7. chapter 7 The Race (1/2)

chapter 7

soon it was the day of the english channel cup, and all of the competitors, not to mention many reporter people, were in a

tiny coastal town. it was in south england, at a point where it was exactly 50 miles to france by the way of the english

channel. the air was foggy and salty, invigorating all the racers who were standing on a dock, waiting to jump in the frigid

water and swim to france. reporters wearing thick jackets and coats swarmed around the four athletes, asking them

questions.

one lady from america said, "mr. st. clair? do you think you're going to win?"

jerome huddled up with portia under a warm blanket, both shivering. they were standing barefoot on the splintering

wooden dock, nearly turning blue. whenever they exhaled, their

eath turned to steam. they were whispering to each

other, mostly about, "hey honey, remember when we went to the museum. . ." and laughing until their bellies hurt over the

infamous 'charles lindbergh incident', as portia and jerome called it.

james st. clair stood proudly, his chest out like a rooster, and in his irish accent said, "of course i bloody do! i'm gonna

win!"

jerome laughed out loud, but tried to hide it. portia giggled and whispered in his ear, "win the consolation prize?" and

kissed him on the cheek.

one reporter asked nikita trovsky, "mr. trovsky? how do you think you're going to do?"

he stood with no towel, in a speedo, (which was a horrid sight) in front of the crowd. "well, i think i am going to do very

well. i've been swimming in ice ponds in my home country since i was ten years old!",(all his w's sounding like v's.)

"and where is your home country?" the reporter asked.

"russia, raised in the urals," he proudly said.

"what are those?"

this angered trovsky, and he yelled, "what kind of reporter are you! you don't know what the urals are? it's the

countryside, by the mountains!". the reporter nodded, and then asked james st. clair something.

jerome and portia laughed to each other, doing impressions of trovsky's russian accent and huddling up, sharing the towel,

catching the attention of the reporters. one man held a microphone up to them. "yes, mr. morrow and miss robinson, you

seem to be very close. are you two going out?"

portia looked at jerome, and said into the microphone, "you might want to ask him."

the reporter asked him, and he replied, "yes, we are."

"for how long?"

he thought to himself about that, and then said, "one month," then looked at portia, who was smiling.

the reporter lost interest, and then moved back to nikita trovsky. portia smiled at him, and then whispered, "coach

mchallan to your left."

he turned to look, and saw him, walking quickly. "morrow!"

jerome casually said, "yes coach?"

portia just smiled, and looked around the crowd.

mchallan tipped his fedora hat to portia. "hello, miss robinson. you, jerome, it's almost race time. do you have your

swimsuit on?"

jerome opened the towel, and showed him his very old fashioned bathing suit, navy blue, with white stripes at the bottom

and shorts built in. it looked like what they wore in the 1920's. portia had one almost exactly like it. "yes i do."

mchallan was a bit angry at this. "why don't you have a speedo on? that's the best swimsuit you can wear!"

jerome frowned, "no way in heaven or hell am i wearing one ever again, especially today! i'll freeze in one!"

"that russian guy trovsky is!"