Page 44
Story: The Comeback Pact
You’re the one I’m here for.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then, a smile peels her lips apart, and my stomach turns over in one tsunami-size flop.
I’m head over heels for this girl. There’s no denying it.
She shakes her head, biting her lip. Her stare scans down my front, and I’m acutely aware I’m wearing only one-tenth of what she’s used to seeing me in. Just the tiny, tight Speedo cinched against my hips. Some of the guys have their Bulldog zip-ups hanging loose over their shoulders, but I’m theO. I’m not covering up, and I’m certainly glad I didn’t when Kenna continues to rake her gaze down me. I told her I’d look better in a Speedo than her crush. I’m going to make her want to replace that huge poster with one of me.
Turning, she nods back inside to what I imagine is the away team’s locker room, and then she jogs off without looking back. A second later, our chant dies off as the announcer interrupts, explaining what we’re about to see. They introduce the judges. Some sit poolside, while others are seated at roped-off areas in the bleachers at varying heights. My research tells me that each judge is looking for something different. Take off, entry, flips and twists.
Back down at the pool, the first diver ascends the platform, and it hits me what an individual sport this is. If I screw up, I get backup from my team—hopefully. These athletes don’t have that. Even if you’re diving in synchronized pairs, it’s still all on the individual. Plus, what they’re being judged on only lasts a few seconds.
The pressure. Jesus. We have a whole four quarters to turn things around if we need to.
One by one, the divers go up.
We cheer for the ’dogs. We sit politely for the other team. The one time I sat in on one of Kenna’s practices—I had to promise her coach I’d behave myself—it was so early in the season that there wasn’t much technical diving going on. Now, it’s cool to see the actual end product and what those moves on the trampoline actually end up looking like.
My competitive nature picks little nuances in the different dives. The best scores go to the divers who enter the water at a near perpendicular angle with little splash.
One girl dives in, and it looks like reverse suction. “Shit, that was nice,” Aidan says, remarking on the same thing I saw. A few drops spring up from the pool and fall back in again. The diver swims underneath the surface before popping up poolside. She has aCon her swimsuit, bearing the colors from the opposing team.
My knee starts jumping up and down. I hope Kenna gets to dive. I want her to feel all the encouragement from my teammates—and me.
Mostly me.
After forty minutes of diving, the score is close. I spot Kenna at the side of the pool where her coach has pulled her aside. I wring my hands together, watching. She nods at something her coach says and then turns, walking toward the end of the pool…and the platform.
My stomach squeezes. Gazing up, Kenna locks eyes with me and smiles before disappearing behind the large, white structure.
What does that mean? Is she on? Is she going to dive?
I slowly get to my feet. The announcer says, “Next up, an exhibition dive from Warner University platform diver McKenna Knowles.” He continues on, giving her career stats and accolades.
When I see her next, she’s at the top of the platform. Her hair is in a single ponytail, pulled back and dripping wet. She takes a deep breath near the back of the platform and then walks slowly to the edge.
Oh, shit. The platform suddenly looks higher, more dangerous.
Is she really going to dive from that?
“Dude, that’s Kenna,” Aidan states.
“Oh, yeah.” Cade puts his fingers in his mouth and gives a piercing whistle.
I hit him to shut him up. She needs to concentrate. However, it doesn’t look like what he’s done has even fazed her. Kenna’s in the zone.
She turns her back, her heels hovering over the edge. Nothing below her now but air and pool. I’ve seen a handful of girls do this, but worry still grips me.
I can’t breathe as she bounces on her toes and then leaps.
Shit, shit, shit…
She’s so close to the platform. Why is she so close?
It feels like forever while she twists in the air before entering the water. Near perpendicular with a tiny splash.
I jump up and down, nerves whooshing out of me.
It was a fantastic dive.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then, a smile peels her lips apart, and my stomach turns over in one tsunami-size flop.
I’m head over heels for this girl. There’s no denying it.
She shakes her head, biting her lip. Her stare scans down my front, and I’m acutely aware I’m wearing only one-tenth of what she’s used to seeing me in. Just the tiny, tight Speedo cinched against my hips. Some of the guys have their Bulldog zip-ups hanging loose over their shoulders, but I’m theO. I’m not covering up, and I’m certainly glad I didn’t when Kenna continues to rake her gaze down me. I told her I’d look better in a Speedo than her crush. I’m going to make her want to replace that huge poster with one of me.
Turning, she nods back inside to what I imagine is the away team’s locker room, and then she jogs off without looking back. A second later, our chant dies off as the announcer interrupts, explaining what we’re about to see. They introduce the judges. Some sit poolside, while others are seated at roped-off areas in the bleachers at varying heights. My research tells me that each judge is looking for something different. Take off, entry, flips and twists.
Back down at the pool, the first diver ascends the platform, and it hits me what an individual sport this is. If I screw up, I get backup from my team—hopefully. These athletes don’t have that. Even if you’re diving in synchronized pairs, it’s still all on the individual. Plus, what they’re being judged on only lasts a few seconds.
The pressure. Jesus. We have a whole four quarters to turn things around if we need to.
One by one, the divers go up.
We cheer for the ’dogs. We sit politely for the other team. The one time I sat in on one of Kenna’s practices—I had to promise her coach I’d behave myself—it was so early in the season that there wasn’t much technical diving going on. Now, it’s cool to see the actual end product and what those moves on the trampoline actually end up looking like.
My competitive nature picks little nuances in the different dives. The best scores go to the divers who enter the water at a near perpendicular angle with little splash.
One girl dives in, and it looks like reverse suction. “Shit, that was nice,” Aidan says, remarking on the same thing I saw. A few drops spring up from the pool and fall back in again. The diver swims underneath the surface before popping up poolside. She has aCon her swimsuit, bearing the colors from the opposing team.
My knee starts jumping up and down. I hope Kenna gets to dive. I want her to feel all the encouragement from my teammates—and me.
Mostly me.
After forty minutes of diving, the score is close. I spot Kenna at the side of the pool where her coach has pulled her aside. I wring my hands together, watching. She nods at something her coach says and then turns, walking toward the end of the pool…and the platform.
My stomach squeezes. Gazing up, Kenna locks eyes with me and smiles before disappearing behind the large, white structure.
What does that mean? Is she on? Is she going to dive?
I slowly get to my feet. The announcer says, “Next up, an exhibition dive from Warner University platform diver McKenna Knowles.” He continues on, giving her career stats and accolades.
When I see her next, she’s at the top of the platform. Her hair is in a single ponytail, pulled back and dripping wet. She takes a deep breath near the back of the platform and then walks slowly to the edge.
Oh, shit. The platform suddenly looks higher, more dangerous.
Is she really going to dive from that?
“Dude, that’s Kenna,” Aidan states.
“Oh, yeah.” Cade puts his fingers in his mouth and gives a piercing whistle.
I hit him to shut him up. She needs to concentrate. However, it doesn’t look like what he’s done has even fazed her. Kenna’s in the zone.
She turns her back, her heels hovering over the edge. Nothing below her now but air and pool. I’ve seen a handful of girls do this, but worry still grips me.
I can’t breathe as she bounces on her toes and then leaps.
Shit, shit, shit…
She’s so close to the platform. Why is she so close?
It feels like forever while she twists in the air before entering the water. Near perpendicular with a tiny splash.
I jump up and down, nerves whooshing out of me.
It was a fantastic dive.
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