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Whoa. Wait a minute. He started how early? Even journalists had their limits.
As he reached the stairs down to the pool, he turned back to me.
“Oh, and just so you know, if I’m not wearing these? I’m not wearing anything.”
He snapped his waistband with a wink and jogged down to the pool, leaving me speechless in the stands.
CHAPTER 2
A shrieking beep ripped me from sleep far too early the next morning. I lurched upright, heart pounding, and reached blindly for my cell to shut off the damn alarm.
Why did we have to do this so early? It was all well and good for someone who had the luxury of a car, but if I wanted to be on time for Kane’s ridiculous “A Day in the Life” idea, I had to allow for a half-hour bike ride to school.
It still felt like midnight as I stumbled through the dark toward the bathroom, cursing Kane Bryson the whole way. It was probably a setup. I imagined myself having to wait outside the locked pool in the dark. Imagined him arriving with coffee in hand at sunrise and laughing at the poor nerd who thought she could get an exclusive with the swimming god.
In that moment, I decided if he didn’t show, I would roast him. Miss Flint wouldn’t let me run it in the paper, but it would sure make me feel better about the jerk.
After a quick shower, I tiptoed toward the front door, and found Mom asleep on the couch again. I took a moment to pull a blanket over her frail body before grabbing an apple on my way out.
The predawn air did a better job of waking me than my shower had. The fresh bite stung my cheeks and brought tears to my eyes as I pedaled toward town.
We didn’t live in the nicest part of Fankirth, but at least Mom didn’t need to sleep next to a shotgun like some people from the other side of town did.
The closely packed houses with postage stamp yards whizzed by as I hit the first hill. The stars twinkled overhead, and it occurred to me this was a far nicer time to be traveling, without concern for cars and pedestrians, while the rest of the world slept.
In what felt like no time, I pulled my bike into a stand outside the pool and noticed with surprise that the building was already lit up. The doors swung easily under my hand, and then there he was. Dressed in a new pair of swim shorts—blue today, not that I noticed—Kane turned, and I watched in wonder at the way his face split into a wide grin.
He stooped as I approached, and met me with a coffee cup in hand.
“Something to tide you over until we get the good stuff. I didn’t know how you take it, but I have creamer and sugar if you want to add it,” he said, handing it to me with a small grimace.
“How do you know I even drink coffee?” I asked, just to see his reaction. Brow furrowed, he opened his mouth to speak, then paused.
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
I laughed, an unexpected burst that I immediately smothered with a hand. When I trusted there wouldn’t be another, I gave him a sheepish look. “Black is fine. I’m not used to anything too fancy.”
The look he gave me was inscrutable, but left the uncomfortable impression that he saw far more in my words than I was willing to share. I didn’t belong anywhere near him. He was a sports star, waiting to graduate high school and take on the world. He ran with the popular crowd, whereas I was the English nerd who collected notebooks and couldn’t afford a cell phone. I had to keep on track, get this interview done, and return to my dream of being a journalist. There was no room in my plan for boys with soulful dark eyes and Olympic-sized ambitions.
“Bryson! When you’re done with the distraction, get in the pool and warm up.”
Coach Turner strode out of the supply closet like the ground beneath his feet had personally offended him. I jumped, surprised to find how close Kane and I had been standing to each other.
“He’s not a morning person,” Kane whispered conspiratorially.
He guided me toward the front row seats with a hand on my hip, then approached the edge of the pool and back flipped into the water effortlessly, as though he hadn’t sensed the tension in the air a second ago.
Boys.
I sipped my coffee and pulled out my notebook, idly writing about the atmosphere in the pool room during early morning training. Coach Turner yelled a lot, but even I could see how much he cared about Kane’s performance.
“You were half a second slower on that split. Pick up the pace,” he called as Kane flipped his body in the water and shot gracefully into his next lap.
Two hours later, I was exhausted from watching when Kane finally pulled himself from the water in a display of strength that I knew I would never be capable of after that many laps.
I packed up my notebook and stood, waiting for Coach Turner to finish debriefing Kane.
“You were distracted this morning. Your form was off and you were a whole second slower than your average on your medley. Get your head straight before this afternoon or we’ll have to start remedial to get those times back up.”
