Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
“I think his feelings got hurt there.”
“Good,” I reply. “I have to go and warm myself up. They’ll be setting up for my event soon.”
“You’ve got this. This is the last hurdle for you. Keep your current time and we’ll be drinking champagne tonight.”
Malcolm holds my arm as we make our way down the bleachers to the pool deck. He takes his usual place beside my trainer, and I move to a quiet corner to disrobe and stretch. The big clock shows I have five minutes before my race begins. Today’s event is the freestyle, and it’s where I always make my best time.
The whistle blows, and I take my place on the starting line. I take a final look at Malcolm who nods and smiles.
“Focus, focus,” I whisper as I stare down at the dark water. The starting gun fires and I hit the water at full speed. My first coach used to say that I barely broke the surface and seemed to glide on top of the water. I don’t know how true that is but one thing is certain, I love the water and I swim fast.
The fifteen-hundred-meter freestyle is thirty laps, but I learned a long time ago to not count them. “Just swim,” I tell myself. “You’ll know when it’s time to stop.”
This is the longest Olympic swimming event that isn’t in open water, and most swimmers slow down at around lap twenty-five. Not me. I don’t slow down ever. My form doesn’t change.
There will be forty-six women on the U.S. Olympic swim team. The qualifying time for the 1500 Freestyle for women is sixteen minutes and forty-five seconds. That’s a difficult time for most swimmers to beat, but as I complete my final lap and look up at the time board, I see my time. Fifteen minutes and thirty seconds. That’s close to the world record. I did it. I don’t have to wait for the announcements or the invitation. I’ve just made it to the Olympics.
Malcolm and Andrika are jumping and cheering at the edge of the pool. Malcolm holds out his hands and lifts me out of the water. He takes me in his arms and spins me in a circle.
“You did it, baby girl. I told you that you would. Congratulations!”
I see Everet King leaning against the wall behind us. He has his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face as he glares at us. As soon as Malcolm sets me back on my feet, Everet makes his move. He walks straight up to me with his arm outstretched to shake my hand. I look up at Malcolm and can see him steaming, but I shake the boy's hand anyway. This is my moment, and I don’t want it to turn into a circus.
“Congratulations, Marissa,” Everet says. “I can’t wait to party with you in Paris. I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun together.” He smirks. Why does he want to bait Malcolm like that? Doesn’t he know this man could break him in half?
“Thanks but I’m not much of a partier.”
Everet looks at Malcolm and adds, “Good thing for him. He might not be able to keep up with you if you were.”
“You shouldn’t be concerned about that, son,” Malcolm tells him. “You should focus on finding someone of your own.”
Everet smiles. “I already have. I’m just taking things slow.” He saunters away, feeling better about himself than he should.
I can see the torment on Malcolm’s face. He wants so badly to put this jerk in his rightful place, but he’s holding back for my sake. I wrap my arms around him and whisper, “It’s okay, Daddy. He’s just a little boy. There’s nobody better than you.”
Daddy? I don’t know why I said it, but it feels right. He calls me little girl. Why shouldn’t I call him Daddy?
With his hands still on my waist, he growls, “Congratulations, baby girl. I can’t wait for tonight so we can celebrate.”
The number crunches take their file folders and scurry on to the next phase of their job. They need to calculate every one’s time and prepare the letters of invitation, but I don’t need to wait for their official stamp to celebrate. Since there’s nothing left for us to do here, I suggest we take Andrika out to lunch.
“While we’re eating, we can talk about making travel arrangements,” I start to say but Andrika looks down at the pool deck with a grin. “What? Did I miss something?”
“She’s smiling because I booked our flights and hotel rooms days ago. I told you when we first met, I was getting you to Paris. I never doubted it, or you, for a second,” Malcolm explains and a fire ignites in my chest. How could he be so certain about me? He has more confidence in me than I’ve ever had in myself.