“You’re not nervous, are you?” Sydney asked, apprehensively staring at Michael’s face.

He glanced down at her, smiling. “Not nervous really.”

“Petrified?” Ian offered cheekily, pecking Adelaide on the cheek. “I’ll see you after I bet his arse. We’ll celebrate.” He waved, and headed off toward the changing rooms.

“I’m fine,” Michael assured them, probably for himself more than the girls. Adelaide walked over to a notice board and began reading it in interest. (Though she was really listening to what Michael and Sydney were saying.)

“I’m sure you’ll be really good,” Sydney said, somewhat lamely.

“Yeah. That means a lot coming from a Thorpe fan.”

“Ha ha.” Sydney replied, knowing full well that he was just teasing. She reached up and kissed him quickly and tentatively on the mouth, not sure if it was appropriate. Michael tweaked her elbow, grinned and winked at her and then disappeared into the Olympic Aquatic Center.

“He likes you,” Adelaide sang, now standing behind her friend.

Sydney cast her a dirty look. “Oh, shut up. Let’s go watch. I think I’m more nervous than he is.”

“Why’s that? Because you’re not sure who you should cheer for?”

This thought had apparently not crossed Sydney’s mind until just then, for she stopped walking and paled considerably; Adelaide, sensing a minor breakdown, directed her over to a stand selling drinks before they went inside to find seats.

*

“You know, I’m from Australia so I should, in essence, be cheering for Thorpie.”

Adelaide sighed inwardly and tried hard not to roll her eyes. She’d been listening to this argument for the last hour. “Sydney, it does not matter where you’re from. You can cheer for whomever you like. And, by the way, you’re from America. So technically you should cheer for Michael.”

“Oh, so you’re the one who is going against the grain…er…the country.” Sydney sipped at her water. “I’m glad it’s not me.”

Adelaide resisted the urge to hit her friend. “Sydney. If you don’t stop, I’m going to deck you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Remember sixth grade?”

Sydney’s eyes widened. “You’re not serious!”

The glint of mischief in Adelaide’s eyes was enough to confirm Sydney’s suspicions; luckily, the announcement of the start of the swim sounded then, and the girls fell silent.

The memory of Sydney’s first (and last) black eye was enough to keep her cheers relatively quiet during the swim, except when Michael and Ian were both announced; she let lose then, but kept quiet while they were swimming, and when Ian won.

Adelaide, however, cheered louder than she had in her entire life, and she seemed pretty pleased with herself for mentioning the Black Day in Sixth Grade where she and Sydney had fought over a boy for the first (and most definitely last) time. Said boy had turned out to be a creep, anyway, but the girls still remembered the horrible fights they’d had over him, and the time when the fights went a little too far and resulted in Sydney’s black eye and Adelaide’s bruised shins. Obviously, back then, Adelaide had a lot more height on Sydney, and therefore a better chance at kicking her arse. Actually, that was true today as well because Sydney was still several inches shorter…but quite a bit scrappier where fights were concerned. (Sydney had taken karate lessons when she was fifteen for this very purpose.)

“He did well,” Adelaide said, trying hard to be heard over the loudness of the crowd surrounding them. “Michael, I mean. He swam really well.”

Sydney nodded. “Yeah. Ian was incredibly fast, though. So was van den Hoogenband. Did you SEE him go? Lord.”

Adelaide chuckled slightly, glad their little tiff was settled. “Yeah, he was ripping. I think Michael’s pretty pleased with the bronze, though.”

“Seems to be.” Sydney was biting on her bottom lip and watching as Michael and Ian spoke and hugged several hundred feet away. The crowd was dispersing, but neither girl had made a move towards the exit.

“How much do you like him, on a scale of 1 to 10?” Adelaide said this really fast, clutching Sydney’s shoulders so she couldn’t help but answer. This was a game they had played for as long as they both could remember; they’d used it for many things in the past: movies, television shows, games, bikes, shirts…and more recently (middle school, at least) boys.

“About a fifty,” Sydney answered with a shrug. “Maybe sixty-five.”

The only rule of the game was you tell the truth, so Adelaide knew her friend had it bad. She slung an arm over her shoulders and directed her toward the stairs.

After the medal ceremony, it was quite dark out and the girls were heading back to their hotel, aware that the boys were probably too tired to celebrate, or perhaps too busy, as they’d been accosted by reporters directly after the swim.

Ian was creeping out of the Aquatic Center, knees bent and head darting back and forth as if he was watching a tennis match.

“Ian,” Adelaide whispered, crouching low to the ground.

Ian jumped up, nearly falling into a nearby bush. “Damn shrubbery,” he cursed, walking over to Adelaide and Sydney. “I was hiding from the press.”

“That bad, eh?” Adelaide questioned, smirking.

“No, I’m just really tired.” He glanced at Sydney, who was peering behind him. “Michael’s gone to the hotel.”

Sydney looked at him. “Oh.”

Ian smiled at her, and then turned to Adelaide. “That’s where I’m headed too. I’m exhausted.”

“Okay,” Adelaide nodded, reaching to hug him. “Well, congrats.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He crouched low to the ground again and crept along down the street, disappearing from view.

“I can’t believe he just went to the hotel,” Sydney whispered, looking everywhere but at her friend.

“He was tired, Syd,” Adelaide offered lamely, steering her around to head to their hotel. “And we didn’t get down here quick enough to see him.”

Sydney yawned. “Well, he’s got some explaining to do in the morning.”

“Okay, Lucy,” Adelaide joked, covering up a yawn. “Or is that Ricky?”

“I think you’re dehydrated, Addy. You’re talking nonsense.” Sydney pointed ahead up the street. “Onward to bed we go.”