Georgie wouldn’t let it go. “Spill it, Freddie. Who is she?”
I stared up at the ceiling and acquiesced, actually sort of glad to confide in her about Andie. What would it hurt to tell Georgie about her?
“She’s an American.”
“Is her last name Kardashian?”
“No, she’s called Andie. She’s a footballer. You’d like her, Georgie. She’s got a natural thing about her and she’s really talented.”
“Good lord Freddie, you sound like a smitten schoolgirl.”
I smiled. “You’re the one who asked, Georgie.”
“Are you in love already?” she laughed.
My smile fell and suddenly it wasn’t fun to talk about Andie any more. The silence was back, louder than before. Neither one of us was going to utter the words, because we didn’t need to. The idea of Caroline spoke loudly enough on its own.
Finally, she laughed. “Blimey. It’s rotten luck.”
I’m glad one of us can laugh about it.
“Yeah, well. Really, it’s nothing.” I checked the clock on my bedside table. “Listen, I’ve got to run and get ready for swim practice.”
“Fine. On the contrary, I require a little lie down. Between our nutter of a mum and your dramatic love life, I’m feeling faint.”
I laughed and promised I’d phone her later.
“Wait, Freddie,” she said, just before I hung up.
“Yeah?”
“What are you going to do about Andie? Will you see her again?”
I hesitated before answering.
“It is a rather small village.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Andie
“LET US IN, Andie!”
Jesus Christ. I reached out for a pillow and pulled it over my face to keep from yelling at Kinsley and Becca to go away. I’d had four, maybe five minutes of alone time since returning from practice. I’d showered and changed, but I should have savored it more and really reveled in the silence before Kinsley and Becca polluted it. On the bus ride home, they’d tried to corner me, but I’d put on my headphones and tuned them out. My plan had worked temporarily, but now, it seemed they weren’t going to take no for an answer.
I’d arrived in Rio less than twenty-four hours earlier and the dust had yet to settle. I hadn’t finished unpacking, I hadn’t called my mom, and I hadn’t had a full uninterrupted minute to consider what had happened with Freddie the night before. Had that encounter actually happened? Had I really slung my panties at his head like a bachelor party stripper?
“ANDIE! Let us in, we have a present for you.”
I groaned, shoved off my bed, and opened my door to find Kinsley and Becca—my team captains and the two people I should have respected the most—standing in my doorway dressed in matching unicorn onesies.
“Here, we got one for you too,” Kinsley said, shoving a limp, horned onesie into my hand and then stepping past me into my room.
“The three amigos!” Becca confirmed, running and jumping onto my bed. Between the two of them, there was never a dull moment, hence why I’d bonded with them the first day of tryouts.
“I think your mattress is better than mine,” Becca said, bouncing up and down in an attempt to confirm her theory.
“They’re all the same,” I laughed, setting the onesie down on my suitcase.
“What are you going to do for the rest of the day?” Kinsley asked, taking a seat beside Becca.
I shrugged. “Unpack, get settled, finally call my mom.”
She nodded. “We were thinking of going down and scoping out the first floor if you wanna come. Our complex has the biggest food court, so I think most of the athletes will be hanging out there.”
“I really need to call my mom. She’s already texted me like thirty times.” Honestly, she had. The woman was clinically insane.
“It’s okay, we can wait,” Kinsley offered with a smile.
Since neither of them made a move to leave, I stepped out onto my room’s balcony to give my mom a call.
My parents, Christy and Conan Foster, were robots. Sweet, well-meaning robots. They grew up in Vermont, my grandparents grew up in Vermont, and my great-grandparents grew up in Vermont. Somewhere during all those generations spent in harsh winters, their personalities had been replaced by good-natured gobs of maple syrup. Their idea of fun was layering a cashmere sweater over a gingham button down and taking a picnic to the park. They belonged to our small town’s country club and spent their free time flipping through L.L. Bean catalogs; needless to say, they were shocked to have produced a daughter like me.
Those first fourteen years were a real struggle. My mother had insisted I stay in dance but I’d insisted on playing soccer. It wasn’t until I earned a spot on the U-17 National Team at only fifteen years old that she let me tear down the dance posters in my room. Throughout high school, I’d replaced them with soccer stars like Ashlynn Harris, Hope Solo, and Cristiano Ronaldo. Admittedly, Cristiano was there mostly for eye-candy. Also, I liked to rub his abs like Buddha’s belly for luck before a big game.