Page 19 of Full Split
With my hands held up in defeat, I walk away, leaving him standing in the middle of the sidewalk like a statue, frozen in his discomfort. I should probably say something to smooth things over, but I can’t trust myself.
So far, the competition has been smooth. Session one is over, and it's been fun watching the Junior and Senior Men's first session compete. Everyone really seems to have come to the competition in high spirits and ready to give it their all. I've been especially impressed by the high-level skills shown by the JuniorMen. I don’t remember the competition being that hardcore when we were in the Juniors.
Just like podium training, I'm in the first rotation with Weston, Jackson Millard, and of course, Peter Trenton. I'm not letting him get to me today, not that he's had a chance to get close. Weston seems to have made it his mission to stand in front of Peter no matter where he places himself. According to Jackson and some of the other guys, Peter's coach chewed him out in the locker room yesterday after we headed back into the main arena to watch the women compete. I'm assuming that's why he seems more on edge than usual, and given how red his face is already, I'm wondering how he'll make it through the day without losing his cool. The death glare he sent my way when his coach walked over to talk to Wyatt earlier was intense.
Not that Wyatt's told me what the conversation was about. He's avoiding me even harder than he did after I brought him that sandwich. It's enough that Weston took notice and questioned me about it during our warm-up. I gave him some excuse about us arguing about some of the higher-risk skills I'm planning to go for. It's believable, considering it's an ongoing battle between us. Sid is usually the one encouraging me to up the stakes and add in even more high-difficulty moves to my routine. After all, the more medals and publicity we get for his gym, the better. Since Sid's not here, it would make sense that Wyatt would attempt to talk me down a little.
Although now that I think about it, Wyatt hasn't tried even once to get me to back down on my high difficulty routines in several months. Maybe he knows this is my year. Maybe he understands that while next year isn't guaranteed for any of us, the roadblocks are only likely to increase for me. Especially withthe way things have been going. And maybe he knows there's no stopping me.
I'm determined to make it to the top, and to get there, I'm going balls to the wall. I don't plan on backing down anytime soon.
I'm feeling strong today. Confident and ready. There are multiple factors encouraging me to throw everything I've got at this competition, the first of which is Wyatt Lincoln himself. I'm determined to make him look at me. And I meanreallylook at me. I want to catch him watching me, see that fire in his eyes when I've done well.
Second, I want to rewrite the way my name is being used in the media right now. I'm sure they'll keep talking about me as long as I'm making headlines, and I'm sure the haters will continue to get louder, but they're going to be talking about a champion. A winner.
AnOlympian.
I repeat the word like a mantra as I roll my shoulders and stretch out the arches of my feet, zoning in as we hit the floor. Weston goes first, and it doesn't escape my notice that Jackson Millard stands closely at my side in his absence. We watch West's routine, clapping and cheering him on for every landing he sticks. There's only one part he trips up on slightly, but honestly I think the only reason I notice is because I'm so familiar with his routine. It's possible it's not something the judges would have noticed, and it's a strong routine even so.
I'm last in the rotation and feeling extra focused when my turn comes. Stepping up to the edge of the mat, I grab a handful of chalk and coat my hands and feet with it before signaling and stepping into the space. The next seventy-five seconds go by in ahaze of layouts, twists, and tucks. I feel confident in my landings and get the height I'm known for. The hardest part of my routine is moving from a full split to a wide arm press, lowering down until my head is barely hovering off the floor, and it’s a success. I hear it in the way the crowd reacts and feel it in the strength of my core all the way through my pointed toes. On my final pass, I go out with a full twisting double pike, landing strong with my arms raised and chest open. The audience bursts into cheers the moment I straighten, and I walk off the mat, feeling confident that the first event has gotten me off to a good start.
I flick chalk at Weston as we switch into long pants over our shorts for pommel and rings, and he shows his maturity by making sure I have a nice white handprint on my left ass cheek before we make our way to the next apparatus. Wyatt stops us, giving us both warning looks before knocking the print off my butt with a towel.
"Oh, Daddy!"
Weston snorts. I get an unimpressed, but still amused, eye roll from Mr. Stoic. I shoot him a saucy grin over my shoulder as we walk away.
As always, Weston's pommel horse is impeccable, and even as the first rotation of athletes, I feel confident he'll take the highest score for the event. Jackson also has a great run on the pommel horse, and Peter's set on the rings is worthy of even me cheering him on.What? I'm in a good mood. And I'm the bigger person. Or whatever.
I'm pleasantly surprised by my performance on the rings. It's one of my more challenging events, but I just feel so damn strong today. Even our tight-lipped Wyatt lets out a "Yes!" when I dismount, hugging me around the shoulders when I run over tothe staging area. For a minute, we both forget the awkwardness between us, and I get a little distracted and floaty. Wyatt has to knock me out of my happy haze so we can get ready for the next event.
"Vault's up, Pruitt. Get light," he says, pushing me towards the changing area.
We slip behind a divider to change. Luckily, we're both able to change quickly, because Peter is waiting on the other side looking annoyed as hell as Wyatt glares down at him, blocking the changing area with his arms crossed. I honestly don't give a fuck who sees me change. It’s not like we're getting fully naked by any means. After yesterday, I can understand why Wyatt is being a little protective, but I'm going to have to talk to him about being over the top and potentially drawing more attention to his antics.
As we pass each other, Peter has the gall to mutter, "If you're done adjusting your sock…" I feel Wyatt tense up, and I swear he grows another foot taller.
"All good, Coach," I say, patting Wyatt's arm in a way that I hope is soothing.Stand down, big guy."I'm good."
My vault is goddamn flawless, and even better than yesterday. Thank fuck I don't get intimidated by pressure or attention, because I swear the whole room went completely silent before I took the runway. The moment my feet hit the ground, sticking the landing with not even a hint of a hop or step, the whole arena exploded. Even my fellow competitors were cheering, much to Peter's dismay. Weston, never one to let things go, stirs the pot by smacking him on the back, yelling, "Did you see that?!"
Behind the screen to slip back into form pants, I throw my discarded shorts at his face. "Quit making it worse!"
"Whatever, man. He deserves it and you know it."
He grunts as he pulls his pants over his thighs, muttering about how tight they feel after the vault. He's not wrong, the back and forth feels inefficient. Still, I wouldn't be me if I didn't take the opportunity to make a joke out of Weston complaining about being tight.
"We've talked about this, Weston. Lube and take it slow." I demonstrate by smacking yet more powder on the backs of my legs before pulling the form pants up over my singlet.
Of course, this has to be the moment that Wyatt sticks his head back to check on us because we're taking too long. He coughs into his fist and turns right back around.Whoops.
Parallel bars are next. From our group, I think Peter and I are the leaders, although Weston's routine was strong as well. Unfortunately, Jackson had a bit of a slip during a back toss that threw him off. He wasn't thrilled about it, obviously, but he handled it with grace. His all-around performance has been great, so it might not hurt him too much. This is a tough group of competitors though, and he knows it. Mistakes happen, but still, I know I'd be pretty upset with myself once no one was looking. I'll have to make sure to get Weston or Wyatt to buy him a drink tonight. I still have a couple of months before I'm twenty-one, and I don’t dare try using my fake ID away from home, otherwise I'd do it myself.
Finally, it's high bar. By the time I'm standing below the bar, I'm full of so much adrenaline I'm almost jittery. Wyatt stands behind me, ready to help me mount the bar.
"Take a breath," he says, low and soft from his spotter position. "You've got this."
I take the breath. "Let's go."
