Infamous Like Us (Like Us 10)

But I’m not a kid anymore with some silly idol crush.

I have goals too and records I want to set. If I do my best in the pool, it won’t be for Kingly. I assure myself that.

“My head is here. If we lose, it won’t be because of me.”

He looks unconvinced, and I don’t care to try to convince him. He’ll see soon enough, anyway. Dean bounces over with outstretched arms. “The King.” He weaves his arm over Kingly’s shoulder.

Kingly’s uptight, focused demeanor melts into something softer. He slips Dean a grin. “I hate when you call me that, Deano.”

“And I love when you call me Deano.” He whispers something in Kingly’s ear, and they laugh together. Bromance in full force, I guess.

Before I feel on the outs of a clique, we’re given a two-minute countdown. I peel away from them, surprised when Frankie approaches my side.

“How you holding up?” Frankie wonders.

I shrug, words caught in my throat. I’ve been asked that question by my parents, my aunts and uncles and cousins, by texts from my coach and other teammates. I’m just tired of answering I’m fine when the person everyone should be asking is standing ten feet behind me.

She sips a Ziff Power. “I think I’m way more nervous for the relay than for any individual event. It’s…a lot, you know?” Her worry meets my eyes.

And I get it.

Boy, do I fucking get it. “Yeah. Just know that I’d never blame you or Dean or Kingly if something went wrong.” Four years ago, I might’ve. But four years ago, I didn’t even try to do relays.

I didn’t want to rely on anyone but me.

I didn’t trust anyone enough.

“I wouldn’t blame you either,” Frankie assures. “We’re all in this together.”

She hugs me, and I hug back just as strongly, telling her, “You’re a fucking pro in the water, Frankie. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

She lights up when we break apart. “Thanks, Sulli.”

“Swimmers for the Mixed Relay!” a coordinator calls out.

It’s time.

Before I leave for the pool deck, I cast a quick glance at my boyfriends.

Akara smiles. He stubbornly wanted to be here for this.

It means something to me. His presence has a calming factor. Like a reminder of before. Four years ago. When I did succeed.

Banks’ shadow of a smile plays at his lips, and I hang onto the comfort inside his gaze. “Swim your heart out, mermaid.”

“Go kick ass,” Akara cheers.

I will.

I can.

And I go.

* * *

A referee blows into a whistle, signaling swimmers to enter the pool. Backstroke starts in the water, not on a starting block.

Dean hops in the pool with the other seven swimmers and readies himself. America versus Japan, Spain, Great Britain, Italy, China, Australia, and Canada. We didn’t come first in our semifinal heat. Great Britain beat us and is super competitive in this relay. Everyone at home is watching and hoping.

“Take your mark.”

If we don’t win for our country…don’t think about it, Sulli. Pressure packs tight, and I swing my arms out again.

Beep.

Dean propels backwards, arms in perfect stroke.

“You have this, Deano,” Kingly mutters over and over and fucking over. More than I’ve ever heard him mutter Dean’s name. Frankie is closest to the starting block, already crouched and ready to dive. She’s up next, and I’m last, standing behind Kingly’s muscled back.

Crowds roar and cheer.

The noises fuel me. Adrenaline amped, blood pumping.

We all try to stay focused.

I peek out at the lane.

Dean is ahead, but not by much. Great Britain is only fingers away. My teammate reaches the first fifty. Makes a smooth fucking turn. As he swims back to the starting block, the breaststroke swimmers prepare for the exchange.

He touches the wall.

Frankie dives into the pool. Her head breaches the water for the breaststroke, and Dean climbs out of the pool, sopping wet. Kingly briefly touches his arm in a good job—but for the most part, we’re all focused on the event.

Against better fucking judgement, my eyes flit to the stands.

I can make out more signs than faces.

Kingly for Gold!

The King GOAT

And then…

Sullivan Meadows is my idol!

Swim, Sulli, Swim!

Kitsulletti Kicksass

That last one makes me smile the most. I expected more Kitsulletti Ruined Everything signs, and I don’t try to search for the hate.

I just breathe in the love I see.

The cheers I hear.

We can do this.

When I see Frankie reach the first fifty, my stomach nosedives. We’ve lost our lead. Great Britain makes the turn before us.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Dean says, clapping behind me. “We can make it up. You’ve both got this.” He squeezes my shoulder. Kingly is already on the block.

Oh fuck.

We’re really behind.

Like third place behind, and Frankie touches the wall, huffing and puffing. Kingly dives into the water—the stadium erupts like God fell from heaven. Frankie pulls herself out of the pool, looking crushed. Cheeks beet-red.