Hey, guys sorry this took so long, but both my beta and I were a little busy. Hope you enjoy. Thanks to all my reviewers, though it was a sad number of reviews last chapter.

A big thanks to Nancy, my beta. A thanks to LiveLaughLoveSwim, for helping me write Edward's race and for coming up with the twist that I was looking for and getting you guys one more chapter- look up her story Twitanic, it's really good!

And thanks to Leah for listening to me and helping me figure stuff out for this story! Love ya Leah!

Here is the deal for this story. There is one chapter after this, then a chapter that focuses on Bella's floor final, then a chapter with the gala and then the epilogue- unless I change my mind.

R and R, please!

Edward Pov:

I was so tired. I had finished my first race and here I was ready to dive back in with too short of a break in between. The 400m free, my favorite. Eight laps. I would have to open with a 25 high second split, then a 26 low, a 26 high, a 27 high, 27 low, a 26 low,
another 26 low and finish with a 25 low to give me a time of... I was too
tired to do the math. But I knew it would give me a good time. That was if my muscles could stand the strain. Sure I swam laps and worked out to the point that anyone but an Olympic athlete would have died from, but even Olympic athletes had their breaking point, and my body was nearing it at a dangerously fast pace.

My muscles were so sore. I had managed to squeeze in a quick massage, but it wasn't the relief my muscles craved. Before I knew it I was walking up to the blocks, cap and goggles on my head, stretching in a desperate last minute attempt to calm my muscles. The whistle blew ever too soon. My legs ached as I stepped onto the block. This
was, without a doubt, going to be the most challenging race of my career.

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Bella Pov:

I stared at the girl in the mirror. She nervously adjusted her dark blue leotard until the two ribbons of red running vertical right below her collar bone and down the left side of her torso that was connected by a star, lay perfectly across her muscled, yet petite body. Her hair was pulled back severely into a ponytail, a by-product of her nervous energy. She stood straight and tall, but there was a glint of doubt in her eyes.

"You can do this," I told my mirror image. I closed my eyes and tried to banish all my insecurities. Sure I was the all around gold medallist and the beam final gold medallist, but even the best get thrown. And by thrown I mean literally. I threw a double pike dismount in my first warm up bars routine, a Pak Salto; in the second and in the third; I threw a basic straddle kip so bad that I completely fell off. Four more routines followed this way and I couldn't stick a single one. There was just something off today. I knew it was superstitious and silly, but one thing any professional athlete will tell you, is that sometimes superstitions are the only things we have. And not just superstitions per say, but routines, like the way baseball player touches the tip of his hat before he steps up to bat, or a basketball player has to tap the door of the locker room before going out to play. They were the little things, the comforting routine that helps keep you focused. And then sometimes you just have a day when nothing goes right.

I put my iPod away as I headed out to compete as the first competitor of the second rotation on the uneven bars. As soon as my muscles were sufficiently warmed up and I was given the all clear, I stepped up to the side of the mat. I locked away my insecurities but as the green flag was lowered, signaling my start, I still had a sense of unease. It seemed to be nothing though because as I swung onto the bars, I felt like I was flying. I threw myself into my new routine, throwing caution to the wind. If I ate mat, I was going to eat mat hard; true gymnast style.

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Edward Pov:

The start machine went off, and I forced my legs to give me the biggest dive
they could. Eight dolphin kicks. I came up, my arm gliding into the water
without a splash and grabbing as much water as possible, pushing my hand past
my hips. For each stroke I did five flutter kicks. My coach wanted me to
use a different breathing pattern, Bilateral, to get more oxygen to my
muscles, since they were so sore and tired. It also allowed me to watch both
sides for competitors catching up. Stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe,
stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe. It continued in this fashion until
I came within a meter and a half of the wall. I threw my legs up as fast as I
could and heaved off the wall. As far as I could tell I was in first place
and keeping to my designated pace, but I wasn't sure. I was concentrating
only on making my throbbing muscles do what they needed to do. I was starting
to fall right into my new breathing pattern, and discovered that my coach was
right. It brought oxygen to my muscles. I was, as far as I could see, about
a half a foot ahead of the swimmer in lane five and a foot ahead of the
swimmer in lane three. I needed to speed up. I added an extra kick per
stroke and reached my hands even further. My body screamed in protest, and I
tried as hard as I could to ignore it. I promised myself I could die after
the race was over.

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Bella Pov:

Each move I attempted had a high possibility of dumping me on the ground, painfully on the ground. But as I decided earlier, the only way I was going down was by throwing the hardest tricks that I had in my arsenal which were such hard tricks that they were very rarely being used in competition right now. The uneven bars was a good event for me, but I wasn't the best out there. The best out there would be three gymnasts: Nastia Liukin, He Kexin and Alice Cullen. Two of them I was competing against right now. I had to bring it, and my new routine was the way to do it. That is if I could complete it without an unplanned meeting of my face and the mat. I had added the higher-level skills and more combinations into my routine to increase my start difficulty level; it was tough, but I was focused and back on my game.

My earlier insecurities forgotten, I flew through air as though I had wings. I swung through a giant 3/2 (Dawes), pirouette, giant 1/1, Tkatchev, combination with ease, despite the complication of the differences in the combined moves. I replaced my Kim Salto release with a Bhradwaj Salto. I swung on the high bar until I was facing the low bar. I completed a layout Salto with a full twist. As I finished the full twist's rotation, I reached out to grab the bar where I thought it would be, only to find my grasp empty.

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Edward Pov:

It was the third lap, and I was still slightly ahead. I held my lead for
three more laps, but I hit my turn at the wrong angle at the end of my sixth
lap and lost my lead to the swimmer in lane five. I cursed myself mentally
when I saw he was a full foot ahead of me. I kicked harder and pulled faster
than ever before. Despite my efforts, I could not catch up. When he gained
another half a foot on me, I began to worry. I used every ounce of energy I
had left and hit the wall harder than ever before. I kicked underwater
longer, until I gained a foot on him, until there was only a foot and half a foot left to
gain. Screw Bilateral breathing, I though angrily to myself, and put my head
firmly in the water and held my breath. Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke,
stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. I put my head in the
water again and sprinted to the wall. I had a quarter of a lap to go and I
was neck in neck with the other swimmer. As we came under the flags, I kicked and
stroked harder than I ever have in my life. I pulled and glided into the
wall, while the other swimmer hit the wall at the end of his stroke. To the
naked eye, it would look like we had touched at the same time. But I knew that most likely one of us had won, the other had lost. But who was it?

I read the time next to my name, then the time next to Jacob Black's name. I reread the times, and read them a third time, my mind unable to comprehend what the scoreboard was telling it.

I froze in disbelief, a tie?