Chapter 3.
Despite his love of water, Gordon hated rain.
No, hate was much too mild. Despise? Loathe? Detest? Abhor?
Yes, that was a good one. He abhorred it.
Pool water, lake water, and seawater were all fine, simply because they only imparted their wetness if you were partially or fully immersed. Rain denied you that right and also had a nasty habit of soaking you at the most inconvenient of times. In particular, it seemed drawn to freshly styled hair, newly applied makeup, expensive clothing, and anyone not wielding a coat and/or umbrella.
Gordon grimaced as he stepped out of the shower and yanked on a clean t-shirt. Showers were the only form of rain he was prepared to tolerate in his life. Like the pool water he'd been training in mere minutes ago, he had control over how wet he got and how quickly. The option of being able to alter the water pressure and dial the temperature up or down was an added, and very welcome, bonus.
The countdown to the Opening Ceremony was now well underway, with only forty eight hours remaining until the event that marked the official start of Nairobi 2053. Gordon had been given clearance to start using the on-site training and swimming facilities three days prior when the remaining athletes had begun to arrive and had already clocked up an impressive twenty seven hours of high intensity exercise, surpassing the original target that Sam had set him by seven hours.
There could be no denying that things were looking good. Cut off from his family and their domestic drama, Gordon had managed to keep his head relatively clear and had set himself the challenge of walking away from Nairobi with a new personal best. Though internationally recognised as the pinnacle of sporting excellence, the Olympic Podium was a goal he knew was probably out of his reach, given his young age and relative lack of competitive experience. Some athletes he'd spoken to over the course of the week were on their second or third Olympics, giving them an undeniable advantage over their younger and more tender-footed teammates.
A medal of any colour hanging around his neck would be out of this world, but he'd happily settle for walking away with a new personal best. The world record for the hundred metre butterfly was forty nine seconds, and he was confident he'd be able to do it in fifty with a few more years of training and muscle under his belt. His current best was fifty two point four, which he was determined to knock down to fifty two by the time the end credits rolled in two weeks' time.
A stab of hunger snapped Gordon out of his tactical trance. Alongside thinking like a champion, the monster metabolism that came with high intensity interval training meant that he'd also been eating like a champion. Sam had worked out that he was burning through approximately four thousand calories a day and had wasted no time in drawing up a new meal plan for Gordon to follow in the run up to his first race, joking that global prices for bananas, spinach, oats, raw beets, cherry juice, kale, pasta, and turkey were skyrocketing as a result of the young blonde's insatiable appetite.
Gordon didn't care. Keeping his belly full and glycogen reserves topped up was a full-time job and one he was taking extremely seriously, hence his displeasure at the sheet of torrential rain that was acting as a divider between his accommodation block and the dining hall.
It was Wednesday the twenty-third of July and, according to the on-site meteorologist, the onshore monsoon winds that blew over every year from the Indian Ocean had been delayed. The cooler kusi season traditionally stretched from April to October, with the 'long rains' that came as part of the package lasting until the end of June at the latest. For the athletes in particular, the cooler weather and lack of rain found in Eastern Africa over July and August made a welcome change to the sweltering conditions experienced in northern hemisphere host countries.
The pounding rain outside Gordon's window told a different story, however. The organisers had been quick to reassure everyone that all of the outdoor courts and pitches were equipped with state of the art anti-flood drainage systems, while indoor athletes had been reminded that the weather had no bearing whatsoever on their events. Local news had reported a potential drop in spectator numbers if public transport links were interrupted, but this was hardly concerning when all of the major news corporations around the world would be live broadcasting each event from the safety and dryness of their offices.
Gordon watched with envy as several people in the courtyard below scurried into the dining hall for cover. He'd been about to head down for some lunch, but seeing the size of some of the puddles beginning to form was enough to put him off the idea. Braving the elements just to get some steamed broccoli and pasta was all well and good, but he'd just spent fifteen minutes making sense of his hair and wasn't prepared to waste another handful of gel correcting it after returning from his second refuel of the day.
Thankfully, some of the emergency rations in the care package his family had left were still available for consumption. He'd done as instructed and scrawled his name on all of the items to protect against theft and was reasonably confident that nothing would be out of date just yet. While cereal wasn't exactly a nutritional powerhouse, it would be enough to tide him over until dinner when he could make up the calories. Plus, the chance to indulge in something a bit 'naughty' was too good to pass up, and Gordon knew he was well overdue a reward for all of his hard work.
Not bothering with shoes, Gordon padded out into the hall in socks that he'd deliberately mismatched and beelined towards the kitchen. It was five doors down from his own, and it was with a small feeling of regret that the Olympic Tracy realised that he still didn't know the identities of any of the people who lived behind said doors. He'd been quick to chalk his social negligence up to everyone (supposedly) being older than him, but the truth of the matter was that he had no evidence to back this assumption up.
Despite his frustration over Scott and Virgil's insistence that he make friends, Gordon could understand the reason for their urgency. The likelihood of all of his brothers being tied up with rescues on his scheduled race days was low, but not impossible. One scenario in particular was causing him a great deal of anxiety, and that was the dreaded 'all hands on deck' kind of rescue that necessitated the attention and expertise of his entire family. He knew they had a duty to never prioritise their personal lives above those of people in trouble, but the prospect of not having any members of the Tracy clan present to watch him at one of his races because of 'work' was a tough pill to swallow.
Of course, that was where friends came in. In the unlikely, but not impossible, event of a cataclysmic natural disaster or emergency, Gordon would have to rely on the hope that at least one member of his family would have the time and forethought to tune in remotely to watch him. Given the insane amount of emotional and physical energy that went into each rescue, stacking this expectation atop the thousands more already on his brothers' shoulders was unfair. Justified? Absolutely. But fair? Unfortunately not.
Having some of his fellow sportsmen and women in the stands to fill the hole left by any family absences would go a long way towards 'normalising' the situation. Support was support at the end of the day, and any pickiness on Gordon's part as to who provided it was basically self-sabotage.
Or, as Sam would say, 'stupid is as stupid does.'
Making a mental note to knock on the door of his immediate neighbour as soon as he got back to his room, Gordon breezed into the kitchen, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw that he wasn't the only one stripping the cupboards in search of food.
A pyjama-clad butt was sticking out of one of the cupboards beneath the sink, it's owner cursing as they sifted through the contents of said cupboard. The lack of a face and torso made it difficult for Gordon to ascertain the identity of the person, but he could tell from their tone that they were female.
The promise of broadening his social network still fresh in his mind, Gordon made his way towards the microwave, his brain working overtime to generate a suitable and contextually accurate greeting.
"Glad to see I'm not the only one who doesn't think wetter is better."
A 'crunch' reverberated around the room as a head came into contact with the underside of the sink. Whether said action came from the shock of Gordon's presence or the shock of his unorthodox opening statement, nobody was around to tell.
Slowly, in stages, the person under the sink materialised. The pyjama-clad butt gave way to a torso shrouded by a Team USA hoodie, which gave way to a head of dark blond hair surrounding the face of a teenage girl who was grimacing in pain.
"Sorry, my bad," Gordon apologised, smiling awkwardly as he freed a banana from the bunch in the communal fruit bowl, "I just wasn't expecting to find anyone in here. I figured I kind of had the place to myself, what with it being lunchtime and all."
The girl smiled back and shook her head. Much to Gordon's interest, she didn't appear to be that much older than him, if indeed she was at all. Her hoodie didn't have a pictogram on it aside from the Stars and Stripes, but based on her physique and the fact that she was in the R/S/T building, Gordon theorised that she was either a rower or a tennis player.
Before he could initiate any dialogue, the girl returned to fossicking through the cupboard, emerging three seconds later with a bowl filled to the brim with cereal. Closer inspection showed that the cereal in question bore an uncanny resemblance to the Wheaties his family had included in the care package they'd left for him when they'd departed…
Without bothering to add to Gordon's rather awkward introduction, the girl retrieved a spoon and yanked the fridge open, scanning the shelves for milk. Clearly, she didn't have a care package of her own to fall back on.
"Gordon Tracy," she mused, extracting a carton of almond milk and squinting at the name scrawled on the side in black sharpie. Several seconds of brain racking followed before she surrendered and glanced up at Gordon in defeat, "Anyone you know?"
Gordon's lips twitched as he took a seat at the kitchen table and shook his head, the banana in his cheeks muffling the snort his throat was holding hostage.
The girl examined the carton for a few seconds longer before shrugging and draining the contents over her bowl. After tossing the container in the bin, she dumped a spoon into the mixture and shovelled a generous helping into her mouth before sighing in relief.
"Sorry," she apologised, coming over to sit opposite Gordon and inserting another spoonful into her mouth, "My manners go out the window when I'm hungry. I meant to head over to the dining hall, but got delayed at the post office and then couldn't bring myself to brave the rain. I really should have made up an emergency snack cache for situations like these, but there just aren't enough hours in the day at the moment."
The smile Gordon offered in return did nothing to betray the depth of his amusement.
"I'm Jessamine Lewis," the girl continued, her priorities clear as she inhaled another spoonful of cereal before extending a hand, "Equestrianism, show jumping division. And you are?"
Gordon accepted the hand on offer with one of his own, his eyes sparkling with humour, "Gordon Tracy. Swimming, men's butterfly division."
Silence descended over the room as Jessamine stopped chewing, her gaze flicking between the bowl in her hand, the bin, and Gordon's face.
"Ah…um…sorry?" she apologised, gingerly setting the bowl down on the table and surrendering her spoon, embarrassment decorating her face as she acknowledged her crime. Her coach would say that she, 'walked into that one', however Jessamine herself was more of the belief that she'd taken a running start and smashed into it nose-first.
Gordon however, seemed blissfully indifferent to her awkwardness. While he wasn't immune to embarrassment, he'd never been a great one for self-consciousness. Heightened awareness of your actions was all good and well, but he'd only ever seen it hinder people. As far as he was concerned, those who cared didn't matter, and those who mattered didn't care.
"I know how to fix this," Gordon proclaimed, smiling impishly and striding towards the cutlery drawer. Bypassing the confusion on Jessamine's face, he fished out a spare spoon before returning to the table and plonking it into the bowl. With all the airs and graces of a reversing dump truck, he loaded up a spoonful that far exceeded the limitations of his mouth, shovelled it into his cheeks, and treated his new acquaintance to the cheeky kind of grin that usually had his brothers nailing down the furniture.
Jessamine looked torn between being shocked and amused at Gordon's unabashed behaviour. Shocked that he was bold (and friendly) enough to suggest they share a bowl of cereal when they'd known each other for precisely four minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Amused by the fact that he'd given her enough rope to hang herself with by not identifying himself as the owner of the milk she'd stolen, even going so far as to deny his own name in the pursuit of amusement.
"Feel free to help yourself to anything with my name on," Gordon offered, reaching up to wipe some milk that was running down his chin, "My brothers bought me way too much food to work through on my own, and I'd rather it didn't go to waste."
"Thank you, but I should probably get some of my own," Jessamine replied, "This is my first time away from home and it'll be weird if I sponge off a stranger. Plus, you need the calories if you're swimming. When's your first race?"
Gordon swallowed the mouthful he was chomping on and double checked the schedule on his phone, "Monday evening, eight o'clock. You?"
"Tuesday evening, seven-thirty," Jessamine answered, "I'm feeling okay now, but the nerves will start to kick in once the excitement of Friday is over. Do you know who they ended up electing as our new flag bearer in the end? And who's going to be lighting the Olympic torch?"
The truth was that Gordon personally knew the answer to neither. He'd had his head firmly underwater for the duration of his time on-site (both literally and figuratively) and as a result, had been somewhat deaf to the updates about who was carrying/lighting what.
Thankfully, he had a coach who had a keen ear for professional updates and an even keener ear for gossip. After a particularly gruelling training session on Tuesday that had left poor Gordon panting and chugging electrolytes like a parched parrot, Sam had pulled the young blonde to one side and divulged that a member of the water polo team had been given the honour of bearing the US flag, while a Kenyan taekwondo champion had been nominated as the lucky person who would make history by being the thirty seventh person to light the Olympic Cauldron.
Jessamine's face fell slightly at Gordon's answer, "I was kind of hoping they might give the honour to a younger athlete, considering the under-twenty's make up about thirty percent of the American team this time. Guess it's all about who you know, not what you know, right? At least it's not another cyclist like the last two times."
Gordon nodded, thumping his chest as a stubborn piece of cereal dust got lodged in his throat, "True, though I doubt my brothers would have complained. They all love cycling. To watch I should add, not to do."
"Are they athletes as well?" Jessamine queried, scraping the last few flakes from the bottom of the bowl, "And how many do you have?"
A snort was offered in lieu of a verbal reply, "No. They're all emergency responders bar one, so they know a little bit of everything. Throw them at a cliff and they'd be able to climb to the top. Dump them in a lake and they'd find their way to shore. I'm the only one who's turned professional, but I reckon they could catch up if they put their minds to it."
A beat of silence followed, broken only by Jessamine humming in intrigue.
"Oh, and four," Gordon added, remembering the question of how many brothers he had, "Three older and one younger."
Dark blonde brows travelled north as Jessamine reacted with barely concealed shock, "No way! Christmas in your house must be interesting."
Gordon shrugged and reached for another banana, "My parents started their collection young. I maintain that my eldest and youngest brothers were both mistakes, but my dad says they weren't. Personally I think he's in denial, but who am I to call him out on his life decisions. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?"
Jessamine shook her head, "Nope, just me. Part of me wonders what it would have been like to grow up with one, but the other part is quite happy having my parents all to myself. I don't think I'd have been allowed to start riding if they'd had more kids to feed. Come to think of it, I probably wouldn't be sitting in this kitchen and talking to you if I wasn't a singleton. Turning professional isn't cheap, and my parents are sticklers for financial fairness."
A smile graced Gordon's features as he reflected on his own family's wealth with silent gratitude. It was so easy to forget that every other athlete within a two mile radius was relying on sponsorship deals and life savings to cover their training and travel costs. While Gordon had managed to bag a lucrative contract with a sportswear manufacturer at his most recent competition, he was fortunate enough to be in a position where he could self-fund his career if necessary. Brands had initially been reluctant to approach him, given his young age, but the nine figures in his family's bank account had meant that this reluctance hadn't hindered his progress in the slightest.
"In that case, to your mom and dad," Gordon declared, raising what remained of his banana in a makeshift toast, "For knowing their limits and going for quality over quantity."
Jessamine beamed and raised an apple in playful retaliation, "To team USA."
"To Olympic glory."
"To sleepless nights."
"To new friends."
"To new friends."