Chapter 11

“We got the next one,” Cal said to me.

Cal placed mostly in the middle of the pack. No individual medals would be going home with him, but he was helpful in the team events. He always put in a ton of effort and tried his hardest. “I’ve been told all my life black guys don’t swim,” he’d said on the very first day. “I plan on proving that theory wrong.” He’d almost beaten Mathias in the breaststroke. At least that’s what I’d told him, though deep down Cal knew a few seconds wasn’t quite “almost” when it came to swimming.

“If I’d have gotten a better kick off the wall to start back, I’d have kicked his flat, stuck-up ass.”

“For sure.”

That wasn’t true. Not really. None of it was. Unless Cal would have sprung off the wall like a ricocheting bullet, there was no way in hell he could have caught up to Mathias’s lead. Plus, I’d already declared Mathias’s ass not bad.

“I wish I was as good as you, Wats.”