Lylah Herring was the fastest female skier in the world, but after a terrible crash at the World Cup left her in a hospital bed, she was lucky to be alive. Two years later, she's back and she's ready for redemption. The only thing on her mind is get...
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I walked into the meeting room at two minutes past ten, sliding into the open seat next to Peter and setting our coffees on the table. I was running late, but thankfully, Peter and I both spoke the same language when it came to coffee. As long as I picked one up for him, my tardiness was always excused.
"Nice of you to join us." Kennedy quipped, fooling her arms over her chest.
"I'm surprised you could make it at all between all the press interviews you've been pounding out." I shot back, not in the mood for her snarky attitude this morning.
"Well, someone has to talk since you've become too good for the media."
"What do they need me for?" I shrugged. "You talk to them enough for the both of us."
"Girls..." Peter warned, eyeing us carefully. "That's enough."
Kennedy glared at me and then turned her attention back to the man who was speaking.
When did things get so icy between us? At one point, we were friends--close, even--but competition had a way of changing people. Before the accident, I beat Kennedy nearly every time and with each win, the resentment grew and our relationship deteriorated. It was complicated from the start.
Skiing was fun for me, and as bad as I wanted to win, that was what I tried to focus on. When I was happy and relaxed, the success came easy. It was never that way for Kennedy, and I wasn't even sure she liked skiing all that much. Her parents were relentless and pushed her hard, and no matter how well she did, if it wasn't a win, it was a failure. Eventually, Kennedy took on that same mentality.
Part of me felt sorry for her. I couldn't imagine living that way. The pressure from the public was bad enough but to have your own family breathing down your neck? That had to be tough. It was hard to be sympathetic when she was so mean, though. When I feel at the World Cup, the camera panned to Kennedy and caught a tiny smile on her face. It was subtle and probably unrelated, and when she realized how badly I was hurt, she was genuinely concerned. The timing was terrible, but it didn't stop the media from running a still of the footage for months and Kennedy was painted as a villain. They said she was cold and calculated and glad that I was hurt. Even now, I didn't believe that was the case, but that was how our rivalry was born. Kennedy, the cold and calculated villain and me, America's skiing sweetheart.
And now here we were having to smile and laugh on camera, playing the part of loyal teammates.
The man at the front of the room was talking about Opening Ceremonies tomorrow and responsibilities each of us would have. For the most part, I drowned him out. My mind was on my run from this morning. It was better than the last, but still not great. I needed a serious turn around if I even wanted to qualify for the finals next week.
What was wrong with me? I never used to get worked up like this, but I was a hot mess right now. There were too many people counting on me.
The presentation was over, and didn't hear a single word of it. Everyone started to get up to leave, and Peter stopped me.
