The Thomas Flair - E.J. Russell Page 0,31

didn’t let it distract him. Not now. Once his feet hit the mat, his tunnel vision set in.

He chalked up his hands and the pommels, running through the routine in his head again while he waited for the judges to post Brandon’s score. Then he stood next to the horse, eyes on the D1 judge until the green light flashed for him to begin.

He raised one arm in salute, then grasped the pommels and levered himself up into the first skill. One element at a time. Don’t look back. Don’t look forward. One move after the other, Sol kept his hips open, his legs glued together, and then suddenly he was flying up to a handstand, doing an extra pirouette, and sticking the landing.

Yes! He raised both arms in salute, pumped his fists, then trotted off the podium, grinning like a fool, as the crowd cheered. He slapped palms with the rest of the guys in his cohort. Xiao was waiting for him, but before Sol joined his coach, he checked the leader board.

It was wonky right now, of course. Since this rotation wasn’t completely over, Sol’s score hadn’t posted, so he was showing up in fifth. Earlier, Tony had posted a phenomenal score on p-bars, only three hundredths behind Danny, who was a beast with those biceps of his.

Tony had faltered on high bar, though, his best event, nearly missing the bar after a Cassina release. He’d caught it with one hand, and though he hadn’t fallen, he’d gotten hammered by the judges. He’d taken a totally unnecessary step—in Sol’s opinion—on his layout double-double dismount too. He was finishing up on rings, and Sol was in a perfect spot to observe.

I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Sure, he wouldn’t have to wait for the replay to see Tony’s routine, which was good. But… he wouldn’t be able to wait for the replay, so his heart would be in his throat the entire time. Not good.

What is wrong with me? Before Tony barged into the Training Center, I’d have been praying for him to make a mistake, to take himself out of the way of guys who’d spent the last four years preparing.

But hadn’t Tony spend the last four years preparing too, even if it was in a very different way? Sol edged down the floor toward the still rings just as Tony saluted the judges and Andrei helped him up to grasp the rings.

If Sol had been afraid of choking on his heart before, that was nothing to actually watching Tony compete. From the first iron cross, Tony’s muscles bunching as he opened his hands to show the judges he wasn’t leaning on his wrists, through every swing, every transition, Sol hardly breathed. He counted out each strength hold in his head—one one thousand two one thousand—the way he had at Central when he was learning his first rings skills. Tony used to tease him about it. “I can see your lips moving, Solly.” Even then, Sol had dreamed of his lips moving over Tony’s skin.

Not that he’d ever said anything—not then. But I could say it now.

Then Tony threw a triple pike dismount—and took a step. Even with that error, though—only a tenth deduction—Sol could tell the routine would post a big score. A really big score.

When the rotation was over, Sol was still comfortably in the lead, with Danny in second by a good margin over Rahul in third. Eddie was still in fourth. Tony had moved up to fifth again, his rings score compensating for the high bar error. But that didn’t mean anything.

None of it meant anything, actually. Nobody was guaranteed an Olympic berth—nobody except Eddie, who had won an individual berth in the World Cup event series. But his spot was nominative—in other words, it was only for him. If the Olympic selection committee decided to put Eddie on the four-man team instead of leaving him as an event specialist, team USA would lose a quota spot and they’d only be able to take five guys to Tokyo.

But that didn’t mean the committee wouldn’t do it, not if they thought it would build the best team. Just because Sol, Danny, and Rahul were the all-around finishers didn’t mean they’d be named to the team either.

Sol marched out of the arena with everyone else, returning to the dressing room so they could clean most of the chalk off themselves and try to stay calm while they waited for the team