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I stifle a groan as I open the door, finding Coach staring up at the ceiling while leaning against the wall. He turns to me, forcing a smile while patting me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Goode,” he says while leading the way toward the exit. “There’s always next time. Try outs are in two years. I’m sure, with some time and practice, you’ll be ready. Nerves got to you. It happens to everyone.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, feeling the icy cold wind whip past me as I open the door. Somehow, Coach’s words only seem to make me feel worse.
***
I stare at the staircase leading up to the apartment. Snow and ice cover the banister. Hunter swept the snow off the steps this morning, but already a quarter inch of snow covers them. Flurries float down all around me, wetting my waterproof coat. My hand lingers on the banister, one foot on the first step.
How can I show my face? Part of me wants to drag this out, go to the library, the gym, anywhere but here. But I doubt dragging this out will make me feel any better. Blowing off some steam at the gym is actually a good idea, but my body feels sluggish from the day and all I want to do is bury myself in my blankets and pretend like today didn’t happen.
With a sigh, I force myself up the steps. As I draw closer, I hear laughter from the other side of the door. High pitched. Rachel must be here with that friend of hers. Charlie, I think? Ugh. That’s the last thing I want to deal with—having someone from outside our group giving me pity about failing at something I should be amazing at.
I stare at the door, tempted to turn around, but where can I go? I can’t run with this huge duffel bag. Well, I can, but it’ll be a pain. I don’t want to study or workout. Maybe Rachel will be too busy. I can tell her about tryouts tomorrow when it doesn’t sting as much.
“Well, here goes nothing,” I whisper before pushing open the door.
Rachel and her friend instantly turn toward me. I pause in the doorway, taking in Rachel’s messy bun on the top of her head, the sprinkle of freckles on the bridge of her nose, and the oversized blue sweater. She looks adorable. Her friend twiddles her fingers at me, wearing all black. They’re sitting on the floor with several sketchbooks around them, displaying faceless bodies in different positions.
I kick the door close and dump my bag on the floor before briskly walking toward my room, hoping Rachel has forgotten all about my tryout for today. “Hey,” I murmur with an awkward wave. “I see you’re busy. I’ll just be—”
“Oh, Charlie and I are pretty much done,” says Rachel while picking herself off the floor. She pulls down her sweater and wipes the dust from her black leggings. She pads toward me, wearing her pink bunny slippers, a bright smile on her lips. “How was it?”
Ugh.
“How was what?” Charlie asks while grabbing the sketchbooks and slipping them into her large, black bag. “Did handsome have anything special going on today?”
I grimace. Yeah, and I completely fucked it up. On any other day, I would totally enjoy being called ‘handsome,’ but not today. Today, nothing can make me feel better. I can already hear Seth laughing when I tell him the news.
“Yeah,” Rachel says while taking both my hands and pulling me toward her. “Alex had tryouts for the Olympics.”
Charlie’s eyes widen as she closes the distance between us. “Wow. Now that’s what I call special. How did you do? What was your score?”
I mentally kick myself. That would be good to know. I didn’t stay to find out. Hopefully, Coach got the scores while I was in the locker room. I know my daily average, but it would be good to know how terribly I did today. Then I can probably use that as an excuse when I meet with my parents.
I wince, hearing them already in my head.
“Maybe running just isn’t for you,” Dad would say.
“You can always go back to medical school,” Mom would add.
And then I can tell them that it was just a fluke.
But what if it wasn’t? What if I genuinely don’t have what it takes?
“Where’s Hunter?” I ask, my voice quivering as I push Rachel away and turn toward the kitchen. I grab a glass and fill it with water, happy to have something to do rather than stare into Rachel’s hopeful gaze.
“He’s spending time with his dad.”
Ugh. She knows something is wrong. I can hear it in her voice. I can feel her staring holes into my back. I concentrate on my water, chugging it and refilling the glass with more.
“Seth went for a run,” Rachel adds with a frustrated sigh.
“Is that guy okay?” Charlie asks.
Great. Change in topic. Hopefully, they focus on Seth and I can slip inside my room.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s getting really skinny,” says Charlie. I glance over my shoulder, finding Rachel’s friend putting on her coat. Rachel meets my stare, the cheerfulness gone, replaced with something else entirely. Determination? Confusion? Crap. The moment Charlie leaves, I’m going to be faced with a list of questions.
