23. Gabby
Tasha rolls over in the hotel room bed next to mine and groans. “I want to go out,” she says. I set my phone to the side where I had been texting Seth about how much I hate sleeping without him, and I look at her. “What?” she asks petulantly.
“You know there’s a meet first thing tomorrow,” I remind her. “You have to be there early to take team pictures.”
We drove about two hours this morning; the whole team jammed into two vans. The only thing that saved me was that Seth was in the same van as me for the journey here. I slept on his shoulder, and we shared an audiobook I played on my phone the rest of the way. When we arrived, Coach announced that Seth would be busy with the team for the rest of the night, and he said Tasha and I could go to our shared room. There are two other trainers with us, but since they’re men, they’re sharing a separate room. Tasha came along to take photos of the team. Several members of the team will be graduating soon, which means they will compete, and then they’ll take their shoes off, set them on the mat, and walk away. She needs to be there to get photos.
I’d rather room with Seth, but Coach made a huge announcement that there would be no “fraternization.”
“I want to fraternize,” G.L. had loudly complained, but no one paid any attention.
Coach told the team to go to bed, so Tasha and I have been in our room for a while, just killing time. There’s not much else to do on a travel day.
Tasha picks up her phone and looks at it. “The team is at the bar down the street!” she squeals. She jumps up and starts to get dressed, pulling on jeans and a sweater. “Come on!” she says. “Let’s go!”
“No,” I groan, rolling into my pillow. Seth had mentioned that he would be going to bed because he has a book he wants to read. I look up. “Is the whole team there?”
“Your boyfriend is not there,” she says. “But everyone else is.” She jumps up and down. “Come on! Don’t make me go alone. We don’t have to stay long.” She makes praying hands. “Just for a few minutes. We can get one drink.” She holds up one finger. “Just one.”
I smack my fist against the pillow. “Just one.”
“Just one.” I get up, dress quickly in jeans and a red sweater, and I go downstairs with her. The team is at a hotel bar down the street. We walk in, and Tasha sighs, takes a deep breath, and takes a booth in the corner.
G.L. walks over to us. “Gabby,” he says, “you look like your brain has grown since the last time I saw you. Great work there.” He smiles, chuckles, and walks away.
For all of G.L.’s swagger, he has remained remarkably respectful ever since I kneed him in the nuts.
Before we can even order, two drinks arrive at our table, carried by a smiling waiter. Two men at the bar face us, and one tips his head in our direction with a smile.
Tasha beams. “Oh my god,” she crows. “Free drinks, and we just got here!”
I look everywhere but at them. Tasha pushes my drink toward me.
“Drink up, girl,” she says. “It was free!”
I take a sip of my drink, sit back, and study the room. The team is spread out around the bar, as are several of the opposing teams’ members. Tomorrow is a tri meet, meaning there’s more than one team. You can easily tell which team is which because most of them are in team colors.
I take another sip of the drink. “Fuck,” I grumble when I see the two men walking slowly toward us. “I want to leave, Tash,” I murmur to her.
“Just a minute,” she says. “Let me finish my drink.”
I tip my drink up and drink the whole thing at once, and then I slide my glass to the edge of the table. “Can I get you another?” the tall guy asks.
“No, thank you. One is enough.”
I really would prefer it if they went away. I open my mouth to say so, but my phone pings in my pocket, and I pull it out. Mom asks me about the trip. I reply to her really quickly, but as I type, I drop the phone on the table, suddenly feeling really clumsy. I pick it back up.
The screen swims in front of me. I can see my mom has texted something.
Gabby?
Gabby
I’m not feling so gr8
Gabby?
Gabby!
“Tash,”I say. “I don’t feel well.”
“Me either,” Tasha says as she holds her head at her temples.
“Are you okay?” one of the men asks as he sits down next to me. He moves way too close. I shove him, but my reflexes are weak.
“Tash,” I warn.
“Here,” one guy says, taking my arm. He helps me to my feet, which feel like two concrete blocks. “Let me help you back to your room.”
He starts to lead me toward the door. Something is wrong. I know that something is not right, but I don’t know what it is.
And that’s the last thing I remember.