Maddy
We’re not the only ones dragging. Amber and the guy she brought with her last night, Nick—they’re dragging, too. We’re all slightly pissing my father off because with a key meet staring us down in days, dragging does not make for much winning.
It’s temporary, though. I think maybe after the failed interview and my refusal to answer my father’s phone calls, or come home for the last twenty-four hours—my dad is starting to realize that his best shot at turning around the sinking ship that is this Swim Club might just be riding on the shoulders of the only star swimmer not dragging in the pool this morning. Of all of us, Will should feel pressure the most, but this morning it’s like he woke up a new man.
Reinvigorated.
Hungry.
Driven.
My father’s routine with him is the same. He tells him he’s done well, offering praise for his turns, his starts, his strokes. The difference today, though, is Will tells him “it isn’t good enough.”
We have one more set of sprints, and my father is pairing us. It doesn’t matter much who he pairs Will with, because I know anyone is going to lose—I will lose. But I know that if anyone is going to push Will the hardest, it’s me.
Nick steps up on the blocks next to Will, but I nudge him before he gets set.
“Let me have a crack at him,” I tease, winking at Will. He smirks at me, but pushes his goggles to his face tighter, dangling his arms, his shoulders rippling and his back muscles flexing as he leans down.
“Bring it, Woodsen,” he says out of the side of his mouth.
I glance to the other end of the pool, my father’s weight leaning on one foot, ankles crossed and clipboard tucked against his chest. He isn’t amused—he thinks I’m goofing off, not taking this seriously. But my mom showed up today, and a quick look at her face tells the opposite story. Her arms are crossed over her chest, but she’s smiling. It’s the same face she used to make when me and the Hollister boys would race as kids—prideful.
“Go on the sound,” my father shouts, his words short and his tone un-amused.
The timer clicks off, beeping to signal go, and Will and I fly into the water. His jump on me is almost a body’s length by entry, but I make up some ground with my powerful strokes. I put in two for every one and half of his, grabbing hold of the wake left behind his feet in the lane next to me. I push with my head down, not breathing but once, and only to fuel my arms to continue the frantic pace I’m putting them through.
I feel his water slide past me, the rush of his kick leaving me in the dust, the water calming, but a stroke later my fingers hit the wall.
My father is staring at his stopwatch, and my mother is hooting with her arms in the air. I glance to Will, and both of us tug our caps from our heads. We smile from the rush of speed, but Will’s eyes are crinkled in a confused look as he moves closer to the ropes.
I’m about to ask him how that felt when I feel my mom’s hand rest on top of mine at the edge of the deck. I turn to see her knelt down near us, an open-mouthed smile plastered on her face and pushing her eyes wide and high.
“Maddy, that was a full point three faster than you’ve ever swam. That was incredible!” She stands and cups her mouth, turning to my father who is still frozen with the watch in his hand, staring at the time.
I feel Will’s hand cup the back of my head and move me close enough so he can kiss my forehead and hold his against mine.
“That’s my girl,” he grins.
I laugh lightly, still in disbelief, because I felt like Will was absolutely smoking me in the water, but then my head does the math and I glance up to take in my father’s expression again. The watch now back in his pocket, he’s concentrating on a few notes he’s writing on the clipboard, his eyes pinched in, making a deep wrinkle between them. Will still beat me, but I could feel his movement in the water the entire way. Our race shouldn’t have been that close. While I swam a personal best, Will swam a personal worst. He did it days before a race.