Landon's P.O.V
The dark sky parted by fractures of grey light is a reflection of my mood as we drive to Oakfield High. The dullness even seems to seep into the compact space of Lance's sedan as he attempts a conversation at this early hour.
'So are you excited?' He questions for about the tenth time since leaving the house almost fifteen minutes ago.
'I'm excited to go back to sleep,' I give him my best answer yet. He laughs quietly to himself and shakes his head.
'I'm sure you'll do great! I've noticed you've put more effort into your training than usual ... The competition must be brutal, right?'
I turn to look at him and sigh. He was really trying. These last few days he'd attempted to subtly dig around the cause of my deflated mood, seemingly fearful of my reaction if he asked outright. Lance had done ridiculous things like offering to go to the gym with me, playing games on my consoles despite lacking the time and ability and, most recently, driving me to school.
'They're not that bad,' I lie to end our talk.
If it isn't for our thankful arrival at the school gates, Lance would have descended into another futile, one-sided conversation. As soon as the vehicle is stationary, I express my gratitude for the drive and open the passenger door.
'Landon?' Lance halts me just as a leg swings outside where it's viciously attacked by the dawn cold. I immediately draw it back inside.
'Yeah?'
'Good luck out there. Be good and sensible,' he lectures. I roll my eyes but nod anyway, having no premeditations of behaving recklessly. 'And have fun ... I really believe in you, kid.'
For the first time in a while, my features do not feel constricted into an expression of apathy and I smile.
'Thanks,' I tell my stepfather. He mirrors my movement with an affectionate look in his eyes that communicates his appreciation.
'Do you need me to help you with your stuff?' Lance offers after the moment withers away. I take one look at his embarrassing attire of a Superman printed t-shirt and matching pajama shorts.
'Sure.'
We walk the distance to the bus destined to transport us to our competition. I notice Coach standing outside it, a clipboard in his hands and face appearing to be frozen into a scowl. His expression admittedly makes me smile in impulse— the man was a giver of pain and suffering, never the recipient.
'Reeves! I'm freezing my ass off while you sleep in like a princess?!' Growling, he confirms my attendance on the list.
I hide my laughter by loading my luggage into the bus before a last farewell to Lance. I opt for a handshake rather than a hug and enter the heated vehicle.
My tired gaze assesses the space for any empty seats as most are being occupied by sleeping swim team members. I try to isolate Sean and when my eyes eventually locate him, I almost drag him by the ear away from the boy accompanying him.
Ashton.
But, I realize that I cannot control people's actions or desires, no matter how fucked up they seemed. Being the last person to board, I look to Sean with indifferent eyes and a reluctant heart and make my way over to Vicki Jacobs.
'Uh, can I sit here?' I ask, her predictable answer more than obvious beforehand. Nonetheless, I try to be polite.
She seems to instantly wake up from the early stages of her slumber as if I had just injected her with a dose of pure caffeine. 'Yeah, of course! Sure.'
I smile, thankful, as she removes her duffel bag and places it before her feet.
'Here, I've got it.' She allows me to refer her luggage to the storage space above our heads before I make myself comfortable on the adjacent and now vacant seat.
'Thanks,' Vicki smiles.
Her chestnut eyes seem to drill into mine with what could only be described as adoration. After a moment, she seems to catch herself from staring and looks away. Though even in the dim lighting, the blush to her cheeks is unmistakable. I squirm around in my seat in discomfort. Girls' captain Vicki, with her long bronze hair, the dusting of freckles on her nose and broader build was once the product of my infatuation. She'd rejected me years ago and as the tables are now reversed, so my feelings for her had drifted with the wind.
I'd admired her for the determination she had toward swimming, her excellence as Captain at both freshman and sophomore level and the fact she wasn't as unapproachable as her friends. But now all she sees in me is a potential decoy, a charm to hang around her wrist and show off to anyone who gave a shit. She sees the exterior— all girls do.
If I was to take any of them deeper into who I really was, who I really am, they'd go running for the hills at the imperfections they'd discover. Different girls are harder as ever to come by.
I sigh as I place the earphones into my phone jack, vaguely aware of falling asleep to the beginnings of U2's All I Want is You.
-
The drive to Phoenix was five hours of monotony. A while into our trip, the bus was alive with loud chatter, music and the frequent giggle of some girl on the receiving end of a bad pickup line. I'm beyond restless by the time we draw to the entrance of our motel.
After listening to a wave of tedious lectures from the staff, we are allocated our roommates and given the keys to our quarters.
I immediately locate my room and throw my belongings aside before jumping into the bed to sleep. I don't stir as footsteps become audible not a long while later, my eyes only squeezing tighter together as Sean's laughter makes his presence known in the space.
'Sleeping again? You know it's nearly eleven, right? You're gonna sleep through lunch,' he speaks as if I were potentially missing the most important moment of my life.
'So?' I mumble.
He chuckles again and I hear the creak of the adjacent bed as he bears his weight on it. Sean rummages loudly through his belongings, most likely thrilled at the silent frustration he elicits from me.
'Are you coming to watch the girls?'
'I'd rather not,' I answer despite him already knowing of my answer.
One day of competition was enough for me, especially when the chance of meeting any insufferable dickheads from other competing schools was too great of a risk to entertain.
'Okay suit yourself...' Sean's voice becomes muffled as he slips off his hoodie. 'But me and some of the boys are gonna watch them. You know, school spirit and shit.'
The majority of his words had been deflected by my fatigue yet the last phrase caught my wholehearted attention. I raise my head and turn from my stomach so I am staring at him.
Since when did Sean care about school spirit?
'Um, Freaky Eyes, what do you want?' He asks after sensing me trying to bore a hole through his skull. I completely dismiss his new and disparaging nickname, too consumed with my own assumptions.
I eventually drop the suspicious gaze and look to my phone as if nothing had happened. Sean displaces my expression as he now assesses me with the same interrogative look in his eyes. He sighs when it leads him nowhere and shuffles around the room. From my phone I hear him unlock his own before making his way out the door.
I try to bite my tongue— I really do— but my impulses outweigh the limits of my self control. 'Don't let Ashton keep you too long.'
The silence that follows amplifies each sound in the room to the extent that breathing could be mistaken for heavy noise. I feel an absence of regret as I wait patiently for Sean's reaction.
'Fuck off, Landon!' He enunciates, back still faced to me.
'So you are heading there. Interesting.' The remark was unnecessary, yet I felt the invisible need to add it. 'What will it be this time? Telling each other childhood secrets or having very deep and meaningful conversations about life?'
He doesn't digest the sarcasm well.
'What is wrong with you? Why are you so...' Sean's eyes flicker in a rage, seeking words that could possibly describe the monstrous being before him.
'Right?'
'Wrong! So what if I went to talk with Ashton? I knew you were jealous in the bus, dammit!' He paces around the room with each step conveying more frustration than the last.
'I wasn't jealous,' I scowl. His eyes hold mine until he laughs with a laughter that seemed almost realistic. I hadn't expected the situation to escalate to this level so quickly.
'You always get jealous and possessive,' he tells me carefully as if I were a child. 'That's probably why you've been acting pissy these last few days with Paise and—'
My anger soars. 'You know nothing.'
He scoffs again, the look of menace multiplied tenfold within his eyes. 'I guess I don't know that you hate Ashton for no reason and even more now since you've taken a liking to Paise after summer break ended.'
I immediately recognize the clear inference that Paise was only on my radar after her physical "transformation".
'It's not like that. I've changed.' My words are communicated through gritted teeth.
'You only change when others can recognize it, Landon. It's always two steps forward, one step back with you.'
'And you're perfect?' I voice with a stale laugh. Sean's composure doesn't falter and his reply comes effortlessly.
'No, I'm not. I'm far from it,' he admits. 'But I think that's why you hate Ashton so much ... He doesn't do or say shit like you or me ... He's so damn different. He brings out the guilt in you, doesn't he? He sure as hell does it to me.'
'Nobody's perfect. I don't trust him,' I say rigidly.
'For fuck's sake, Landon!' Sean throws his hands in the air. 'Good for you. Don't trust him.' Then he adds quietly, almost as an afterthought, 'But don't give him a hard time, either. His sister is sick. She's in and out of the hospital on a weekly basis.'
My eyes widen at the confession, the anger within me decreasing by several notches. 'I'm sorry to hear that.'
Sean's empty laugh returns. 'You're not sorry, you're guilty. Everyone deals with their own shit, Landon, but not everyone becomes it. You have everything you could ever want. Be grateful for a change.'
An undisturbed quietness quickly settles between us. It is not an interlude between our deep, rational pondering but a time that grows contempt.
'I am grateful,' I start although the way Sean shakes his head to himself does not provide the incentive to continue. But somehow, I do. 'You know my home situation wasn't the best—'
'My parents are divorced, too?'
'I know, but—'
'They rarely had time for you, growing up? Same here.'
'Yes, and—'
'You wondered if they really loved you? It happens to all of us.'
'Stop cutting me off!' I yell. He doesn't flinch and only furthers the angle to which he leans on the wall opposite. Watching. Waiting.
But my justification never comes.
'You're afraid,' Sean observes after letting me cower in my unvented thoughts.
'Of?'
'Of Ashton being better than you. You can tolerate that he's a better student than you, and, most of the time, a better swimmer,' I notice the dark edge Sean's tone has taken, his words are sharp like a venomous sting. 'But you can't stand the fact that he could be a better boyfriend to Paise than you'll ever—'
Something prevents him from completing his sentence. And, just like that, his features transform as if the dark entity which possessed him finally let go. The regret in his eyes is obvious and unsettling.
'Finish,' I challenge him.
He prefers to be silent.
'Finish your sentence, Sean! I want to hear it.'
'Landon ... I didn't mean it. I was just—' he runs a hand through his untamed nest of a head.
'You were just what?' My chest heaves with hurt and anger.
'I was just leaving.'
With that, he gives me one last look before backing out of the door. A certain coldness soon displaces his presence but no matter how deeply I submerge my body in the duvet or how securely I wrap myself in the sheets, I can't stop myself from shivering.
-
The competition was more extreme than most had anticipated. Although interstate meets expectedly bear better swimmers than regionals, yesterday saw our girls being completely obliterated by their rivals; the highest ranking was Vicky's third for 100m breaststroke. Only a handful of them even qualified for finals.
I watch Coach pace about near the pool. He looks to have aged ten years in a matter of hours with his severely creased brow and deepening frown lines. He gives any onlooker the displeasure of viewing his balding head as he frequently removes and replaces his worn baseball cap. Laughing to myself, I follow his distracted movements until my smile is stripped off my face when he pulls a particular captain aside.
From my position on a secluded region of the outermost bleaches, I watch their hushed exchanges. My curiosity mounts as whatever Coach says makes Ashton frown in almost resentment— an expression of his I had only witnessed before storming out of Literature days ago.
He frowns again and Coach pats his shoulder in an almost fatherly manner. It seemed that whatever had occurred would quite possibly—
'Hey,' a voice almost makes me jump in fright. 'Spying are we?'
I shake my head and inhale a breath. 'What? No.'
Sean watches me carefully. 'I know you hate coffee so I brought you some hot chocolate, but I see you already got some,' he notices the hot beverage beneath my grasp.
I blink rapidly, almost laughing at our circumstances.
'No, I brought you a latte.' His eyes expand slightly and he chuckles to himself. I can't help but join in when we exchange drinks— the basis of our amendment.
We sip them quietly, not daring to speak a word in light of the damage they may carry.
'Did you mean what you said yesterday?' My mouth seems to move before my brain allows it.
He pauses mid-sip. 'Of course not.'
We resume sitting and drinking in silence. The complex begins to slowly fill with people from various states, some future Olympians included for all I know. The air literally exudes ruthless competition. I take a huge gulp of my hot chocolate.
'You annoy me, Landon,' Sean eventually speaks.
'I know.' I glance at him and when our eyes make contact, he barely smiles.
'I don't take anything back from yesterday, except what I said last ... My anger was thinking for me,' he says, a seriousness now grasping his tone.
'And neither do I,' I reply stubbornly. He just rolls his eyes as if predicting my position. 'But I'm sorry for provoking you. Maybe I do get on the defensive side when I'm concerned about people I care about.'
I instantly regret the words as Sean's face twists from almost understanding to simply smug.
'You care about me?'
'I didn't mean it like that,' I try to erase the words.
Perhaps the reason why I don't like apologizing is because I always say the wrong thing. Or idiots like Sean find a way to manipulate my words into a humorous punchline.
'Let's just settle on a happy medium. You can kiss Ashton's ass all you like and I'll have nothing to do with it,' I can't help suggesting.
'More like I'll be friends with Ashton and you can be my angry, jealous, caring best friend who watches from afar,' Sean deduces instead.
We exchange a deep glare until our pretense crumbles. We laugh together.
'Truce?' Sean offers a hand. I observe it for humor's sake, yet I truly hope it symbolized an end to any altercations that could possibly damage our friendship. Of course, I don't tell him that.
'Truce.' Our hands meet in a brief handshake.
I lean back in satisfaction, feeling as though a chunk of myself has been found and restored. My eyes flicker through the groups of people, fully aware that in a little over an hour's time I'd be challenging them for a title.
'Is that...?' Sean starts. I'm confused for a second before a figure soon presents itself to us, in all his irritating, cocky glory.
'Well, boys, I'd say it's a privilege to see you two here, but I'd be lying.' The jerk looks between the two of us through the slits of his pale green eyes. His words don't phase me— I've heard that line before.
Bored, I take another sip of my drink. 'Franky was it?'
'Francis,' he corrects with a hint of annoyance laced through his tone. 'But then again it's been some time since I'd beaten you last year I suppose.'
I don't show my annoyance and hold his cold stare. 'What do you want?'
'Nothing,' he smiles. His hands raise in a surrendering manner though we both knew his intentions were far from accepting defeat. 'Just wishing you two good luck today. Maybe I should go easy. I'd still win, anyway.'
The asshole tips his obnoxiously groomed dark head back and empties his lungs as if he were the greatest comedian who ever lived. Granted, in some respects he was. With a last look to us he sneers, turning up his already severely upturned nose before stepping down from the bleachers and departing.
Not even five seconds afterwards, Sean's own laughter fills my eardrums. The sound is less loud and less forced yet possibly more obnoxious.
'Francesco Lombardi ... He's the son of Riccardo Lombardi— Arizona-residing Olympian who won four gold medals for Italy in Beijing alone, right?' He basically quotes the beginnings of his encyclopedia. But then again, I already knew that. Everyone did.
'Yes ... And?'
Sean laughs again, a look of crude exhilaration flickering in his eyes.
'He hasn't met Ashton yet.'
-
It was a known and accepted fact that I was a distance swimmer. Over the years I had focused countless hours on enhancing my aerobic capacity for improved endurance. I'd established an internal zen to separate my mind as to not amplify the agony in my body. Thus, I was convinced that I was good.
But of course, good is never enough.
I had qualified for finals in both of my distance events. But there were limits in my training that could not have prepared me for the competition I'd encounter. I received a third in 1500m freestyle and second in 800m backstroke. Though disappointing losses, I had been quietly happy of my results up until my eyes caught sight of Coach and the others praising Ashton for his third first of the day.
I know there should come a time when one admits defeat— where they simply accept their standard without trying to compare to better rivals. But I'm not that kind of person.
Distance swimming was charted territory. It was safe and I was comfortable competing in that kind of environment with that certain type of competition. But I still thirsted for danger; a challenge which promised the consequence of failure and lay in the barbaric realm of sprinting.
'Landon! Great effort out there,' Coach nods in my direction. I pretend to not notice the slight disappointment in his tone and shrug a thanks instead.
His words create a domino effect as the boys surrounding him offer words of encouragement, making me almost vomit at the overwhelming sympathy. I doubt any of them even meant what they said.
Despite being warned to play to my strengths, I had gone against Coach's advice and signed up for 100m freestyle. I loved the feeling of chasing a magic number, the water crashing around ears and the deafening noise of the wild crowd. The rush was almost worth the trauma of an inevitable defeat.
I really believe in you, kid. Lance's earlier words momentarily distract me. I shake the thought away.
When it's time, I make my way over to the pool's edge where people have already begun marshaling for the infamous event. I isolate myself in preparation of my mental zen and begin taking deep inhalations of air and chlorine.
'Landon Reeves? Is that you?!' Francis' voice disturbs my crucial relaxation period. 'I'm surprised you even qualified for this event! But two defeats aren't enough for you, huh?'
I ignore the three-time champion and focus again on my breathing. He shakes his tanned arms, jumps about and cracks his knuckles beside me, clearly in an attempt to further unnerve.
To my left and occupying the outermost lane, Ashton slips on his cap. He watches the water intently, almost angered by its serenity until the official sounds a warning and his expression becomes placid. I don't dawn on the absurd moment as the eight of us step onto our starting platforms— the interstate champion on one side of me and the potential replacement on another. My heartbeat bellows in my ears as doubt suddenly begins to settle.
What was I thinking? Who am I to challenge the best? My defeat will only complete Francis' life and become a memory for Ashton to secretly laugh about. I can't risk it.
I step down from my platform.
'Is everything alright? The race is about to start,' the official says. His words cause the other competitors to turn around, clearly confused.
'Uh, no ... I think I'm going to—'
'Landon! What the hell are you doing?!' Sean yells from the bleachers. His eyes are widened at full capacity and his mouth is distorted in bewilderment. 'Who cares? Just do it!'
The words swirl around in my head, prompting my frozen body to slightly tremble.
'... Lane seven has chosen to be disqua—'
'No!' I yell out to the official. Again, I feel multiple sets of eyes look to me. 'I'm sorry, I'll do it.'
My feet hesitantly find the block again. I take a few breaths and try to ease my trampling thoughts in the most efficient way possible.
'Are you always this dramatic? Damn,' Francis mumbles just audibly enough for both our ears to register.
Breathe. Listen. Stop thinking.
'Take your marks!'
"You waste some time at the start, though. The thought of working out when the whistle will sound gets to you and you dive into the pool slightly late."
At the memory of Ashton's observations, my mind becomes a vacuum.
Don't think. Don't feel.
The alert sounds, and I dive into the water.
I don't count the seconds from the moment of contact. My movements are purely mechanical, rehearsed, up until the time comes where I hit the pool wall and somersault to complete the last fifty meters of the race.
Everything seems to come back to me then. My heartbeat, the crowd, the water. It all becomes too real. The panic returns with the fear. I need to go back to that void where thoughts and emotions were unrecognized by my consciousness. I need a distraction. I need something.
I need Paise.
Her face projects itself before me and at once, the fog seems to settle. She's there, right in front of me. All I have to do is reach her. My arms skim the water and my legs pump profusely yet with each movement towards her she only seems to move further away.
I try harder, faster but she smiles and continues to float backwards. Then Paise winks, daring me to continue with the chase. I give her my all and finally it seems as though she is within grasp. I extend my hand to touch her delicate cheek, the distance between us now almost completely nonexistent. My body reaches out to her, the excitement of our connection arriving before it happens.
I touch a hard surface and she disappears. The chase is over.
I lift my head, demanding a breath of air to relieve my hallucinations. But it looked so real. I felt her. The stadium becomes apparent before my blurred vision, and the cheers are monstrous. But when Francis immediately pulls himself from the water and storms off, I realize that something is wrong.
I rip my cap and googles off and search for an explanation. I almost don't gaze at the scoreboard, but there was no use for it anyway. My mind was too dizzy to identify any of the numbers from this distance.
But I needn't have to.
'Landon...' Ashton speaks from beside me. I shift my gaze towards him, my vision better adjusted at close range.
His arms hang in a fold over the edge as he breathes heavily. His cerulean eyes look to me, but only for a second.
'Congratulations,' he tells me. 'You won.'
__________________________________
Wow this was the quickest update in a while lol. Thanks for the extra motivation! I assure you there is more (romance) on the way!
Stay awesome
~peace