As soon as we got back to the hotel, we gathered in Ms. Flores' room for a strategy meeting. I sat next to Scott on the couch while Ms. Flores briefed us. We were into the round of sixteen, but tug-of-war was a brutal event, and while it might sound childish on paper, at this level with vampire strength, strategy and pride in the line, it was serious business.
"First of all, nice work, Henry," Ms. Flores began. "You really pulled out all the stops that last round."
"Your words flatter me," Henry said smirking. Turning towards us he continued, "A round of applause for your saviour?"
"Keep dreaming," Laura scoffed.
"Anyway, the next event is a two-contestant sport," Ms. Flores said.
The physical event alternated between single and two-contestant events. For example, the round of 32 was single, round of 16 double, quarter finals single, semi finals double and of course the final which
is a one on one spar. Also, as a rule for the events, a contestant can't take part in consecutive rounds. So Henry was sidelined, at least till after the round of 16.
"For a sport like tug-of-war, I'd normally
prefer going with Henry for balance, but he's out so we're going with Scott, the next best thing," Ms. Flores explained.
"I am pretty good on my feet," Scott
remarked.
"You'll be the anchor behind Zoë," Ms.
Flores said.
"Finally, some action!" Zoë exclaimed
excitedly.
"Your raw strength is crucial to this round
Zoë. You'll be exerting the most force between the both of you. Assuming we
make it past this round, Laura is taking point on the pole vaulting."
Pole vaulting was a less popular sport
among vampires for many reasons. For one, it requires immense flexibility and precise control. Most vampires were more about speed and power. Another thing was that most vampire colleges usually ignore the sport from their physical curriculum. Luckily for us, Laura was a natural pole-vaulter, the best of the best.
"No pressure or anything," Laura said
rubbing her hands.
"We've got this guys," Ms. Flores said
confidently. "Just take it one step at a time and we're going to be fine. For now, the three of you need to get some exercise in for tomorrow. You know what to do."
"Great. Can't wait to use those dumbbells lighter than my water bottle again," Scott
remarked with a groan.
"The point isn't the equipment Scott. It's
the discipline, routine and keeping your body ready. You don't need heavy weights to stay sharp," Ms. Flores replied.
"Great. Now you make me feel dumb," Scott said.
"Feel isn't exactly the word I'd use," Marcus said raising an eyebrow.
"Alright, this meeting is adjourned. See
you guys tomorrow," Ms. Flores announced pushing us out of her room.
"You tagging along?" Scott asked.
"Sure. Why not," I answered.
"That was way too eager. You sure it's not
because of Zoë?" Scott said smirking.
" Shut up, dude. Let's go, they're leaving us,"
I said, pointing at Zoë and Laura who were already at the elevator.
***************
By the time we'd gotten to the gym, there
was a surprise waiting for us. Seated at the leg press machine was a massive guy
with bulging muscles, designer gym wear and a confident, swanky vibe. I recognized
him instantly. Sean Rhodes, the ace of Ravenhurst. I'd seen his face more than
a few times in the competitors handbook, and tomorrow he'd be one of our
opponents. Most likely for tug-of-war.
"I had no idea Ravenhurst was also staying at the Clover," I said walking up to him while he exercised. He had maxed out the weight stack and was going at it like a chore.
"Who the hell are you," he asked without
stopping.
"Darmian. Crescent College," I answered.
"Ah," he said grinning. "Nice to see
another vampire college here. Thought we were the only ones suffering from this
weak-ass equipment."
"Yeah.
Me too." My mind flashed back to what the receptionist had said a few days ago.
That's the second time we've gotten such a
request today.
"So, you guys are here for tomorrow yeah? Can't say there's much point in that," Sean grunted.
"You seem pretty confident. Not even cautious of hiding your 'abilities' in public," I said nodding towards the maxed amount of weights on the leg press which he was working on while regular people in the gym were staring at him.
"If they've got a problem with it, they
should walk up to me and say it," Sean snorted. Even as a vampire, Sean's crazy
build plus his height was already pretty intimidating. Imagine going up to him as a human. "So you're up against me tomorrow?"
"Well actually, that's me," Scott chipped
in.
Sean looked at him appraisingly and said, "Not bad, but there's not much you can do tomorrow. Especially not in the face of
these." He flexed his calves so hard I thought one of his veins might burst.
Scott scoffed and replied, "You seem pretty confident, but if you're sweating like that for such a tame workout, there's not much to be afraid of."
Sean's grin faltered slightly before retorted, "You have no idea how long I've been here. At some point, even steel starts sweating."
"Alright, let's find out," Scott said positioning
himself on the other leg press machine.
While they worked away, I went over to where Zoë was working out with battle ropes. She'd already removed the ropes
from their anchor point.
"Any progress?" I asked leaning on a nearby
rack.
"Not much really," she said twisting the
two heavy ropes into one thick coil. "Feels like maintenance than progress at this point."
"Very subtle workout I see," I said looking at the twists. "You know there's like lots of people around. Ravenhurst is here too."
She nodded, eyes scanning the room briefly. "Yeah I saw Sean." Her tone was calm, but there was a flicker of something behind it, maybe tension.
"You sure you can keep up, Sean?"
"You should be worried 'bout yourself kid."
Sean and Scott were working sets on the leg press to see who was faster and stronger. Their grunts and the noise from the
machines filled the gym.
"He's hard to miss really," I said.
She smirked, tugging the ropes into a tighter coil. "Yeah. I've seen his type before."
"He's one of our matchups tomorrow," I
reminded her, watching the way she flexed her hands on the ropes. "How do you feel?"
She looked at me now, really looked, like she was weighing her answer. "I don't plan on feeling anything about it until he's the one gasping for air."
I smiled, couldn't help it. "Sounds fair."
There was a beat of silence, comfortable
enough. The buzz of the gym faded slightly in the background.
"You sticking around long?" she asked
almost casually.
"Was planning to. Gotta keep the morale up
for tomorrow. I also figured I'd make sure nobody's dumb enough to challenge
you mid-set."
She gave me a sideways look—part amusement, part…something else. "Chivalry in the vampire division. That's rare."
"Who said anything about chivalry," I said stepping forward and picking the other
end of the rope she'd finished coiling. "Maybe I just want a shot at those arms
myself."
She raised an eyebrow, amused but unreadable. "Someone's confident."
"Observant." I tugged the rope gently, feeling the weight of her grip on the other side. "You've got clean form."
She didn't reply at first, just resumed a few slow-slams, the heavy twisted rope sliding against the rubber mat, the tension passing through my arms.
"You ever do these back when you were
younger?" I asked.
She nodded. "Battle ropes, kettle bells, sand bags. Basic year four drills. All the fun stuff."
"Sounds like a party."
"It was more like a prolonged funeral with
protein shakes," she cracked a nostalgic smile. "But those were good times."
I shifted my stance. "You ever think about
what happens after here? After the tournament?"
Her hands stilled on the rope. "You mean if
we make it out in one piece?"
"Exactly."
She glanced over, giving me a look that
felt heavier than the ropes. "I don't plan that far ahead. Not because I'm scared or anything, it's just..." she shrugged, trailing off. "Everything else feels fake until the next round is over."
"I get that."
We stood there for a moment. No rope tug,
no words. Just the hum of machines and the low beat of someone's gym playlist pulsing through the background.
She rolled one shoulder. "What about you?"
"Same," I said. Then after a pause added, "Though if we do win this thing, I think I could convince Ms. Sally to give us a long vacation. Somewhere with less blood and more sunlight."
She smirked. "You're a vampire."
"Exactly. The irony would be healing."
This time she chuckled, maybe her first in
a while. Another beat. Her gaze lingered a second too long. Mine probably did too.
"You're not like most of them," she said.
I tilted my head. "Most who?"
"Vamps, competitors, people," she shrugged. "It's hard to explain. You seem so carefree and laid back but you talk like someone who's still trying to figure out if he belongs here."
I blinked at that. "And you talk like someone who already knows."
"Maybe," her voice dropped a bit. "Or maybe I'm just good at pretending."
Whatever I was about to say got lost in my throat. The air between us stretched thinner, somewhere between personal…and dangerous.
And then—
"Okay that's enough."
I turned sharply. Laura. She was walking over, towel slung around her neck, chewing on an energy bar like she'd just come back
from solving everyone's problems…again.
"Zoë's actually here to train. And Darmian,
you promised you'd spot me on the assisted dips."
I opened my mouth. "I did not—"
"You did now." She looped her arm through
mine before I could protest, then gave Zoë a polite smile. "Sorry, have to borrow him for a while. Team things."
Zoë just waved her off, already back to the ropes. "Take him. He's distracting the floor."
As Laura tugged me away, she leaned in low. "You do realize you were totally hovering right? Like actual supernatural hovering."
I muttered, "Was not."
"You were. Should've brought holy water
just to be safe."
"Ha ha. Very funny."
She dragged me all the way to the assisted dip station where she set the weight, hopped
onto the platform and sank into her first slow rep with no wasted motion.
I leaned on the rail and said, "You dragged
me across the gym for assisted dips?"
"Upper body stability feeds pole vault takeoff," she said between reps. "Also? Not
sure if you noticed but you were circling Zoë like a moth."
I yawned, folding my arms. "You ever
lighten up Laura?"
She finished the set, stepped off and wiped
her palms. "I'm light enough. I just distribute the weight strategically."
"Not what I meant, but okay. You know your
event only happens if Scott and Zoë clear the round of sixteen," I reminded her.
She adjusted the stack for another set. "Exactly why I'm over-prepared. If tomorrow opens the door, I'm not tripping on the
threshold."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then this workout becomes insurance for
something else I guess. Besides, I've been raring to go for a while now. I've had way too much energy pent up inside me." She paused studying me. "Speaking of pent-up energy, how's the sidelined life treating you so far?"
"Feels like I'm the secret weapon nobody wants to use yet," I said sighing.
"Wish I could tell you I know how that feels,"she grinned.
"Thanks. Feel a lot better now."
"Well, hidden blades still need honing,"
she said nodding at the mat beside the machine. "Sit. Observe angles. You'll learn more here than brooding in a corner anyways."
I sank to the mat, elbows on my knees. "You always this…architect-minded?"
She dipped again, voice steady. "Pole
vaulting punishes daydreams. One sloppy plant and you're cooked."
"So you build systems, not just muscles. You're kinda like Henry."
"Exactly. Henry has technique, Scott supplies force, Zoë brings tempo. I provide control." She finished the set, breathing slightly harder. "And you Darmian, are the
variable."
"Unpredictable, you mean. Like a wild card?"
A shrug. "Potentially brilliant, potentially catastrophic. Depends which wolf you
feed."
"Nice proverb. Rehearsed?" I said smirking.
"Maybe. I figured you'd appreciate the
drama." She looped a resistance band around her ankles for hip dives.
I watched her work precise lines, no wasted
effort. "You weren't always this intense. Back when I first met you, you were much more quiet."
She considered that, band snapping with
each movement. "I guess I was. But people change Darmian. We don't have the luxury of staying static. We're vampires."
"I trust you know what you're doing then."
She stopped, met my eyes. "Trust me to try.
That should be enough." A small wry tilt of her lips. "And maybe trust yourself a little too. Hidden blades shouldn't rust y'know."
Before I could reply, Scott's voice rang out,
"Yo, team night creatures!"
"Night creatures?" Laura wondered.
Scott trotted over, flexing exaggeratedly.
Zoë followed, water bottle grasped like a shield.
"Gym's closing," Zoë said. "Even the
treadmills are tapping out." The gym was mostly empty. So much time had passed, I had no idea we were pretty much the last people in the gym.
Laura grabbed her towel, giving the dip
handles one final thoughtful tap. "Fair enough. Recovery is a strategy too."
"Did you beat Sean?" I asked Scott wrapping my arms around his shoulder.
"Pffft. Easy light work," he bragged. "Had
him tapping out after a few minutes."
As we headed for the exit—Scott
exaggerating himself against Sean and Zoë quietly adjusting her strategy for tomorrow, Laura walked a calm stride ahead, pole vaulting calculations still spinning behind her measured gaze. And in that moment I realized; everyone was fighting for the next match. Relaxed, energised, confident. Tomorrow was going to be one hell of a ride—and we were locked in.
***************
The next morning began—thankfully—
pretty normal. After waking up, I stretched, showered and quickly ordered a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, some fruit slices and hot chocolate. Within 20 minutes, I was done and headed to the lobby where I met Mackenzie and Zoë waiting for the others to show up. Zoë was sipping on an energy drink like it was liquid gold.
"What's up, Kenzie?" I said.
She nodded with a small smile. "Good morning, Darmian."
"Sleep okay?" I asked Zoë.
"Didn't sleep," she said flatly, taking a
huge gulp. "Visualised the match all night. I want Ravenhurst."
"Sheesh, that bad?" came Scott's reply as he walked towards where we stood. "Someone's fired up."
"Something like that," Zoë replied.
Henry arrived soon after, then Laura and
Marcus, before Ms. Flores came just as the time hit 9:50AM. Ms. Flores was dressed sharply as ever, keys in one hand and a folder tucked under her arm.
"Cutting it close today guys. Let's go,"
she said.
By 10:20 AM we'd arrived and gathered at
the stadium. It had been transformed overnight. Gone was the pitch from yesterday's javelin contest. In its place stood a rugged tug-of-war setup. Simple, brutal, primal. A thick, chalk-white line cut across the field, centered around a thick rope longer than any I'd seen before, marked dead center with a red ribbon, and anchors were tied to the iron-grounded bolts, with rubber padding running along the flanks to prevent slips. The rope itself was as wide as a dinner plate, the fibers shining under the sun like steel muscles.
On one side of the stadium, about twenty
meters back, the pole vault station had been prepped for later. Vault mats stacked like giant blue mattresses, fiberglass poles neatly arranged, and the crossbar resting
on hooks like a challenge waiting to be answered. Instead of sitting in the stadium
stands, the sixteen teams were arranged to sit on benches lined up on the pitch in an arc facing the tug-of-war ground. Each college sat grouped together, teams murmuring amongst themselves. The atmosphere was thick, not with noise, but with weight. Stakes. It was the round of sixteen. No more play, no more laughs.
Just war.
"First match of the day!" the announcer's voice boomed across the speakers. "Frostville vs Hawthorne. Each team, two contestants. Remember, best of one. No rematches, no repeats. The winners go on to the quarter finals!"
Our match was third in the rotation, which
meant it was time to watch.
The first two matches were absolutely
brutal. Frostville crushed Hawthorne in under two minutes. Their team moved like a machine. Tight, focused and relentless. The second match was even messier. Kingsreed won, but not before one of the players collapsed from what looked like a sprained ankle trying to get leverage on the dirt filled ground.
"Great," Scott muttered. "We're gonna need
new ankles after this."
"No negative thoughts dude," Marcus said,
nudging him with his elbow.
Finally, the announcer's voice rang out, "Next match; Crescent Vs Ravenhurst! Contestants, prepare yourselves!"
Game time.
Zoë and Scott rose from our bench.
"You good?" I asked them.
Zoë nodded once. "More than."
Scott cracked his neck. "Let's go ruin someone's morning."
"Remember the basics guys," Ms. Flores said. "Keep your balance steady."
"Got it."
"No problem."
They made their way to the line, boots stomping over the firm ground. On the
opposite end, Ravenhurst emerged, dressed in their sleek matte-black uniforms.
Sean was easy to spot, shoulders squared, with a huge smirk on his face. His partner wasn't as buff or tall as him, but he looked intimidating enough with his braided hair and a sneer to match Sean's calm. They looked hungry. When they gripped the rope, the tension in the stadium shifted. It was like the air grew denser, as if even the sun knew this was about to be something else.
"Scott Travers and Zoë Young against Justin Abrahall and Sean Rhodes. Contestants ready!?" the referee shouted from the sidelines.
"Ready!" Scott and Zoë chorused, gripping
the rope, Scott near the back—our anchor. Zoë up front—our lead.
"Ready!" came the Ravenhurst call.
"Begin!"
The whistle blew.
And Ravenhurst jerked the rope so hard the
red ribbon leapt forward nearly half a meter.
Zoë immediately dug her heels into the ground, arms trembling with tension as she leaned her entire body weight backwards.
Scott dropped into anchor stance, knees bent, arms locked, one foot staggered
behind the other.
But the rope was still sliding. Slowly.
Dreadfully. It scraped across the center line with the kind of resistance you feel in a nightmare, when you try to run and can't. Sean, at the very back was pulling with the kind of calm fury that made him look carved out of stone. Justin had his mouth clenched, jaw flickering as he yanked the rope with rhythm. They weren't just strong, they were synchronizing.
I saw Zoë's boots shift—just a bit—and my stomach dropped. At this point, it wouldn't take long before the ribbon crossed the mark. The crowd cheered as Sean and Justin kept pulling, slowly making progress after a huge lead.
"C'mon," I muttered under my breath,
watching anxiously. This was not looking good at all.
But then, something changed. Zoë didn't yell, she didn't signal. She just dug in deeper. Her whole body tensed—shoulders
bunching, arms trembling, and she let out a sharp wolfish grunt as she lowered her center of gravity. Her legs bent sharper, her grip locked. And then, in one explosive motion, she braced.
The rope stopped sliding.
Scott spotting the stall and the momentary surprise from Justin and Sean shifted with her. He let out a guttural roar and yanked
back hard. The rope didn't move much, but the ground beneath him kicked up and the
ribbon trembled.
The crowd noticed.
"Oh?" I heard someone mutter.
Zoë growled. "Now Scott!"
With a synchronized rhythm, they began to
pull, not fast or erratic. Deliberate. Step back, pull, lock. Step back, pull, lock. The ribbon twitched backwards and inch. Then another. Justin cursed out loud, trying to re-anchor his footing. Sean was gritting his teeth now, breathing more audibly. It wasn't panic yet, but it was close.
From the Crescent bench, Henry shouted at
the top of his voice, "Let's go!"
The noise in the stadium surged. Zoë threw herself backwards with another sharp pull
and the ribbon jerked towards the Crescent side, now half a meter behind the center. Justin tried a counter-pull, but it was obvious they were slipping. Their rhythm was gone. Their anchor was cracking.
Scott locked his arms again and screamed through clenched teeth, "Push her Zoë!"
Zoë didn't wait. She dug her heels and threw her body like a battering ram backwards. Scott held tight, grounding the pressure like a wall. The ribbon crossed the quarter mark. The crowd was losing it now. Even the Ravenhurst bench looked visibly shaken. Nobody could believe what they were seeing right now. Sean shouted something to Justin, but it didn't matter. They'd already lost too much momentum and Zoë wasn't letting up. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down as the rope dangled in suspension. Zoë gave one final yell, all her energy poured into one savage pull. Sean and Justin, anticipating it, pulled back hard. Scott clenched and tugged
with everything he had. The rope snapped at the opposing forces, seemingly stuck
in space. For a moment I thought it would snap in half, until it slid past the final mark with great effort.
Whistle!
"Crescent College wins!"
The eruption from the stadium nearly burst my eardrums. Henry hugged me before I could even brace for it. Ms. Flores, who hadn't said much through the entire match gave a tight nod and clapped twice—her version of a standing ovation.
Scott dropped the rope and collapsed onto
the dirt, breathing heavily, sweat pouring. Justin and Sean fell down too, completely
flabbergasted by what had just happened. Zoë raised both fists and screamed up at the sky like a champion. Her chest was rising and falling fast, but her eyes were alive. Shining. She walked over to Sean and stretched out her hand
"Bloody hell," Sean said breathing heavily.
He gripped her hand and stood. He wiped off some sweat on his face and grinned at Zoë. "But that was fun."
"Crescent College advance to the quarter finals!" the announcer informed. "Up next,
Briarwood versus Monarch Hills. Competitors, take your positions!"
By the time the last match had been
completed, we went for the lunch break while the quarter final pairings were being drawn. This time, the school gone all out setting up food stands along the edge of the pitch, each one steaming with fresh, sizzling options. Free meals, chilled drinks and shaded corners waited for anyone needing to refuel or cool off before the next round. I took a tray without even thinking and walked with the others to our bench. Scott was still grinning, sweat drying on his
brow like victory paint.
"Zoë, tell me I wasn't awesome," he said, mouth already full of fried chicken.
"You weren't awesome," she said flatly. "Pass me the bectar."
"Okay, but that fake-out I pulled in the last push—"
"Luck and desperation," she cut in reaching
for her drink. She grinned after a sip. "But I'll allow it. We're alive."
Henry chuckled, flopping down beside me, tray in hand. "I thought I was watching a circus show. How did you not pull your spine
with that last leap?"
Scott opened his mouth to report, but I was
only half-listening. Across the bench, Laura sat with a sandwich in her lap, untouched. Her gaze was fixed beyond the food tents, towards the pole vault structure at the southern side of the pitch. Gleaming white poles. Soft landing mats.
"She's in the zone," Henry said noticing.
"She's in her head. That different," I said
nudging her foot gently under the bench. She didn't flinch. "You alright?"
She blinked, like snapping out of a trance. "Yeah. Yeah, just…I saw them fixing the grip wax to the poles. It's thicker than standard."
"That's a good thing, right?"
"Not when you rely on slide. It means more
drag mid-air."
"So adjust."
"I am adjusting," she snapped, then sighed.
"Sorry, I'm just…Frostville. Damn it."
We all looked up. The announcement screen had returned with the new pairings. Crescent College Vs Frostville.
Wow.
"Damn," I said glancing at her. If she was
feeling nervous, I had no idea what to expect. But then again there was good reason to be. Frostville had been solid throughout the entire competition. Not to mention, they'd absolutely slammed all their opponents so far. Maybe that was because this was their home turf. We'd somehow managed to draw this decade's host of the tournament for the quarter finals. Lucky us.
By the time the lunch break was over, the
matches began. This time we were first. Again, lucky us. The crowd was hushed
now, with fewer cheers and more eyes focused now. Pole vaulting wasn't just a competition. It was art. This was math and muscle working with gravity.
Laura stepped into the runway dressed in
her sports outfit. Her expression calm. Every breath was calculated. Measured. Intentional.
Across from her, her opponent—Logan Elrod stood tall and relaxed. Broad-shouldered, cool-headed, his blond hair tucked under a headband. He raised his pole slightly, saluted the crowd and faced dead ahead. He was definitely up for this.
"First round! Contestants set!" the announcer said over the speakers. "Three rounds, heights get progressively higher. First height set at 5.75 meters. Logan Elrod, step up!"
Logan took to the runway. His sprint was
textbook. No wasted movement, arms working together with his legs. His pole
planted with a sharp thud, and he soared. Fluid. Effortless. The bar didn't even move. The judge raised his green flag. 5.75 cleared and the crowd roared.
Laura rolled her shoulders, bounced lightly,
then sprinted. Her legs were like thunderclaps. One breathless second in the
air. Cleared. A faint brush of her calf grazed the bar, but it didn't fall. Green flag raised. Next round
"Second round! 5.95 meters!"
Logan went again. Another clean launch, but this time as he sailed over the, the bar
trembled. The crowd gasped, but it held. A near miss.
Laura stared at the bar, then down at her hands. She adjusted her grip, took a step back, exhaled and ran. This time, her speed was blinding. She hit the pole with violence and vaulted higher than before but clipped the bar on descent. It wobbled, then fell.
A hush fell over our bench.
"No way," Marcus muttered. Zoë crossed her arms tighter. Mackenzie looked more serious. Henry was staring uncertainly.
Scott leaned forward whispering, "She gets
two more tries. She'll fix it."
Second attempt. She ran again, adjusted
midair. Barely cleared. The bar bounced again, but stayed. She looked a little shaken, but determined. Hopefully that was enough.
"Final round! 6.5 meters!"
The bar stood at 6.5 meters now. A huge jump from the last round. The bar was daring, ruthless and high enough to break anybody's spirit. Both Logan and Laura stared at it, their shoulders tense. This was the final hurdle, but it seemed more like a wall than a line. They didn't move at first. Just stood on opposite ends of the runway, poles in hand, staring at bar like it was something mythical.
Logan stepped forward. He hasn't missed all day, not even once. If he cleared this on his first try, it was over for us. Just like that. Laura would lose even if she also made it on her first try since she had one failed attempt. The whole crowd tensed as the realization finally set in. Logan could win it for Frostville. Their entire bench was chanting his name now looking extremely elated.
Was this the end?
My heart was racing as he exhaled, somewhat nervously and launched into his sprint. But halfway through his run, something twitched. His plant was off by inches, and his pole wobbled in the box. He vaulted, but crookedly. His shoulder clipped the bar hard, and it crashed down behind him.
The first miss, and suddenly I had hope
again.
A murmur rippled through the stands. For
the first time all day, the Frostville team looked shaken. Cursing silently, he tried again. This time, his takeoff was much better, but his hips came up too fast, legs misaligned, and his heel nicked the bar on descent. It teetered, tilted but didn't drop. The bar stayed and Logan breathed in relief. The judge raised the green flag in approval.
The crowd wasn't murmuring now. It was buzzing.
I looked at Laura. She wasn't looking at
Logan. She wasn't looking at the bar. Her eyes were shut. One hand gripped her pole,
the other pressed to get heart, like she was counting each beat. She had one failed attempt at a lower height. Just one blemish, while Logan had been perfect until the last
round. If she missed her first attempt, they'd be tied in height but he'd win on fewer failed attempts. But if she cleared her first attempt, she'd win with fewer attempts on the final height. It was do or die.
She had just one shot.
She took a slow, deep breath, opened her
eyes and ran. Each stride slammed into the ground like thunder. Her form was impeccable, sharp. Her arms fluid. The whole crowd was on their feet now, watching as Laura made her way towards the bar. Logan stood at the edge of the runway watching in suspense as she made her way closer and closer to the bar.
C'mon Laura!
She planted her pole with a crack and
launched, her body fully stretched, legs slicing the air. For a moment, she hung in space. Neither rising, nor falling. Time seemed to slow down as she turned mid-air. Then her torso glided past the bar. It was nearly flawless, but her heel nicked the bar slightly.
A sharp gasp cut through the crowd. The bar wobbled. It shivered, teetering on the edge of collapse—then stilled.
It stayed. The judge slowly raised the green flag, and the stadium didn't just erupt, it exploded. I screamed as everybody on the bench yelled and took off towards Laura.
"Absolute cinema!!" Scott screamed with his arms in the air.
And Laura? She stayed frozen on the mat,
eyes wide. She knew how close it was. We all did.
"Crescent College win and advance to the
semi finals!" the announcer said just as we crashed on top of Laura, amidst roaring
cheers from the crowd.
Logan looked absolutely devastated. The
entire Frostville team mirrored his frustration. They'd come so close to winning, but one small mistake and everything completely vanished. I actually felt bad for them, but this was a competition. The C.V.C was ruthless, heartless even. But we were ready for what would come next. No doubt about it.