Page 112 of Stroked Hard
It’s all too much.
Looking in the mirror, I look haggard, like a complete hot mess. This is not me. I feel like I haven’t felt like me in a long time. Then again, before Hollis, I wasn’t happy either.
But, I’m not happy now.
A stray tear falls from my eye that I quickly wipe away.
I should be happy now. I should be happy in life, what I’ve achieved, where I live. What’s to come.
I should be happy because of Hollis.
So why? Why am I not happy now?
Chapter Twenty-Five
HOLLIS
Deep breath. Ignore the crowd. Focus on the target ahead. Two steps, a skip, and a leap. That’s it, that’s all I have to do and then fall into a four-and-a-half somersault.
Holly’s words repeat in my head. “Smooth start, focus on your tuck, and really push the water away from your body at entry. You need a nine-point-five average. You’ve got this, Hollis.”
I’ve got this. I’ve been on autopilot ever since I showed up at the pool with Holly by my side. We spent a great deal of time warming up, going over each dive on dryland, talking them over, and then laughing at the picture of Mom and Dad’s shirts. Not only was my face plastered across their chests, but so was Holly’s with a fake whistle attached to her mouth. How I loved seeing her face on their shirts once more. It’s only right. The shirts were absolutely ridiculous, but they are the Hollis Howlers. I’m not surprised by their antics anymore. Even better is the back of their shirt . . .The Holly Howlers.
When the competition started, I sank into my zone, blocking away the outside world and all worry about Melony. I’ve been able to get through five of my six dives for the most part flawlessly besides my third dive when I released too late from my pike position resulting in a shortened vertical entry. It’s the reason why I have to score high on this final dive in order to claim gold.
But it’s my favorite dive. Four-and-a-half somersault tuck. One of the most difficult dives, but the most thrilling because once you’re tucked in position, you fly, tumbling down into the water. If you don’t pull out of your tuck at the right time, you’re looking at a world of hurt. Believe me, I’ve smacked water before.
I wait in the stairwell, my shammy clinging to my shoulder, my heart racing a mile a minute. China’s best diver is right ahead of me, performing his final dive, giving me a run for my money. But I don’t pay attention to him. I don’t listen for how well he does. I focus on my routine, on my steps, on my arms and my tuck. I practice in the stairwell envisioning my moves and how I need to execute my last dive.
Mentally I’m there, physically I’m more than ready, but it’s my heart that’s suffering. It’s my heart that’s snapping in two from the thought of Melony not being here to watch me, from the thought of not being able to talk to her, from the thought that she might have ended what we have.
Too bad for her, I don’t throw in the towel that easily.
From a far distance, at least that’s what it sounds like, I hear the crowd cheer for China as he makes his final dive.
I’m up.
One more dive.
One more swim through the nasty green water that apparently is okay to dive in, despite its moldy color.
One more approach on the platform.
One more time to do right for Holly.Diving is for now.
I take a deep breath and step out onto the platform. I can feel the stare of the crowd on me as I dry off one last time with my shammy before tying it in a knot and tossing it down to the pool deck.
Roped off in the corner are the coaches. I glance down and catch Holly’s eyes looking up at me. For a brief moment, we exchange smiles, hers being warm and full of hope. I’m doing this for her, for my sister who’s so graciously forgiven me. This gold is for her. She gives me a thumbs up, and I smile one last time before turning my attention back to the platform and the green water in front of me.
Two steps, a skip, and a jump.
Two steps, a skip, and a jump.
I take a few deep breaths, adjust the waist of my speedo, rub my hands together, and then take off.
Two steps, a skip, and a jump. Immediately while in the air, I tuck my legs into my chest, hold on for dear life, and start counting my revolutions.
One, two, three, four . . . start to get ready to un-tuck. I spot the water, unfold, hold my breath, and when my palms hit the water, I sweep my arms to the side, sucking down my wake with me.
