Laney
“Good luck.”
My brows rose at the whispered comment, and I turned to see that it came from one of the girls in my single scull rowing group. She was standing next to me, waiting for Coach Reilly’s signal to go down the little steps that hung in lane intervals along the dock.
Usually we went into the water off the shore, but this afternoon was different. It was our first race of the season. Just a school-based event to test our ability and progress, but exciting nevertheless. If I did well enough in my category, I might get moved up in the ranks and be allowed to compete against other schools.
Surprisingly, almost half of RFA had turned out to watch the regatta. Lacrosse, football and basketball usually attracted the most attention and adulation from students here, so Coach Reilly was extra pleased with the high turnout. I heard him telling one of the assistant coaches earlier that it might encourage more people to sign up next term. The other rowing club members were excited too.
I was wary, though. There must be a reason why so many people were here today, and I had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with me.
I gave the girl next to me a faint smile. “Thanks. You too.”
“You probably don’t even need any luck,” she replied. “You’re so fast. I bet you’ll win.”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I murmured, refusing to look her in the eye.
I wasn’t trying to be rude. It was just that I couldn’t trust anyone anymore, even if they were being nice to me. For all I knew, the girl meant her ‘good luck’ in a sarcastic way, and she actually hoped I would get caught up in a sudden waterspout and drown.
It wouldn’t surprise me all that much, because the bullying at RFA had stayed at the same level for the last few days. Nasty comments in the halls, surprises in my locker (I’d stopped bothering to have the combination changed by now, because they always broke in anyway) and cruel texts on my phone. Some people had even started sending me photos of myself, making it clear that they were following me around campus or spying on me in the library.
Ms. Flores had stayed true to her word and disciplined the students whose names she got from the screenshots I’d taken, but that actually made things slightly worse. Word had gotten around about them and the reason they were suspended, so everyone else had started using fake accounts. The abusive messages now came from people with names like Lou Skunt, U.R. Slutte, and Jack Mehoff.
So original.
Coach gave us the signal to get into our sculls and properly align ourselves in the lanes marked out in the water with yellow buoys. I was in lane number one. It was a blessing and a curse—the quickest to get to, but also the most visible from the shore, which made me feel extremely self-conscious.
I turned my head for a few seconds and saw Adam and Trina standing on the shore, waving like mad and grinning from ear to ear. I half-expected to see a bunch of other people holding signs saying stuff like ‘Loser Laney’, ‘Virgin’ or ‘Drown, Walmart Trash’, but no one was paying any attention to me at all. They actually seemed to be here to watch the races.
Clearly, I was just being paranoid.
I breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to face the dock. A loud beep signaled the start of our single scull race a moment later, and then we were off, propelling ourselves through the water as fast as we could.
I rowed faster and harder than ever before. Soon my skin was slick with perspiration and my whole body felt like it was roasting. I ignored the painful feelings of exertion and kept my focus on my breathing and my strokes, making sure everything was perfect.
When I allowed myself a split-second to check my position, I realized I was ahead of everyone else. Way ahead.
I could actually win this thing.
“Go, Laney!” I heard Trina scream from the shore.
I grinned as a burst of adrenaline rushed through my veins, allowing me to push myself even harder.
The exhilaration faded only seconds later. Something was wrong. Despite my best efforts, I was slowing down.
Gritting my teeth, I looked down at the floor of the scull. Water had started pooling in it, sloshing around the base of my shoes.
“What the hell?” I muttered, stomach sinking.
It was normal for a few droplets of water to fly into the rowing shells when they were in use, but this wasn’t just a few drops. It was a puddle, and it was getting bigger by the second.
There had to be a hole somewhere. That was the only explanation.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I gulped down a panicked breath, tasting blood in my throat as I looked all over my scull, trying to figure out where the issue was.
I spotted it about a minute later. There was a hole in the left side, toward the back. I hadn’t noticed it until it became a problem, because I hadn’t checked the scull before I went out on the water. Usually I would, just in case, but today we were all told that the assistant coaches had checked everything before the regatta to save us time.
Dammit. I should’ve personally checked mine anyway.