your temps how to use some anti-perspirant?”
Banks and Sulli laugh softly. He’s unspooled his mic so she can listen.
I take a steadying breath as I reply to my cousin, “I’ll take it under consideration.”
“My nostrils thank you.”
Letting out a long sigh, I stare up at the ceiling. Did I make the wrong choice by letting her join the team? She’s just a temp. My brain is trying to defend the decision, but it’s hard to produce any real evidence. She’s here because of nepotism. Because she’s family.
Let’s just hope it wasn’t a mistake.
25
AKARA KITSUWON
4 MONTHS BEFORE THE OLYMPICS
EARLY APRIL
Blood drips on my P&L sheets for Studio 9. “It’s still bleeding,” I tell Banks, checking his nose. “Stuff that back in, and call Farrow.”
He shoves tissue back up his nostrils. “It’ll stop in another hour. I’m not running to Farrow for a nosebleed.” Purple bruises already shadow his eyes, but I can see he’s more concerned about Sulli, who hugs her knees to her chest.
She’s shaking.
Shit.
Nighttime on the penthouse roof—I wish I could say Sulli is just cold. The crisp wind blows around us, but she’s curled up in a fuzzy blanket on a pool lounge chair and stares faraway.
“Hey, string bean.” I leave Banks and my bloodied P&L sheets. “We’re supposed to be roasting marshmallows not traveling into La La Land.” I rip open the marshmallow bag and chuck one at her face.
It pings off her forehead. Her green eyes finally rise to me. Still haunted. “…what…what happened back there? It went by so fast…I can’t…” She shivers and winces.
Banks takes a seat on her lounge chair, and she lets him hold her. I explain, “We were leaving the Aquatic Center. The end.”
Heat returns to her eyes. “That’s not the fucking end.”
Yeah, but at least you’re here with me, string bean. It hurts seeing her replay these chaotic events over and over, and I’ll do anything to keep them from torturing her. Even coming home and declaring “marshmallow roasting time” like we’re all kids at summer camp.
I snap a finger to my palm. “Everyone knows you’re at the Aquatic Center all day, Sul, so we weren’t surprised the paparazzi were there. We had Farrow and Thatcher with us.” I’ve had SFO help us most times Sulli leaves for the night, and I shift myself off Luna’s detail to be present too.
“But there were so many more cameras than usual. They seemed more fucking aggressive…” She stares off again.
Banks holds her tighter and slips me a concerned, pained look.