“She doesn’t look like a slut,” one girl said to her friend before they both broke out into laughter.
I ignored them and pushed through the glass doors, anxious to step into our team’s bus. Kinsley and Becca led the way and I took the first full breath of the morning once the door closed behind me. Coach Decker was sitting up front with Liam. She offered me a short nod.
“Chin up, Foster. Let today be about soccer and nothing else.”
I nodded, trying to absorb her words, but it didn’t help. As I walked down the aisle of our bus, I felt the stares from my teammates. Most of the people who should have been there for me the most were just as curious, wide-eyed, and annoyed with me as anyone else. They might’ve stood behind me before the injury, but now I was no more than a distraction to them. I moved to take a spot beside Michelle near the back, but she reached for her gym bag and tossed it on the seat just before I moved to sit.
“Sorry, need the space,” she said, slipping her earbuds in and turning to face the window.
I walked on and took the last seat at the back of the bus, and that’s where the tears continued to fall. In a matter of hours, life had spun me on my head, and though I tried to hang on for dear life, I knew there was no point. This was only the beginning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Freddie
THEY KEPT THE swimmers tucked away in the locker room until it was time to announce our teams one by one for the semifinal relay race. I was ready, warmed up, and focused, but my heart pounded a heavy rhythm as the announcer called our names and beckoned us into the stadium. I followed Thom out of the locker room, and even though my music blared in my ears, the fans screamed loud enough that I could feel the vibrations hum in my chest.
An Olympic official led us toward the swim platforms and we slipped off our jackets and warm-up pants. Reluctantly, I pulled the headphones off my ears and was met with deafening cheers. One of the team managers came around to gather our clothes and as I handed him my jacket, he pointed up. I followed his finger and found myself blown up on the jumbotron in the center of the stadium—wide eyes hidden beneath goggles and a tense frown. In less than thirty seconds, I’d take my position on the podium for my first race and they wanted me to wave or smile, but I gave them nothing. Other swimmers could flash them chummy smiles; I needed to focus.
Thom nudged my shoulder and gave me a nod. I adjusted my swim cap and goggles until they were secure. I stepped up to the podium and inhaled the sharp smell of chlorine. Swimming had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember, and the smell of the chemical brought the race into razor-sharp focus.
The warning whistle blew and I stepped onto the podium to take my starting stance. I cracked my knuckles and inhaled another deep breath. I bent forward and swung my arms back and forth, loosening the muscles.
“Take your mark,” the announcer shouted.
I bent lower and gripped the edge of the podium. The water was all I could see through my goggles; the small waves beckoned me closer. I could hear the shouts from the stadium in the distance. I could hear the deep breaths from the swimmers positioned on either side of me, but there was nothing louder than the buzzer as it DINGED to the start the race. I pushed off the podium, propelled myself into the water, and let my body do what it did best.
Swim.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Andie
BY THE TIME our bus arrived at the stadium, I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle. I trailed after my team, fidgeting in the awkward pantsuit I had to wear. I’d specifically asked Coach Decker if I could dress out with the team, but she’d insisted on the suit, probably because she assumed it would keep me from running onto the field midgame.
There was a cluster of reporters hovering outside the back entrance of the stadium. Kinsley and Becca huddled around me and helped me block my face from their camera flashes. I had my earbuds in and my music blaring so that even if they had shouted inappropriate questions, I couldn’t hear them. I followed my team into the locker room and set down my bag. There were pregame interviews I had to get through, but Kinsley assured me they would keep the focus on soccer.
She was wrong.
I stepped up behind the small podium and glanced out at the reporters standing and waiting to ask their questions. Before the first two games, there’d been three or four reporters there. I counted a dozen that day before Coach Decker stepped forward and announced that I would be answering questions for five minutes, “so please keep it brief.”
“Andie!”
“ANDIE!”
“Foster!”
I pointed to a short balding man in the back row.
“Do you have any response to the allegations made against you this morning concerning the affair with Frederick Archibald?”
I opened my mouth, stunned.