Read Online Hold My Breath by Ginger Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ginger Scott
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in Knox, the person working the door always knew someone who knew someone who let them in when they were too young.
I leave Amber wondering, and on that fun edge of nervous and excited that I’d give anything to go back to. I take my spot on the blocks, and I wait while the other lanes fill with girls, too. There’s enough of us for two heats, so at least there will be a rest between sprints. The guys line up behind them, enough to fill every lane, and Will has decided to take one, two away from mine. He’s clearly avoiding me, after near skinny-dipping last night. That was a stupid idea. I got caught up. I wanted to remember how it felt to that girl, who had that feeling in her chest like a guy might just want her. I let myself forget who it was I was letting look at me. Will did, too, until something else entirely took him over. The way he moved in the water was almost desperate—like he was fighting for his life.
Maybe he was.
I glance to my right to see Amber take lane one, and I wink at her, smirking when I turn back to face the water. She’ll learn quick—drink fast, grab your lane, because that first one? You’re never going to win from there.
Fifties are my favorites—always have been. My mom liked them, too, and when I’m in my lane, focused on nothing but one arm after the next, the wall, the touch, the kick—it’s seconds where I get to be her, just for a little while.
My dad calls us to get set, so I stretch my arms out, shake away my nerves and take my position, my fingers itching to go the second I anticipate the sound. That’s the secret to a great start. You have to feel it, otherwise your opportunity to be first will pass you by.
The instant my dad’s breath hits the whistle, I’m coiled, and when it sounds, I’m off. My body slides through the water, my feet kick and I find my zone. Kick, pull. Kick, pull. I repeat and push myself to make each series faster until I feel the familiar home of my palm on the smooth tile at the other end.
My smile takes over my lips, and I throw my arms over the ropes, breathing hard and pushing my goggles up to see how I did. My father’s standing on the other end, his arm raised over his head, one finger up, and Amber squeals, covering her mouth before looking at me with nothing but sheer elation all over her face.
I bluff. I smile tightly. She’ll think I took it easy, probably. She’ll let these initial seconds pass; she’ll exit the pool, then we’ll all climb out of the water and catch our breath to do it all over again. She’ll think I gave her a gift, but I didn’t. I lost. I lost because someone was faster, and when I turn my body as I lift myself from the water, both my father and Will are looking at me like something terrible just happened.
It did. And I have exactly four minutes to fix it.
The next heat of girls takes to the pool, and I’m assaulted by the sounds of cheers of encouragement. Funny how I can’t hear a single thing when I’m the one in the water. I watch the girl in my lane work. She comes in first easily, and she barely pants as she climbs onto the deck next to me. Her eyes hit mine, and I swear I see pity in them.
Will’s group swims next, and as much as I tell myself not to watch, my eyes can’t seem to move away from his body. This time, I block out the sounds, and I focus only on his form. He’s loose, but somehow, even from far away, I can tell that every muscle in his body is prepared for war. He grips the blocks and his head rises, eyes forward and looking ahead to the next several seconds, like he’s traveling through time. My dad’s whistle startles me, I’m so buried in the visual, and I miss most of Will’s entry into the water, his body gone under the surface in a blink. When he rises, just like last night, his movements are smooth but urgent—every stroke more like an attack. Hands pound and fight through every stroke, almost as if he’s more machine than man.
He wins easily, and as I step up to
I leave Amber wondering, and on that fun edge of nervous and excited that I’d give anything to go back to. I take my spot on the blocks, and I wait while the other lanes fill with girls, too. There’s enough of us for two heats, so at least there will be a rest between sprints. The guys line up behind them, enough to fill every lane, and Will has decided to take one, two away from mine. He’s clearly avoiding me, after near skinny-dipping last night. That was a stupid idea. I got caught up. I wanted to remember how it felt to that girl, who had that feeling in her chest like a guy might just want her. I let myself forget who it was I was letting look at me. Will did, too, until something else entirely took him over. The way he moved in the water was almost desperate—like he was fighting for his life.
Maybe he was.
I glance to my right to see Amber take lane one, and I wink at her, smirking when I turn back to face the water. She’ll learn quick—drink fast, grab your lane, because that first one? You’re never going to win from there.
Fifties are my favorites—always have been. My mom liked them, too, and when I’m in my lane, focused on nothing but one arm after the next, the wall, the touch, the kick—it’s seconds where I get to be her, just for a little while.
My dad calls us to get set, so I stretch my arms out, shake away my nerves and take my position, my fingers itching to go the second I anticipate the sound. That’s the secret to a great start. You have to feel it, otherwise your opportunity to be first will pass you by.
The instant my dad’s breath hits the whistle, I’m coiled, and when it sounds, I’m off. My body slides through the water, my feet kick and I find my zone. Kick, pull. Kick, pull. I repeat and push myself to make each series faster until I feel the familiar home of my palm on the smooth tile at the other end.
My smile takes over my lips, and I throw my arms over the ropes, breathing hard and pushing my goggles up to see how I did. My father’s standing on the other end, his arm raised over his head, one finger up, and Amber squeals, covering her mouth before looking at me with nothing but sheer elation all over her face.
I bluff. I smile tightly. She’ll think I took it easy, probably. She’ll let these initial seconds pass; she’ll exit the pool, then we’ll all climb out of the water and catch our breath to do it all over again. She’ll think I gave her a gift, but I didn’t. I lost. I lost because someone was faster, and when I turn my body as I lift myself from the water, both my father and Will are looking at me like something terrible just happened.
It did. And I have exactly four minutes to fix it.
The next heat of girls takes to the pool, and I’m assaulted by the sounds of cheers of encouragement. Funny how I can’t hear a single thing when I’m the one in the water. I watch the girl in my lane work. She comes in first easily, and she barely pants as she climbs onto the deck next to me. Her eyes hit mine, and I swear I see pity in them.
Will’s group swims next, and as much as I tell myself not to watch, my eyes can’t seem to move away from his body. This time, I block out the sounds, and I focus only on his form. He’s loose, but somehow, even from far away, I can tell that every muscle in his body is prepared for war. He grips the blocks and his head rises, eyes forward and looking ahead to the next several seconds, like he’s traveling through time. My dad’s whistle startles me, I’m so buried in the visual, and I miss most of Will’s entry into the water, his body gone under the surface in a blink. When he rises, just like last night, his movements are smooth but urgent—every stroke more like an attack. Hands pound and fight through every stroke, almost as if he’s more machine than man.
He wins easily, and as I step up to
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