For The Plot// F1

Chapter 14: The Current Between Them

And there — in stroke seat — was her.
The girl who'd made the snide joke that morning. The one who had whispered, "Bet Carlos Sainz didn't stick around long, huh?"

Catalina caught her gaze now and smirked. Just a flicker of a grin, sharp and confident.
"Let's give them something to choke on," she muttered under her breath.

"Power ten!" she called out, voice rising above the spray.

Ten strokes. Ten brutal, soul-crushing strokes that tore across the water like thunder.

The Sirens surged forward. For a split second, the two boats were neck and neck, their oars slicing through the same water, each team straining against the current. Catalina's forearms burned. Her shoulders screamed. But she didn't let up — not now.

"Breathe with me! Stay tall! We hold the lead — this is our water!"

The crowd was deafening now. She could hear her coach's voice faintly through the chaos, could almost imagine her family watching, Leo screaming something stupid and encouraging.

Five hundred meters left.

She risked one last glance — Germany was right there, barely a boat's length behind. Catalina's jaw clenched. Every memory of heartbreak, of whispers, of nights crying into her pillow, funneled into her arms.

"Now, Sirens, NOW! EMPTY THE TANK!"

They did.

The finish line came faster than she could process. One final surge — a blur of motion, of pain, of the world tilting forward — and then...

The horn.

Silence, just for a second.

Then the cheers erupted. The scoreboard blinked.

Bath University – The Sirens: 1st Place.

Catalina's vision went blurry. She dropped her oar, chest heaving, laughter breaking out of her in a raw, disbelieving sound. "We— we did it," she gasped. "We fucking did it!"

Anna screamed and jumped into the water first, and within seconds, the entire crew followed. The river exploded with splashes and laughter and tears. Catalina let herself fall backward into the cold, her body weightless, her heart pounding. She surfaced to the sight of her girls hugging each other, faces wet with sweat and tears, medals glinting already in their imaginations.

When they climbed back onto the dock, shivering and soaked, Coach Margaret was waiting — arms crossed but smiling like she'd just watched her own daughters conquer the world.

"You made history, Sirens."

The medal ceremony blurred into a dream. Catalina stepped onto the podium, gold gleaming around her neck, her team surrounding her, their anthem blaring. The flash of cameras hit her eyes, but she couldn't stop smiling.

When the crowd began to disperse, she was still clutching her medal when Margaret came over, flanked by two men in navy jackets with official Olympic insignias.

"Miss Villalobo?" one of them said, his accent crisp, professional. "I'm with the British Olympic Training Council. We've been following your season."

Catalina blinked, heart slamming against her ribs. "Oh— uh, hi."

He handed her a card — Olympic Training Invitation: 2026 Women's Rowing Trials.

She stared at it. For once in her life, she was speechless.

Margaret's grin broke through first. "You're in, Catalina."

"You mean—"

"You're going to the Olympic trials," Margaret said simply, pulling her into a hug. "I told you the water listens to you. I am so proud of you."