Page 30 of Full Split
We walk out to supportive applause, and then everything goes quiet. I focus, making that single bar my whole world for the next forty-eight to fifty seconds. Wyatt’s hands at my waist. The gentle squeeze that reminds me he’s right there.
I take the bar, touch and lift over, and swing. Everything is quiet, nothing but the spring of the bar when I release, the slide and catch of my bar grips, and my steady breaths as I sink into the rhythm of my routine. I hit every beat like it’s second nature, and I hope it looks as effortless as it feels. My upgraded releasecombo goes off without a hitch, and I dismount cleanly and land strong. The crowd erupts, popping my bubble of focus. I look up at Wyatt, and he dips his chin in a proud nod. I throw a fist in the air before I even think about it.
At dinner, we celebrate some personal bests and talk about the other performances. Weston laughs about how Peter tried to outdo me on high bar. He missed a release and earned himself a major deduction. After the parallel bars, I’d been determined not to give him any attention, and I was still coming down from the best high bar routine of my life. I didn’t see his routine, but I felt his glare when he walked by afterward.
There are things we need to work on, but overall we’re both very happy with the outcome of day one.
“There’s no way you don’t take gold for pommel,” I tell Weston. “No one else came close.”
“Says the guy who pulled a 14.750 on vault.”
Vault and the high bar were my best events today, but I already knew that. It’ll be hard for me to top my scores today. I took hits on pommel and parallel bars, but Wyatt thinks if I clean up and stay controlled, I could medal.
My day two goals are clear: clean rhythm on pommel, and no hesitation on parallel bars. And obviously, stop giving Peter any mind.
Weston was solid. His rings and pommel were clean. He played it safe on floor and vault, though. He thinks he’ll add some moredifficult moves to his floor routine, but shrugs when we talk about upgrading his vault combination.
“There’s no competing there. I’d rather focus where I know I can make gains. I feel good about day two, though.”
I agree. There is always room for improvement, but I don’t know that I could have walked away from today feeling better than this. I’m on top of the world.
On the ride home, I exchange some texts with Jeff.
JEFF: How did it go?!
ME: Really well. Both of us came out strong.
JEFF: I had no doubts! Especially after I looked you up and saw some videos of your past competitions. You didn’t tell me you’re destined for Olympic gold. *gold medal emoji*
ME: Haha. We’ll see about that.
JEFF: I’m following you on social media now, too. You and Weston are cute together in these videos.
ME: Thanks. He’s my chosen life partner in jackassery.
Wyatt snorts, betraying that he’s been peeking at my phone.
“Creeper much?” I joke, nudging him with my elbow to show I’m really not bothered by it. It’s not like I was sexting with the dude. I can’t decide if it’s concerning that neither Jeff nor I haveventured into dirty text territory. It’s not something I’m usually shy about.
If I’m being honest, I’m mostly still texting with him to annoy Wyatt. I know it’s fucked up. Don’t come at me. There’s also the fact that Jeff seems like a nice guy, I’d feel bad about ghosting him. Again. And maybe…Maybehe’s what I need to focus on instead of tormenting poor Wyatt.
JEFF: What’s the plan for tonight?
ME: I have a date with a foam roller and the hot tub.
JEFF: You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?
ME: Nah, just a bit sore.
JEFF: If I was there, I could help with that…
Oh, here we go. This is where it starts? I could roll with it or laugh him off. All I do for now, though, is turn my phone over to cover the screen, like I don’t know that Wyatt already saw it. I could tell by the way his posture went rigid.
I’m not sure which one of us I’m trying to fool into thinking I’ll keep this up with Jeff. The truth is, I’m just not into him the way I am Wyatt. It wouldn’t be fair for me to string him along as a backup solution.
There’s a knock on our hotel door a little while after Weston and I get back from the gym. It’s a recovery day, so we didn’t do a hard workout, only enough to stay warm for the second leg of the competition tomorrow. I’ve just gotten out of the shower, my hair is still damp, and all I’m wearing is a pair of thin cotton sleep shorts. I glance through the peep hole and open the door.
“We missed you at breakfast this morning,” I say, greeting Wyatt with a smile. I was worried he was avoiding me again.
