“I hate to show you this, but this just popped up on my feed, and I think you should see it,” she says, wincing.

The screen is filled with Ryan’s most recent Instagram, a photo of him I must have missed. His arms are slung around Dimitri and Jasmine’s shoulders, and his satisfied smile gives me goose bumps. Dimitri looks the same as always—gruff, like he’s only posing to humor them. I search Jasmine’s face for clues, but she’s wearing that blankly beautiful newscaster look again. It’s impossible to tell what thoughts are running through her head. The background of the photo looks familiar, but I can’t quite place it until I spot the glint of medals against the wall behind them—it’s Dimitri and Jasmine’s house. They’re cozy enough to do dinner at home together now, I guess.

“I can’t believe I have to work with him for months,” I say, groaning.

It’s late March; Trials are at the tail end of June, with the Olympics stretching from late July through early August.

“You gotta focus on Hallie? Forget about him?” Sara says. I think she means it like a statement, but the absurdity of working on a three-person team with your ex for months is too much, even for her. “Channel your energy into the right places, block out the distractions, all that kind of stuff.”

I try not to grimace, but right now, I need something a little stronger than yoga. There’s half a bottle of red wine left corked on the counter, although it feels like a bad omen to pour a glass from it: Ryan and I opened it together last week. But the only other drink with a buzz to it is Sara’s home-brewed kombucha, so wine it is. Fittingly, the flavor has turned bitter. I drink it anyway.

“It’s just not fair,” I say, pushing away my plate of scallops.

Tears prick at my eyes. I inhale deeply to calm myself down, but it doesn’t really work.

“I want to be strong about this,” I say. “I don’t want to let this drama with Ryan get to me. I h-h-hate that I’m the kind of person who gets so thrown off course by stupid, dumb feelings.”

My shoulders start to shake with gentle sobs, and I wish I could disappear into a black hole. I don’t want Sara to see me like this. It’s embarrassing to lose your shit over a guy you’ve only dated for a handful of months, especially when Sara met me shortly after a breakup with a different guy. If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it’s a duck, right? And if I look like a boy-crazy mess, well…