Going for Gold (11 page)

Tuesday

Bryce

I pulled my phone out as I walked toward the village square.
There was a text message from Alina, asking if I had gotten sick again and if I
was feeling okay. She asked if she could bring me soup. No one ever worried
about me. For some reason her concern made me feel warm and fuzzy. I meant what
I had said to her earlier. It was nice that someone was looking out for me,
that someone actually cared. Em worried about me to a certain degree, but I was
the one that took care of her, not the other way around.

I typed out a text. "Sorry about running out on you.
You're right, I wasn't feeling well." I hated lying, but I couldn't pull
her into the mess I was in. "As great as soup sounds, I don't think us
being alone together in my room is great for my chances at gold tomorrow or
yours this weekend," I added and pressed send. I didn't care if it was
forward. She knew how I felt about her. And I was pretty sure I knew how she
felt about me. She was staring at me earlier like she wanted me to fuck her
right in the train. But she needed to focus on winning her games so she could
get the money she needed to take over for her grandmother. I wasn't going to
stand in the way of making her dreams come true. Thinking about the way her
face lit up when she talked about the bakery made me smile. She had to win
gold. She just had to.

Besides, I had my own race to worry about. I needed to focus
so that I wouldn't end up like Liam. Or worse...if they did something to Em.
Just the thought made me actually feel like vomiting.

After I got this meeting out of the way, I'd try to get some
sleep. I wasn't favored to win. Ervan Cook from Jamaica was supposed to win all
of his races, including the one against me. But no one knew how hard I had been
training. I wouldn't cheat to get my gold. And I knew I didn't have to. I could
do this. For Em.

Isadora was waiting for me outside the north village exit,
just as instructed. Part of me expected her to show up in thigh-high leather
boots and a short leather skirt, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that she
had instead worn a fairly normal outfit of jean shorts and a cut off Team
Brazil tank top.

"Hi, Isadora," I said. "Thanks for agreeing to
help me out."

"You decide to fuck me?" she asked.

"What? No. I really need your help."

"Oh," she replied with a small smile. And for the
first time, I thought her smile might actually be genuine. "What do you
need for me to do?"

"We can talk about that once we get inside. But first we
need to figure out how to get you through security. I was thinking I could go
through with my security pass, and then I could pass it to you through the
fence. They might notice that the picture..."

"Are the guards all men?" asked Isadora.

"Uh, yeah, I think so."

"Then it is no problem. I show you." Isadora
confidently walked over to the security checkpoint and put her bag on the
scanner. The guard waved her through the metal detector and then put a hand up
to stop her.

"ID please," he said.

Isadora reached into her pockets and came up empty. She
feigned a confused look and then reached into her bra to pretend like she might
have stashed it in there instead.

"I don't know where it went," she said, in an
accent that didn't sound as thick. "I must have left it in my dorm."

The guard shook his head. "Sorry, no entry without an
ID."

"What if you search me? I promise I'm not carrying any
naughty weapons." Isadora bent over the conveyer belt and spread her legs.
When the guard didn't immediately respond, she shook her ass a little.

"Are you trying to get me fired?" asked the guard.
"I guess you can pass, but don't tell anyone."

Isadora stood up and smiled at him. "Thank you."

Damn, she's actually pretty good at this. This might work
even better than I had hoped.

I went through next without any issues and then met up with
Isadora again.

"How'd you know that would work?" I asked.

"Just because Rodrigo uses me for my body doesn't mean I
don't have other talents too," she said in her normal accent. "Men
are, what do you say," she paused for a second, searching for the word,
"stupid."

"Do you not like Rodrigo?"

"My feeling does not matter. I belong to him."

"Have you ever tried to escape?"

"I've thought sometimes, but it's impossible. And I have
nobody close in my life. I would have no money and nowhere to go."

"What if I told you I could help?"

She looked at me skeptically. "Why help me?"

"Rodrigo threatened to kill my sister. He threatens to
take what's most important to me, I'll take what's most important to him."

"I'm not most important to him. That is money."

"That's why you're going to take his money too.
Somewhere, he has a slip of paper that's going to be worth millions if I
succeed in rigging the games for him. All you have to do is find it and steal
it from him."

"Where would I go to?"

"Disappear. Go wherever you want. You'll have all the
money you ever need."

"I will consider. Is that why you brought me here? For
talking?"

"No, I also need you to help me with something else. Did
you bring the sex toys?"

Isadora opened her bag and started pulling out toys.
"Dildos, butt plugs, anal beads, vibrators, cock rings."

"Good."

"Strap ons, ping pong balls, a rubber chicken..."

Rubber chicken? What?
"Okay, I get the idea. You
came well prepared."

"So what are these for?"

"There's a table tennis player named Marco Kramer. He's
staying in Room 712 of Dorm 9. I want you to go there and show him the time of
his life."

Isadora frowned. "How will that sabotage? You think I'm
unpleasant to be with? I'm good at the sex."

"No. I'm sure you are. Just make sure that by the time
you're done with him, he has trouble walking."

"You want me to use the sex toys on the ass?"

"It sounds weird when you say it like that, but
yes."

"That's easy. This one will work especially well for the
ass." Isadora reached into her bag and pulled out a floppy black dildo
that was easily a foot long.

Poor Marco.
"I'd rather not know exactly how it
goes down. Just get it done."

"Okay. Anything else you need of me?"

"That's all. Thanks for your help, Isadora. And good
luck finding Rodrigo's ticket. I don't know what he did to your family, but
we'll make him pay."

Wednesday

Alina

"Alright, that's enough film study for today," said
Coach Hammond. "I think you girls are ready for Italy tomorrow."

I let out a sigh of relief. For the past 45 minutes I had
been watching the clock counting down to when we were supposed to get out. I
knew that getting out on schedule would give us time to get to the track to see
Bryce's race, I just never thought Coach would actually not keep us late.

"There is one more thing though," continued Coach.

Damn it. Is she really going to make us run more stairs?

"The US ITA Committee sent me a memo today about the tiebreaker
event. Apparently they think it's appropriate to waste our valuable practice
time on something that is never even going to happen, but nonetheless, I have
to talk to you about it. As you've probably heard, the USA and Brazil could
potentially have the same medal count at the end of the games, so per the
official ITA rulebook, they have to start planning for a tiebreaker event. For
some reason, the geniuses making the rules thought it would be a good idea to
let the host nation choose the event, which in this case means Brazil got to
choose an event in which they believe they're superior to the USA."

I glanced up at the clock.
Come on. This is going to make
me miss Bryce's race!

"Brazil has chosen for the event to be a strip dance,
which I guess in South America is considered a form of ballroom dance rather
than something you'd see in a strip club. So I have to ask: are any of you
interested in volunteering to perform for the USA?"

My teammates all laughed.

"Good, that's the reaction I was expecting. I'd hate for
one of you girls to do it and lose focus on volleyball. Speaking of which,
maybe this whole tiebreaker business does have a silver lining. Brazil's
performer will be Gabriela Santos. And after the way she tore us apart in the
group stage, her losing focus on volleyball isn't the worst thing to ever
happen."

Of course Gabriela would want to do a strip dance. She
probably works at a strip club as her side job anyway.

"Any questions?" asked Coach. She looked around the
room, but no one had anything to say. "Okay then, I'll see you all
tomorrow for the semi final against Italy. And don't let me hear any stories
about any of you partying tonight."

The minute we were dismissed Kristen and I sprinted to the
locker room, grabbed our stuff, and then rushed to the train station. We made
it on the train thirty seconds before the conductor closed the doors.

After we caught our breath, Kristen turned to me. "I
can't believe you didn't volunteer to go against Gabriela. This could be your
chance to pay her back for all the shit she did to you."

"How would embarrassing myself by stripping in front of
the whole world and losing to Gabriela be getting her back? That seems like
just the kind of thing she would have tried to trick me into doing back in
college. And how is the ITA even allowing a strip dance to be an event? They
won't be able to show that on TV."

"Have you ever heard of that show Bailando por un Sueño?"

"No."

"It's the Argentinean version of Dancing with the Stars.
They've had strip dances on there for a while and it was a big deal when one of
the contestants actually stripped. Most of them just dance around in lingerie
and occasionally take their bra off at the end while they're facing away from
the audience. They never actually show anything. For the most part it's no more
revealing than the outfits they wear on Dancing with the Stars."

"In that case, I'll totally do it."

"Really?!" Kristen's face lit up. I almost felt bad
that I was joking.

"No way."

"Damn it, Alina. You could probably even get Bryce to do
it with you. Imagine being up on the stage half naked with Bryce..."

"Tempting, but I'd much rather be fully naked with Bryce
and have it be in private rather than on stage."

"At least watch a video of it before you decide."

I was going to tell Kristen that watching girls strip wasn't
really my thing, but she somehow managed to bring up a video of it on YouTube
before I could get a word out. I watched the video. It wasn't quite as tame as
Kristen had made it sound, but it also wasn't just a naked girl pole dancing
like I had imagined. Instead, the girl and guy started out fully clothed and
danced provocatively, slowly stripping their clothes off until they were both
in sparkly underwear.

"See, that's not so bad," said Kristen.

"Yeah, but it would still be embarrassing to do it,
especially when I lose to Gabriela."

"Well if you aren't going to do it, then I'll do it for
you."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "You'd really do that
for me?"

"After what she did to you? Hell yes."

"Wow, you're the best."

Kristen shrugged. "I try. I'll email Coach now.
Hopefully she won't be too pissed." She pulled out her phone and started
typing. "Before I hit send, I do have one condition."

"Oh yeah?"

"You have to agree to be my understudy in case I get
injured and can't perform."

"But..."

"Oh, come on. In all the years we've known each other,
how many times have I been injured badly enough to not be able to play?"

I thought about it for a second. "None?"

"Exactly. And what are the odds that the medal counts
are actually tied at the end of the games?"

"One percent? Less?"

"Basically zero. The event is never going to happen, but
by signing up we send a message to Gabriela that we aren't afraid of her. And
we get to hang out and probably learn a dance from a world class choreographer.
It'll be fun."

"I don't know..."

"You really want to pass up the opportunity to watch me
crush that stupid bitch in a dance-off? Come on, you know I've got the moves to
beat her. Who else is going to do it? One of those twelve year olds on the
gymnastics team? Or maybe a nice broad-shouldered swimmer? I don't think
so."

Kristen was right. She was an incredible dancer. And watching
her beat Gabriela would be amazing.

"Okay, I'll be your understudy," I said.
I can
always back out if she actually does get injured.

"Great!"

Oh God, what did I just agree to?
Kristen had taken
advantage of my hatred for Gabriela and somehow made me forget all about the
fact that I was agreeing to be the understudy to her for a strip dance. A strip
dance! "Actually, I think..."

"Nope, too late to change your mind. I already hit
send."

"What? How did you even have time to add that to the
email? I literally agreed to it 2 seconds ago."

"I'm just that good. Now...do you think we can get the
guys to agree to be backup dancers for it? Or at least, get Tim to agree and
have Bryce be his understudy?"

"Is that even a question? I'm pretty sure ballroom
dancing is one of Tim's favorite hobbies."

"Really? I've never heard him mention it."

"Neither have I. But I'd be shocked if he didn't love it."

"Well, I hope you're right. We can talk to them about it
after Bryce's race."

Wednesday

Bryce

Alex lifted up one of the earphones of my noise canceling
headphones. "Your woman is here," he said and let the headphone slap
back against my head.

I left DMX blasting in my ears as I scanned the crowd. His
music took me right back to growing up, reminding me of why I ran in the first
place. It was always about survival.
Today is no different.

My eyes fell on a sign in the crowd. "If You Race Against
Bryce, Be Prepared to Pay the Price...Of Losing."

I laughed. Alina had tied in the fact that I was all about
the money. Well, the sign was accurate. There was only going to be one winner,
and it was definitely going to be me.

Tim pulled off my headphones. "You're up, sweet
cakes."

I shook my head. Why did he always call me that?

"Bring home our gold," Alex said and slapped my
back. He had won a bronze earlier today and Tim had won a silver. All together
we'd have a sweep. Not that I needed any more motivation.

"Done." I walked onto the track.

This was the most important race of my life. It was a race
for my life. But I had always run for my life. Despite what I told myself, this
race was different. Because it wasn't just about me, it was about Em too. Losing
wasn't an option. I jumped up and down before leaning down and putting my feet
in the starting blocks. I was on the inside track. Ervan Cook was directly to
my right.
Eat my dust, Cook.

"Runners on your marks!" The announcer said.

I looked down the track. I had no backup plan. All I was
relying on was my own speed. I had briefly thought of tackling Cook at the last
second if I needed to. But that would just result in me getting disqualified.
Rodrigo said I had to win. Winning was the only option. I took a deep breath
and pressed my fingertips into the track. I could almost hear my blood bumping.

The horn sounded, signaling the start of the race. My feet
flew off the starting blocks. That's how I always liked to think. I wasn't
running. I was fucking flying. And never in my life had I flown this fast.

I didn't look toward my right. I focused on the finish line
and the cheers in the crowd. Cheers for me. The hot Brazilian breeze rushed
past me, somehow heightening the roar from the stands, somehow making me feel
even more alive.

I could see Cook in my peripheral vision. Only Cook. I knew
why he was favored to win. He was damn fast. I had studied his tapes. And I
knew exactly how to beat him. He was used to winning. He was used to always
being ahead. He didn't know how to come from behind, because he never had to.
And there was no way in hell I was letting him pass me.

It felt like my feet were barely touching the ground as I ran
through the finish. I didn't bother reducing my speed slowly. I skidded to a stop
and turned back to the stands. Alina was screaming, jumping up and down, waving
the sign in the air. The next moment, Alex, Tim, and a bunch of my teammates
were lifting me in the air, carrying me toward the podium where they were going
to hand out the medals.

I did it. I fucking did it.
This was everything I had
ever worked toward. And more. This medal meant so much more. I wasn't ashamed
of the tears that ran down my cheeks. I beat Ervan Cook, the fastest sprinter
in the world. Which meant I was the fastest sprinter in the world. At least the
fastest at the 100 meter dash.

The next few minutes were a blur. I stood on the top tier of
the podium and bent my head as the gold medal was placed around my neck. I put
my hand on my chest as they played the national anthem. My eyes teared up
again. I was safe. Em was safe. I knew that I still had more to do in order to
get us out of this mess. But I wasn't going to think about that right now.
Right now, I had just won gold and that was all that fucking mattered.

"You're fast as lightening, man," Cook said in a
very Jamaican accent. He was sporting the silver medal. He had already won
several golds in other events. I shook hands with Cook and the guy who won
bronze.

All the while, my eyes scanned the crowd. There was only one
thing I wanted. And then I saw her, running toward the crowd that had formed in
front of the podium.