Teagan
There were only so many breathing techniques a girl could use to calm herself down when she was about to cox a make-or-break race—the alumni versus the students.
It should’ve been a ragtag crew of old weaklings against a perfectly synchronized herd of stallions, but from where she was sitting? The tables were flipped.
Cam was sulking for… reasons. He refused to say.
Baloo couldn’t pick a mood. Perry was distracted by his phone.
Ryder was trying to bore holes into the back of Josh’s head.
Josh, back in stroke seat, was smug as ever, but edgy.
Pumped to beat his dad. Poor ol’ Crabcatcher was even more nervous than usual.
The alums, their opponents, were Olympians and world record holders. Champions chomping at the bit to show the whippersnappers they still had it.
By the looks of it, they did.
Josh’s dad, surprise, surprise, was leading the group of eight down from the boathouse in a series of precise moves that reminded her of the military parades countries with evil dictators put on as a show of might.
Whatever.
Teagan adjusted the volume on her cox box and gave her crew a smile just as the alum team did a picture-perfect standing shove off from the dock.
“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” Quaid asked.
No one wanted to hear the obvious answer to that one. “Josh… I was thinking, we start with a spring, drop down, then back up for the last five hundred meters.”
She braced herself for the pushback, surprised not to get any.
“Good plan.” His blue eyes met hers. He wanted to win this. Together.
She ripped her eyes away and repeated the plan to the rest of the team who all gave her nods or “aye ayes” of acknowledgment. Apart from Cam. He’d been glowering all morning. So long as he rowed in sync with everyone else, she would leave him alone.
The horn sounded for them to get in place at the starting line.
Oars were at the ready. Muscles were tensed in advance of the starter horn. Eight pairs of eyes were trained on Teagan.
Right. She could do this. She’d won this cox seat fair and square. They would beat the alumni, too.