Chapter Thirty-Four
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired,” Erica whined as I sat down beside her in the main Olympic Village dining hall.
“Same,” Kayla agreed. She took a huge bite of quiche and frowned at her plate. “And those beds . . .”
I glanced between the two pouting teens in matching powder-blue Nike tracksuits and realized that I needed to harness my elder
stateswoman energy, because they were spiraling and it was only day three.
“Remember, everyone is sleeping on cardboard and fishing wire, so it’s still a level playing field,” I replied. “And we’re here a week early.
Plenty of time to acclimate. You’ll be fine.”
Although I had to agree about the bed part, because the infamous Olympic beds made out of cardboard made it feel like we were
sleeping on cereal boxes.
“How’s your breakfast?” I wave my fork toward their trays.
“Amazing,” Kayla sighed as she picked at her quiche.
“This frittata is so freaking good,” Erica said with her mouth full. “But would we expect anything less from Italy?”
I glanced down at my selections. I’d come close to having meal-decision fatigue because the main dining hall was like a bizarro-world mall food court.
It was the juxtaposition of carrying a tray to various stations with every cuisine and preparation method imaginable, from deep fried, to vegan, to kosher.
I’d opted to be a little adventurous and traded my usual oatmeal for an egg and avocado breakfast sandwich on a cornetto.
“I need more coffee,” Kayla complained. She craned her head to glance around the crowded space like she was looking for a
waiter. “Because I have no clue how I’m going to stay awake today.”
“Maybe if you put your phone away before midnight you wouldn’t be so exhausted.”
I was fully embracing my role as oldest team member now.
I felt someone slam into me and then collapse into a chair next to me. I turned to find women’s ice hockey team captain and
social media darling Campbell Pesansky panning her phone over the three of us.
“You guys, look who I found! It’s members of our gorgeous figure skating team, live on Cam-cam,” she said, staring at her
phone instead of us. “Say hi, ladies!”
We all waved warily, shooting glances at each other.
“Is that really live?” Erica pointed at the camera and mouthed to me.
I leaned over and saw the comments streaming up Campbell’s live feed. I grimaced at Erica and nodded.
We’d all gone through media training prior to arriving, and live streaming was allowed in nonrestricted areas but frowned
upon. That said, the rules were different for some of the athletes with major name recognition. Obviously people knew the
three of us and the rest of the figure skating team, but Campbell’s fame was on a different level.
She’d mastered her social media presence during the build-up to the Games and was now exploiting it in every way possible.
Her vibe was fun big sister with an emphasis on the “big” part because she was five eleven and all muscle.
One of her most popular sketches was humbling guys who weren’t athletes but thought that they were faster or stronger than her just by virtue of being men.
Her unhinged “Cam-cam” lives were a close second because she asked rapid-fire, uncomfortable questions in a way that was so disarming that no one got insulted.
Campbell swung her camera to face me. “Okay, Miss Albright, the people want to know. Are you and Bennett Martino melting the
ice or what? Hm? Because everyone is convinced you’re a thing. Right, people?”
Kayla snorted in a way that sounded like agreement.
Campbell flipped her phone and slid closer to me so we were both on-screen, and I could see the comments and gifts from viewers
popping up. There were nine thousand people watching her livestream.
I remembered one takeaway from the training for dealing with these types of questions; acknowledge without overexplaining,
and then pivot. As much as I needed to figure out what was happening with Ben there was no way I wanted it overshadowing how
the public viewed my Olympic experience. The narrative needed to be about my comeback, not who I was or wasn’t sleeping with.
I manufactured a smile for Campbell and her audience. “I can understand why people would assume that given we were seen together
quite a bit. But that was all for my interview on The Score.”
I glanced at the screen and saw thumbs-down emojis falling over our faces.
“Hold up, you have angered the people,” Campbell said. “Not the answer they want.” She squinted at the screen. “Or believe. FraggleFrock00 just called you a ‘lying liar who lies.’ Damn, that’s harsh, Fraggle!”
I laughed despite my frustration about my redemption arc getting hijacked.
“C’mon, we’re professionals,” I joked. “Ben is just a good friend.”
“I don’t know,” Campbell laughed. “I’ve never looked at my friends the way Ben looks at you.”
I paused to read the comments scrolling beneath us and was shocked by how many people had opinions about us being together.
A lot of people.
I’d avoided social media postbreakdown and never got back into it, so seeing a live representation of the public’s reaction
to us was eye-opening. I discovered that we even had a portmanteau—Quinnett.
“I get why you’d want to put up some guardrails with that guy,” she elbowed me. “He’s hot as hell. I don’t care that you get
around, Ben baby. Call me, I love me some man-whore!”
I flinched. We both went quiet to read what the people watching were saying in the comments.
“Oh, no way,” Campbell exclaimed and then looked around the crowded cafeteria. “He’s here? That means I’ve got a chance! Ben, I’m comin’ for ya. Quinn might not be buying what you’re selling but I sure am!”
I laughed. “Good luck, I’ll be crossing my fingers for the two of you.”
“Okay my friends, let’s shift the spotlight to your buddies,” Campbell said as she pushed back from her chair and walked to where Kayla and Erica were sitting.
“I’ve seen you guys killing viral dances, so can the three of us do “Les Party” together?
Do you guys know that one?” Campbell glanced at me. “You can join us too.”
“It’s okay, I’ll be your audience,” I replied quickly.
The chance to be featured in Campbell’s feed was more than enough to wake up the world’s sleepiest Olympians. My phone chimed
right as the three of them started dancing, and I had to hide a smile when I read the text from Ben.
Be prepared, I’m kidnapping you this afternoon.