The Line Below

by Ali Dean

  Sometimes, the things that should be easy, like following my dreams and believing in myself despite others’ expectations, are complicated. And sometimes, the things that I think will be complicated, like falling in love with an Olympian, are the simplest of all.

  The 100 fly is on the first day of three days of competing, and the win sets me up for the best meet of my life. Okay, it’s not just the win, but an entire year of solid training, that sets me up to take more wins. It’s all coming together, and I ride an emotional high all the way through the final relay. I finish the meet with individual wins in the 100 fly, 200 fly, and 200 I.M. and relay wins in the 400 free and 400 medley. We break the record in the medley relay, and that means just as much to me as my individual record, because Kick’s part of it too. Something’s clicked for her it seems because she’s intent and focused the entire weekend in a way I’ve never seen before. She wants it, and she’s showing it. When she pulls through with a PR in her leg of the relay, I know there’s been a breakthrough for her, even if I don’t fully understand what it means.

  Even our overall team win doesn’t overshadow Kick’s breakthrough. We’re leaving the locker room after the final race, loading the bus back to the hotel for one more night’s sleep before our flight the next morning. The wave of elation is contagious, and I sneak away into the hallway for a quick call to Jett, knowing he’ll be going to bed soon. He’s been watching it live and getting updates from my parents by text while we race, but I didn’t encourage him to take a flight here to watch me. With all the school he misses for his own meets, I didn’t want him missing more. We were inseparable all week leading up to this, and it was time for me to get back to independence.

  I’m looking at my cell, about to hit call, when I nearly crash into someone in front of me. Gasping in shock, I’m about to apologize until I see who it is.

  “Mrs. Reed?” I ask, disbelief filling my voice.

  “Shay. I came to talk to you,” she says quickly, and I start to back away. She shouldn’t be here. She definitely shouldn’t be talking to me. Her expression is desperate, and it scares me. But with that fear, I stop myself. I don’t want to run away in fear. I want to face her. She might not be Julian, but she represents him.

  “I’m so sorry about what happened with Julian. But I think there’s been a misunderstanding. He really loved you, loves you, Shay. He would never hurt you. He might not have shown it right, but he didn’t have a chance. I know that boyfriend thought he saw something and you feel like you have to support your boyfriend. But he’s violent, Shay. Jett is violent, not my boy. Don’t do this out of fear of Jett. You’ll ruin Julian’s life. It’s not right.”

  I’m tempted to turn away then out of disgust, not fear, but I stand my ground. “No, Mrs. Reed, I think you’re the one who’s misunderstood. Your son’s dangerous. He forced himself on me. If Jett wasn’t there, it would have been worse, and your son would be behind bars for even longer.”

  She flinches but doesn’t change her position, switching from attempting to present an argument on her son’s behalf to outright pleading.

  “Mrs. Reed, your son needs to deal with the consequences of what he did. And he probably needs some help too. And you should take some responsibility because it’s clear he doesn’t think he lives by the same rules as the rest of us, and you’re still trying to protect him from those rules. It’s not going to do him any favors. He seems to think he’s entitled to whatever he wants, and by what you’re saying, I can see why he thinks so. Do yourself and him a favor and let him plead guilty. I’m not changing my statement. It’s done.”

  She watches me in stunned silence as I walk around her, head high. She doesn’t try to call after me or chase me, and even as I start to shudder from the encounter, I keep walking steadily forward until I’m out the door, on the bus, and I can collapse.

  I’ve put off thinking about the fallout from Julian’s attack. I had to block it out in order to get through this weekend. If he pleads guilty, it will only be a misdemeanor and he will receive six months prison time, maybe even less. He can be charged with felony sexual assault and stalking if he pleads not guilty, and could receive years in prison. But I don’t want it to drag out, I definitely don’t want to listen to his defenses, and I don’t want to have to relive it by testifying.

  The next day, I get the news from the District Attorney’s office that Julian has accepted the plea deal. A few hours later, I receive confirmation from the Dean’s office that Julian has been expelled from Cal U and is not permitted to return to campus.

  Relief is the first sensation. I’m not even angry that he and his mother have tainted what is otherwise the best week of my life because my happiness is too strong to even notice the hit. And in a small way, I feel like I was able to take control, stand up for myself, and actually affect the outcome by talking to Julian’s mother. I didn’t know how much I needed that.

  Now I have my own mom to talk to, and I’m not putting it off any longer. We don’t typically plan calls ahead of time, but for this, I want both parents on the phone, and I want them to know they can’t brush it off.

  Three days after NCAAs, sitting on my bed, I tell them my decision.

  “I’m not going to do an internship this summer. And I’m not going straight to a finance career after graduation. I’m going to swim professionally and try to make the next Olympic team.”

  Dad speaks first. “That’s great, honey. Wow. What a big decision. I didn’t know you were considering this but how exciting.” He has no idea how thankful I am for his support. I expected at least some initial pushback from him, even minimal, just to see if I really meant it, if I’d thought it through. His faith in me and my decision fills me with gratitude.

  “Honey, I hope you’re not doing this because of what happened with Julian. I don’t want you throwing away your future because you’re emotional about that.”

  “Mom, this has nothing to do with that. Going for the Olympics is not throwing away my future.”

  Her silence says everything. But I don’t blabber or try to justify my decision. I’m tempted to, but it should speak for itself. I have what it takes. I know this, and with my recent meet, she can’t deny it either.

  “Have you heard back about your applications? Once you get offers, you might feel differently.”

  “I’ve gotten offers, and I don’t feel differently.”

  “From where? When?” she asks, hopeful.

  “It doesn’t matter, Mom, that’s not what I want.”

  Silence again.

  “Even if you don’t do an internship this summer, you can still change your mind next year, and apply for jobs for after you graduate. It will be harder, but – ”

  I cut her off. “No, Mom. This is what I’m doing. I’m not changing my mind.”

  “Sounds like there’s nothing I can say then.”

  “There’s not.”

  I try to stay calm and steady, not yell at her for her lack of support or question why she’s obsessed with this particular path for me. Dad talks then. “Well, I’m proud of you Shay. Very proud.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Mom stays quiet, and we hang up a moment later. It hurts not to have her support, but I don’t need it. My certainty is enough, and if I waver in it, I have Jett, Kick, Beatrice, Coach Mandy, Dad, and others to lift me up.

  Jett stands on the starting block in the lane next to me, wearing board shorts and goggles, swinging his arms back and forth in a show of bravado. “You ready for this, Shay?”

  Before I can answer, the sound of music blares over the loudspeaker, and when Jett and I recognize the tune, we exchange amused glances. It’s Katy Perry’s “Roar,” and I can’t hear it without picturing Jett’s pitiful attempt at reenacting the music video in charades.

  He grimaces, apparently thinking the same thing. “Kick did that on purpose, didn’t she?”

  “She’s trying to throw you off your game.”

  We laugh and look out across the pool. Mos
t of the track team and swim teams are here. You’d think the cheering squads would be divided by sport, but it’s broken down to gender, with the girls on the track and swim teams cheering for me, and the guys shouting for Jett. Coco planted this seed of an idea the other day, wondering which one of us would beat the other in a duathlon. The notion of the school’s NCAA champions competing against each other caught on like wildfire, and here we are.

  Jett refused to wear a Speedo, and as much as I would’ve enjoyed the sight, I’m glad he doesn’t fully grasp the concept of drag in the water. I legitimately want to beat him. There was some negotiation about the distances, but we went with a 75-yard swim, or three laps, a jog over to the basketball court from the pool, and three laps around the courts. Hard to say if it’ll be anywhere close to fair but I’m still going for it. I’ve never seen Jett swim, but I’m assuming I’ll get a decent enough lead to give myself a shot.

  Coco is the only non-athlete in the crowd, but she’s pretending to be one, dressed in stylish patterned running tights with a matching top.

  She calls everyone to attention, standing at the end near us. Kick lowers the sound of the music.

  “Athletes, take your marks.” I glance over at Jett, who looks shaky on the block as he bends down, before taking my own position. She honks a horn, and we’re off.

  I swim free, the fastest stroke, and Jett stays surprisingly close for the first lap but falls way back after the first flip turn. I’d have a hard time treating this as a real race since I keep suppressing laughter from bubbling up at the ridiculousness of it, but the entire pool is lined with college athletes screaming at the top of their lungs like it’s the most important race of the year. Actual pom-poms are out, cowbells, horns. By the time I hit the wall after the third lap, I’ve got a solid lap lead on him, which is maybe only twenty-five seconds. My sneakers are waiting for me at the end of the lane, but I ditch them, not wanting to waste the time.

  Beatrice runs ahead of me up the stadium steps, urging me on as she strides just in front. “Go, go, go!” she shouts in my ear when we get to the top. I race across the hallway and through the double wide doors, where a new crowd erupts in cheers when I enter. There’s no sign of Jett as I make my way around one lap, but as I start the second lap, he bursts past me, slapping me on my butt and surging ahead. Nice. I have an entire lap on him, I got this. But my legs are already screaming, my chest is about to explode, and I have got to slow down. Jett’s already halfway around his second lap as I finish mine, but I’m totally dying. I almost never run, and my body is really confused about what I’m trying to make it do. I try to pick it up as my lead fades, but my quads and calves are going to cramp if I push any harder.

  Tabitha yells that he’s catching me and to hurry up. As I make the last turn around the gym, I see Anthony and Coco holding up a string for the finish line. I sprint for it, pumping my arms and knowing I’m going to hurt tomorrow.

  Just as I near it, a flash bursts by me, and Jett raises his arms in victory. He turns around and lifts me in the air, and I’m glad to see he’s sweating and breathing hard. “Maybe next time, baby,” he whispers, and I grin. I’ve never been so happy to lose.

  Thank you for reading! Want more of the Stark sisters? Kick’s story releases in September this year. You can add it on Goodreads now.

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  So many to thank!

  My husband, sister, and parents for supporting my decision to switch careers, making it possible for me to finally finish this book I started long ago!

  My editor, Leanne, who has been working with me since the very beginning of this journey. I can trust her to tell me what works and what doesn’t and to be tirelessly thorough in her reviews and edits. Plus, her comments make me laugh out loud, which makes the process much more fun.

  Ellie, for fitting me into her schedule to help with edits.

  Dave, my childhood swim teammate who let me interview him about professional swimming and life as a division I collegiate swimmer.

  My beta readers: Kristen, Ashley, Anna, and Nora for giving me the honest feedback I needed to make this story better.

  Renita, who did a “sensitivity read” for me and taught me that black men know more about moisturizers than white women, among other things! (And Alessandra, who recommend Renita, and posted an awesome interview with Renita on her website, that everyone should read: www.alessandratorreink.com/home/diversify)

  Autumn, for helping me spread the word about this book.

  Brittaney, for helping me create the blurb. That part is always the hardest!

  And so many others! Writing might be a solitary sport, but it takes a village to publish a book. Thank you!

  Pepped Up (Pepper Jones #1)

  All Pepped Up (Pepper Jones #2)

  Pepped Up & Ready (Pepper Jones #3)

  Pep Talks (Pepper Jones #4)

  Pepped Up Forever (Pepper Jones #5)

  Catch up on all 5 books in the series before the release of Pepped Up & Wilder in December 2018 by purchasing the entire set HERE

  Black Diamond

  Double Black

  Black Ice

  All 3 books in the series currently available in a set and FREE on KU

  Elusive

  Kick

  Doubles Love

  Before you go, check out the first chapter of Pepped Up. The series begins in the young adult world of high school and continues into the new adult world of college, and soon, the post-college years! The sixth book, Pepped Up & Wilder, releases in December.

  PEPPED UP

  Chapter 1

  This right here is what I live for. The steady rhythm of my feet landing softly on dirt. Colorado sunshine heating the fresh morning air. Birds singing as they swoop in and out of trees. And Dave frolicking beside me with his tongue lolling out to the side.

  I want to capture the exhilaration and peace flowing through my veins, pulsing through my soul. Who needs a vice when you can attain an utter sense of being alive with such simple ingredients? Blue sky, fresh air, and, of course, man’s best friend. Dave’s feeling it, too - runner’s high. Endorphin rush. Call it what you will.

  We turn off the single track and cross the footbridge separating the foothills from Brockton’s residential neighborhoods. I could easily run for another hour or two, but my training schedule calls for a forty-five-minute easy jog, and I’m already pushing an hour.

  I used to think that being a disciplined athlete was all about pushing hard. But I was wrong. It’s really about knowing when to hold back, being patient enough to do it, and then pushing hard when the time comes.

  I got into running on my first day of high school, almost by accident. Having never played sports when I was younger, I was pretty clueless about how they worked, but it turned out I was fast – really fast – and immediately made varsity and even qualified for the State meet. But since I had no idea of strategy, starting every run with a full-on sprint was all I knew to do, so “crash and burn” became my motto for the first few races.

  I now have two cross country seasons and two track seasons under my belt, and I’ve learned how to pace myself at races and in workouts. But this season presents a new challenge. I need to pace myself over the course of the whole season. Not just for twenty minutes or so, but for three and a half months, or fourteen weeks.

  I’m usually beat, mentally and physically, after the State meet, but if all goes well, I’ll be racing for a month longer than past seasons. First I have to qualify for Regionals at the State meet, and then I have to qualify for Nationals at Regionals. Until then, I’ve got to hold back. Easier said than done.

  I wind through the familiar stre
ets, my empty stomach coming to attention when the smell of bacon from someone’s kitchen floats by. When I turn onto Shadow Lane, slowing to a walk for my cool-down, I see a silver Mercedes Benz pulling up in front of the Wilders’ house. I narrow my eyes at it, watching Jace Wilder get out from the passenger side. His biceps flex as he holds the top of the door to lean in the open window and say something to the driver. Reaching in the car window, he retrieves a box of donuts before walking towards his house.

  The car drives away from the Wilders’ house in my direction and slows as it passes me on the sidewalk. I recognize Madeline Brescoll when she rolls down her window. “Hi, Pepper.” Her voice is filled with self-satisfaction. Through the window, I can see she looks gorgeous as usual.

  I raise my hand in an unenthusiastic wave. “Morning.”

  She flashes me an insincere smile, turns up the radio and drives away. I glance down at Dave, who’s licking sweat off my shin. He’s unimpressed. He might be the first male of any species to snub her like that.

  Dave’s a multi-colored, short-haired mutt I adopted pretty much by accident last year – I simply wasn’t capable of ignoring the “free puppies” sign. Clearly, despite his lack of pedigree, he’s far too good for the Madeline Brescolls of this world.

  Madeline’s family owns one of the largest breweries in the nation. She goes to Lincoln Academy, the private school in town. And along with the rest of the female population in Brockton, she wants Jace Wilder.