"Hello, Thomas." Robbie's voice was monotone.
"Robbie! I hear you're entered in the Champion of Champions race? Good luck. Sarah here's won it three years running. We're looking to make it four." Grant sneered and motioned to a stunning young woman handling the ropes of The Gauntlet's gray sails. She was model perfect with dark hair, olive skin, and intense brown eyes. I recognized her immediately as Sarah Parish, one of my biggest sailing inspirations.
"Good luck to you with that," Robbie called back. He sauntered to the railing, leaning over to peer into the water. "The Gauntlet, eh? She appears to be listing a little to the starboard."
"What?" Grant frowned and then regained his composure. "I'm sure it's nothing. Since we've happened to run into you out here, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a friendly race? You know, as practice for the big day coming up?"
Robbie and I glanced at one another and I grinned. I was tired of drills; a race would be perfect practice. Plus I wanted to drive him into the sandy bottom of the ocean and bury those stupid sunglasses.
"That sounds like fun," Robbie answered with a grin. I rubbed my hands together; adrenaline was already starting to creep into my system. I lived for racing.
"First one to Blue Cove Harbor. Start at Shark Tooth Rock, round the buoy, and into the harbor. Normal rules." Grant gave a mirthless smirk that made me feel a little sick to my stomach. "I can't wait to see what the competition for the race is going to be like."
Robbie and I turned toward one another and grinned. We were going to make him eat our bubbles.
***
We maneuvered the two boats toward Shark Tooth Rock. A jagged piece of gray granite reared out of the water, looking very much like a giant shark had left a tooth pointing to the sky. I had the jib up, the wind crackling through the sail as we coaxed our boat to a strong starting speed. Robbie and Grant exchanged nods as they both crossed the imaginary starting line emanating from the rock. I grinned. The race was on.
The buoy was upwind, so we began a series of tacks. The Gauntlet and Avery's Hope crisscrossed paths as we each zigzagged at 45 degree angles to the wind, allowing us to sail "against" the wind. Each turn required us to change the sheet positions, controlling the sails in unison. If we didn't do them properly, or in sync, we would fall behind.
The sails crackled like strange clouds, and water sprayed up into the air, shimmering like diamonds as it landed on the boat. My feet thudded against the deck as I hurried to and fro, adjusting sheets and following Robbie's commands. I loved this part of the race; the part where anything was possible and the world was nothing but wind and waves.
"He's coming in on the starboard tack," Robbie called out. "We're going to go to port."
"Got it, Skipper!" I yelled, running to the jib sheets and positioning them to tack. The wind blew my hair into my eyes, but I didn't let go of the lines, concentrating solely on my task. We needed to turn to catch the wind in the other direction.
"I need more helm!" Robbie yelled with frustration as the boat started to slow as we lost the wind. "We're not on our angle!"
I grunted as I pulled the sheet in. I could hear Grant and Sarah calling out to one another almost as if they were singing a duet as they pulled on ropes and scampered around the deck.
Grant fell behind us slightly, and I grinned until I realized what he was doing. As I started to work the jib sail in order to tack again, he went slightly to the side of our boat, forcing us to continue straight instead of zigzagging. He was going to force us off path and make us work that much harder to come back.
Robbie snarled with frustration as he attempted to tack again, but found Grant's boat directly in his path. He frowned and shouted out an order to fix the mainsail, and I hopped to the sheet, pulling and winching the sail into a different position. We had to change our position, or we would sail past the buoy and miss the turn.
We slowed slightly and overlapped his boat with ours.
I could hear Grant curse as we took the wind out of his sails, our own sails catching the breeze before it could power his. Grant called with authority to Sarah, and she called back as they worked to free themselves from our overlap. The buoy was coming up fast, and I began to pull the jib. Robbie yelled that it was too early, but the damage was done.
As we rounded the turning mark, Grant sped ahead, free in his own wind again. I growled; the rope slid under my hands as I attempted to maneuver the sail back into the proper position. Robbie yelled a command, thinking I already had the sheet in position; I struggled to finish the maneuver, but I could feel the boat slow again. I cursed again, feeling out of sync with Robbie and the boat.
Grant sped forward.
The Gauntlet had taken control of the race and was dominating. Grant had found a current and was using it in addition to the sails to propel him faster. I could see the two of them in the other boat, performing the maneuvers that I knew we needed to perform, but doing them just seconds faster. Grant and Sarah were a well-oiled team with far more practice working together than Robbie and I had. Every turn, every tack, every shift in the wind they caught and adapted just seconds faster. In a race like this, those seconds added up quickly, and it wasn't long before The Gauntlet was well over two boat lengths ahead. It was a death by a thousand cuts as we continued to lose ground.
The race was over. We had lost. I took down the sails as we trailed into the harbor, coming alongside The Gauntlet. Grant leaned against the railing of his boat, smugness spilling off him in waves.
"Nice of you two to finally arrive. We were afraid you weren't going to make it." He laughed mockingly. "Well, at least it's nice to know we won't have to worry about you two on race day."
Robbie stiffened at the helm, his body taut with defeat. My hands clenched against the line, wishing I could wrap it around Grant's throat for just a minute. "The race is still a ways away," Robbie growled. "You won't be so lucky then."
Grant waved his hand dismissively. "Keep that positive mindset, Saunders. I'm sure it will make you feel better when you lose next week." He nodded to Sarah, and she turned the helm to steer away. Their gray sails were filled with wind and victory. Grant gave a sloppy salute and winked at me. "Nice boat, Ms. Conners."
My hands shook as I kept them at my sides. Grant's laughter drifted across the water as we bobbed in the harbor and evaluated our loss. I was furious, more at myself than with Grant. We had lost because we weren't as in sync as they were. What was I even thinking, entering into a race as prestigious as the Invitational with only a week's practice?