The Overnight Prodigy

Chapter 32: Not Getting Along

The awkwardness with Emma did not resolve itself quickly, and if anything, it got worse before it got better, mostly because the two of them turned out to have almost diametrically opposed approaches to everything Grant tried to teach them jointly.

"You're overthinking it," Emma said, for what felt like the fifth time in a single session, watching Ethan attempt a technique that combined a redirect with a low sweep, something Grant had introduced as a bridge between their two different skill sets. "Just move. Stop calculating the angle before you commit."

"I'm not calculating, I'm just"

"You're absolutely calculating. I can see it happening on your face. You get this look right before every technique, like you're solving a math problem." She demonstrated the combination herself, fluid and immediate, no visible hesitation between decision and execution. "It's supposed to feel like this. Not like homework."

"Easy for you to say. You've been doing this for two years."

"And you've apparently been doing it for what, three months? And you're already better at the technical stuff than I was after a full year." There was an edge in her voice that Ethan hadn't quite expected, something that read less like simple frustration with a training partner and more like a specific, personal irritation he didn't fully understand the source of.

Grant, observing from the bench as he usually did, let the tension play out for a while longer before finally intervening. "Both of you are half right, which means both of you are also half wrong. Ethan, your instinct to think through the mechanics comes from wherever your particular gift comes from it's not a flaw, but it's slowing you down in exactly the way I've told you it will, every time you rely on it instead of trusting the reps you've already put in. Emma, your instinct to simply move is the product of years of physical training that Ethan doesn't have yet, and expecting him to replicate that immediately is neither fair nor useful."

"I'm not expecting anything," Emma said, a little too quickly, in a tone that suggested there was more underneath the comment than she was willing to say directly.

Grant studied her for a moment, something knowing in his expression, but didn't press further, redirecting them both back into the drill with a patience that Ethan was starting to understand was less about diplomacy and more about genuinely believing both of their instincts had value, even when those instincts clashed.

The friction came to a head after the session, when Emma caught Ethan alone by the equipment shelf while he was packing up, her earlier irritation apparently still sitting close to the surface.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Sure."

"Grant's had me here two years. Two years of showing up four days a week, getting thrown around, building this stuff rep by rep the slow way, because that's how everybody has to do it." She crossed her arms, something more vulnerable than angry showing through the irritation now that she'd actually started saying it out loud. "And then you show up, what, three months into training total, and you're already doing things that took me a year to get comfortable with. I don't know what your deal is, but it's a little hard to watch, honestly."

Ethan felt the specific discomfort of being confronted with a version of exactly the resentment Big Marcus had voiced weeks earlier, except this time coming from someone he actually wanted to have a good relationship with, someone whose skill and dedication he genuinely admired even through the awkwardness of their first few sessions together.

"I get why that's frustrating," he said carefully. "For what it's worth, I'm not trying to make it look easy. There's something going on with me that I don't totally understand myself yet, and I know that probably sounds like a dodge, but it's actually true. I wish I had a better answer for you."

Emma studied him for a long moment, some of the sharpness in her expression softening into something more considering. "That's a weird thing to say."

"I know."

"Grant knows what it is, doesn't he? Whatever's going on with you."

"I think he has a guess. He hasn't told me exactly what, though. He seems to be waiting for me to figure some of it out on my own first."

Emma was quiet for a while, processing this, and when she finally spoke again, some of the edge had genuinely gone out of her voice. "Okay. I'm not going to pretend I totally get it. But if Grant trusts you enough to bring you into this, I guess I can try to be less annoyed about it. Just don't expect me to make it easy for you in the meantime. If you're gonna train here, you're gonna earn every bit of respect the normal way, whatever weird head start you've got."

"That's fair," Ethan said, and meant it, some of the tension between them easing into something that felt, for the first time, like the actual beginning of a real partnership rather than a wary standoff.

"Good. See you Thursday. Try not to overthink the sweep this time." She grabbed her bag and headed out, and Ethan found himself, despite the rocky start, looking forward to it.

The next several sessions went noticeably smoother, the earlier tension replaced by something more like the easy needling of two people who'd decided, mutually and without much discussion, to actually try being friends. Emma still called him out every time he overthought a technique, but the edge was gone from it, replaced by something closer to genuine coaching, the kind of correction that came from someone who wanted to see him improve rather than someone keeping score of an unfair head start.

"You're getting better at the not-thinking thing," she told him, a week later, after he'd landed the sweep-redirect combination three times in a row without visibly calculating any of it first. "Still not perfect. But better."

"High praise, coming from you."

"Don't let it go to your head. You've still got years of catching up to do before you're where I am." She said it lightly, without the old resentment, and Ethan understood that whatever bridge they'd needed to cross that first awkward week, they'd finally, properly gotten across it.

Grant, watching from his usual spot on the bench, said nothing about the shift, but Ethan caught him nodding once, quietly, to himself, in the specific satisfied way of someone whose patience had paid off exactly as expected.