Floor cracker diplomacy

The brie dried on my cuff for three hours before I noticed. That's the kind of detail that would make Lou laugh if I ever told her, which I won't. I picked the cracker up off the floor and ate it because the alternative was doing something that would end up on someone's phone and by Monday everyone from Weldon would know the swimmer who boxes couldn't take a joke. Briggs called it a joke. Loud enough for the long table, with the rowers standing there in their blazers waiting to see what I'd do. I ate the cracker. I walked out under the crest. That's not nothing.

I've been watching his footage for two hours. The way he resets after a combination. How patient he is when someone loads up. He's not fast but he doesn't need to be. He just waits and then he's inside and you're the one who looks stupid. I keep pausing on the moment before he steps in. There's something calm about it that I don't trust. Nobody's that calm unless they've already won something you're not even fighting for yet.

Lena's number is still in yesterday's shorts. I didn't move it. I don't know what that means yet.

The shoulder is not fine. Lou asked and I said fine because that's what I say. The ice helped at the gym and then it didn't help at home. Danny noticed the extra rounds were shorter and didn't say anything either, which is worse than if he had. We both pretended. That's the deal with the gym — you show up and you do the reps and nobody has to talk about what the reps mean.