ThankyoufordownloadingthisSimon&Schusterebook.GetaFREEebookwhenyoujoinourmailinglist.Plus,getupdatesonnewreleases,deals,recommendedreads,andmorefromSimon&Schuster.Clickbelowtosignupandseetermsandconditions.CLICKHERETOSIGNUPAlreadyasubscriber?Provideyouremailagainsowecanregisterthisebookandsendyoumoreofwhatyouliketoread.Youwillcontinuetoreceiveexclusiveoffersinyourinbox.
Toalltheathleteswhospokeupabouttheabuseingymnastics,I’minaweofyourstrength,bravery,andperseverance.Thankyouformakingthissportsafer.
?AUTHOR’SNOTE?
HeadOverHeelswasinspiredbymyloveforgymnastics.IspentfifteenyearstrainingasagymnastandalwaysknewIwantedtowriteaboutthesportsomeday.InAugust2018,theideaforthisnovelhitmeandIquicklyemailedmyagent.“Whatperfecttimingforsummer2020!”shewroteback.Iwasthrilledmyeditoragreed:thebookwouldcomeoutjustintimeforthe2020OlympicGamesinTokyo.Itnevercrossedanyone’smindthattheeventwouldn’thappen.
TwodaysafterIfinishedthefinalpageproofreviewofthisnovel,theInternationalOlympicCommitteeannouncedthe2020Olympicswouldbepostponedbyayearduetothecoronaviruspandemic.SincethemodernOlympicGameswerefoundedin1896,thecompetitionshaveonlybeencanceledforWorldWarOne(in1916)andWorldWarTwo(in1940and1944).Whileapostponementwasundoubtedlythesafestchoice,it’salsoadevastatingoneforsomegymnasts.Athleteshaveaverynarrowwindowofopportunitytocompeteattheirprime,anddelayingtheGamesbyevenayearcouldmarktheendofsomegymnasts’Olympicaspirations.
Thisishardlythefirstblowelitegymnasticshassufferedinrecentyears.InSeptember2016,theIndianapolisStarreportedthattwoformergymnastshadaccusedLarryNassar,theformerUSAGymnastics(USAG)nationalteamdoctorandanosteopathicphysicianatMichiganStateUniversity,ofsexualassault.Sincethen,morethan265womenhavecomeforwardwithaccusationsdatingbackto1992.InJuly2017,Nassarwassentencedtosixtyyearsinfederalprisonafterpleadingguiltytochildpornographycharges;in2018,hereceivedtwoadditionalsentencesof175and40to125yearsinstateprisonforsexualassaultcharges.AsofFebruary2020,theUnitedStatesOlympic&ParalympicCommitteehaveproposeda$215millionsettlementtocurrentandformerathleteswhosurvivedNassar’sabuse,butsometopgymnastshavenotedthesettlementwouldpreventfurtherinvestigationintoUSAG’sroleinthescandal.
InHeadOverHeels,bothAveryandHallie’slivesareshapedbythepursuitofOlympicglory.Thisbookisaworkoffiction,buttopgymnasts’dedicationandsacrifice,evenamidterriblesuffering,arenot.AsthesexualabusescandalcontinuestounfoldandthecoronaviruspandemicpushestheOlympicsoffschedule,myheartgoesouttothereal-lifeAverysandHallies.Iinvitereaderstoescapeintoaworldinwhichthecoronaviruspandemicdoesnothappen,theOlympicsgoonasplanned,andgymnastsdeservingofjusticechasetheirdreams.
OCTOBER2019
?CHAPTER1?
Theflightattendantthrustsaboxofsnacksundermynosewithouthesitation.Idabatthehalf-driedtearsonmycheekswiththecrumpled-uptissueI’vebeenclutchingeversinceweleftLosAngelesanhouragoandpeerattheoptions
“Popchips,SunChips,Doritos,pretzels,ortrailmix,”sherecites,snappinghergum.
Everythingisprocessedandfullofsalt,sugar,orboth.“Thanks,butI’mallset,”Isay.
“Thebeveragecartwillbecomingnext,”shesays,ignoringmysleepingneighborandswivelingtothepassengerontheothersideoftheaisle.
Thethirty-somethingwomannexttome,whoseiPhonelockscreenisaselfieofherinMinnieMouseearskissingamanwearingMickeyonesatDisneyland,tookanAmbienthemomentshesatdown.I’mgrateful,becauseI’mnotupforaconversationrightnow.It’sbeentwodayssinceTylerbrokeupwithme,andIdon’twanttotalktoanyone,muchlessastranger.
TherewasnoquestionthatI’dleavetheapartmentweshared.TheleasewasinTyler’sname,andeventhoughIhadalwayspromisedthatI’dbeabletopayhalftherentsomeday,I’dneverbeenabletoaffordmyshareoftheluxuryhigh-risecondo.Ididn’thaveanyfriendsIfeltcomfortablecrashingwithwhileIwaitedoutmytwoweeks’noticeatwork,whichtheydidn’treallyneedanyway.Icoachedapreteengirls’recreationalgymnasticsteamonlyafewafternoonsaweek,mostlytohavesomethingtodowhilewaitingforTylertoreturnfromfootballpracticeandgames.
PackingwassimplebecauseTylerownedalmosteverything:thegleamingsetofpotsandpansinthekitchen,theoversizedflat-screenTVhelikedtowatchSportsCenteron,thesprawlingsectionalhe’dboughtundertheguidanceofthedecoratorhehiredthefirsttimehecashedanobscenelyfatcheckandthoughthehadanimagetouphold.Ithrewtheremnantsofmyoldlife—clubbingdressesandstilettoscollectingdustinthecloset—intothetrash,thenstuffedtheremainingT-shirts,leggings,andsneakersintotwosuitcases.Ileftpiecesofmebehind:myfavoritedog-earedcookbook,theheatingpadIusedwhenmybackpainflaredup,apairofsilverearringshehadgivenme.AnythingelseIneededwouldbewaitingformeathomeinGreenwood,Massachusetts.
Idon’tknowif“sad”istherightwordtodescribehowIfeel.Maybemore“dazed.”Or“lost.”OrWhatthefuckdoIdonow?I’mnotdevastatedorevenangry.IloveTyler—orlovedhim,Iguess.Atfirst,Ilovedlearninghisquirks:thewayhe’dlookoverhisshoulderafterrunningontothefield,searchingformyfaceinthecrowd;thegoofywayhegrinnedafterhisthirdbeer;thepolite,MidwesternwayhealwayscalledmyparentsMr.andMrs.AbramsinsteadofBillandMichelle.Iadmiredhiseaseandmodestyinthespotlight,traitsthatcamenaturallytohimbutneverfeltwithinreachforme.ButIdon’tknowifInecessarilylovehim.Notanymore.
TosaythatIdidn’tseethebreakupcomingbothisandisn’talie.IguessIdidn’twanttolookhardenoughatwhatourrelationshiphadbecome,notuntilheforcedtheissueandannouncedweweredone.Becausethatwouldhaverequiredexaminingallofit—everythingthat’dhappenedsincethatdayinSanJose,California,whenIwasnineteen—andadmitthatTylerhasalifetomoveontoward,andIdon’t.
AfterwhathappenedattheOlympicTrialssevenyearsago,itwastoolateformetoapplytoanycollegesforthatfall.Ispentamiserable“gapyear”slumpedonthecouchinmyparents’basement,“exploring”and“studying”thewaytheTVcouldslidefrommorningtalkshowstodaytimesoapstothesixo’clocknewstoprime-timesitcomstotheworstdregsoflate-nightmovies.
Iworriedthattwentywastoooldtostartcollege,butIhadbeenrecruitedtooneofthecountry’stopgymnasticsprogramsatLosAngelesStateUniversity,anditseemedawastenottogo.Ihadassumedthatmyreputationwouldprecedeme,thatI’dbethestaroftheteam.ButIhadbeenoutofpracticeformorethanayearbythatpoint,recoveringfrommyinjury.Iwasflabbyandweak,softbothphysicallyandmentally.Theothergirlskepttheirdistance;atfirst,Ithinktheywereintimidatedtotalktome,butbythetimetheyrealizedIwasnoqueenbeeanymore,theyhadalreadyformedtheirowncliques.PracticewaslonelyandhumiliatingasIstruggledtowhipmyselfbackintoshapewithoutmycoach,Dimitri’s,help.Hismethodshadbeenextreme—punishingexercises,acoldshoulderifyoudidn’tperformyourbest,rageifyoufailed—butIfoundmyselfmissingthem.MynewcoachaskedustocallherMissMarge.Shebeganeachworkoutwithamandatorydancepartytogetourheartsracing,andrippedopenbagsofTwizzlersaspartinggiftsattheendofeverypractice.Theothergirlslovedher.Butnoneofthemhadwhatittooktobetrulygreat.Withouttrainingundertheintensityofalegendarycoach,howwereanyofussupposedtobecomechampions?
IwounduprandomlyassignedtolivewithascarilypeppygirlnamedKrista.ShewasanLAnativewhoclaimedtobe“ob-sessed”witheverything,includingmynearbrushwithfameasanalmostOlympicgymnast.Shebeggedmetojoinheratthecampusgym,wheresheclutchedthree-pounddumbbellswhilestrollingonthetreadmill,andstockedourroomregularlywithboxesofFranziaSunsetBlushsheboughtwithherfakeID.Kristawalkedinonmeintheshoweronedaybyaccident;she’sthefirstpersonwhobroughtittomyattentionthatnormalgirlsshavedtheirlegswiththeirfootproppedupontheledgeofthetub,notateyelevel,pressedagainsttheshowerwall.
IflounderedthroughPsych101,IntrotoMassCommunications,andHumanPhysiologybeforemyGPAdippedlowenoughformetogetkickedofftheteam.Iwatchedmyselffailwithaperversesenseofcuriosity:Ihadpushedmyselftosuperhumanlengthsforyears;Ihadneverseenmyselffalterbefore.Lettinggowaseasywhenyoudidn’tcare.
WithKristabymyside,Ifellintotheworldofdormparties,thenhouseparties,thenbacchanaliannightsatclubs.Ilearnedthehierarchyoflow-calcocktails(vodka-soda,thenvodka-tonic,thensugaryvodka-cranasalastresort),thewaytoconvinceaclubpromotertoletyoupasttheredvelvetropesforfree,andtheartofdeterminingwhichmenweregametoflirtandwhichonlywantedtogrindtheirsweatybodiesagainstyoursonthedancefloor.Ihadfinallyunlockedthewayregulargirlsgottofeelpowerful,beautiful,andmagnetic:buzzed,carefree,gussiedupinblackLycradresseswithmen’shungryeyeslockedwithyours,movingtothebeatofasoaringpopremix.Here,inthenormalworld,Ididn’tneedtostickthelanding.Icouldstumble—outofaclub,intoacab,underthecovers.
WhenIfailedoutofschoolmidwaythroughsophomoreyear,Ibarelyregisteredit,otherthantonotethatIcouldfinallystopshowinguphungovertomy12p.m.lectures.Ihadsomesavings—batmitzvahmoneyandbirthdaymoneyIhadbeengivenovertheyearsandhadneverhadtimetospend—andsoIrentedaroominathree-bedroomapartmentinWestwood.Ilinedupaseriesofoddjobs(dog-walking,babysitting)thatsupportedmyhabitoforderingflimsyminidressesfromNastyGal.com,andkeptfaithfullyshowingupat1OAK,Argyle,Supperclub,orwherevermybestclubpromoter,Angelo,wouldhaveme
That’showImetTyler.ThewayESPNlaterdescribedit,ourencountersoundedlikeanathlete’shappily-ever-after:aformerelitegymnastjustsohappenedtomeetarisingfootballstaronetwinklingnightinLosAngeles.That’stheromanticspin.Tylerandhisfriendsboughtatableat1OAKandAngelobroughtmeandtwootherclubratsovertositwiththeguys.Tylerofferedtopourmeadrinkfromtheglasspitchersofvodka,cranberryjuice,andorangejuice.Backthen,Tylerwasjustarookie—thebackupquarterbackfortheLARams;thelife-changingseasonthatcatapultedhimtoreal,mainstreamfameasaquarterbackwasstillayearaheadofhim—butheprobablyexpectedmetobeimpressed.Instead,IvolleyedthatIhadbeenatopathlete,too,afewyearsback.Wetalkedanddancedandmadeoutintheclubforhours.Whenitwasclosingdownforthenight,heshylyinvitedmebacktohisplace.Onanyothernight,Iwould’vesaidyes.Butsomethingcameoverme;maybeIrecognizedakindredspirit,someoneIcouldfindcommongroundandanequalplayingfieldwith.Instead,Igavehimmynumberandtoldhimtotextmeifhewantedtogooutsometime.Sureenough,hetextedthenextmorningandinvitedmeoutfordinner.
Thatwasfouryearsago.Dinnerturnedintoastringofdates,whichsoonledtoabonafiderelationship.Wefellforeachotherfast—itwasgiddyanddisorientinginthebestwaypossible.HelikedthatIunderstoodandsupportedhisstricttrainingregimen,unlikeothergirlshehaddatedinthepast.Andwithhisencouragement,themessypiecesofmylifetookshape.Themoretimewespenttogether,themoremydietshiftedfromfruit-flavoredvodkatorealfruitsandvegetables.Istartedworkingoutagain.TylerwastheonewhosuggestedthatIseekoutapart-timecoachingjob.Byourthirdmonthofdating,Iwassmitten.Byourfourth,Iwasconfidentenoughtosay“Iloveyou”outloudforthefirsttime.Hesaiditback
Movingintohisapartmentwasano-brainer.Wespentalmostallofourfreetimetogetheranyway.Growingup,Ihadneverallowedmyselftoreallydreampastthepodiumstand;whenyoubelieveyou’reontheedgeofOlympichistory,fantasiesaboutboyfriendsseemfrivolous.ButthereIwas,twenty-threeyearsold,playinghousewithahunkyfootballplayer,lingeringjustalittletoolongoverabridalmagazineinthecheckoutlineatthegrocerystore.IhadfoundmyselflivingadreamI’dneverknownIwanted.
Thenextseason,hethrewthewinningpassintheSuperBowl,andhebecameahouseholdname.Butthecozyclosenessofourrelationshipthinned.Wesaweachotherless,andwhenwedid,itwasoftensqueezingadatenightintoafootballbanquetdinnerorcharityevent.Isawforthefirsttimeupclosewhatitmeanttobeachampion,andIhatedhavingmynosepressedupagainsttheglasslikeadirtyonlooker;Istillwantedthatgloryformyself.Icouldn’tadmitthattoTyler;thatmeantgivinghimunfetteredaccesstothehauntedwaymybrainstilltauntedmewiththeword“failure.”
Itwouldbeeasy,Ithinknow,astheairplanecutsthroughagloriouslywhitecloudanddescendsintoafog,toleavethebreakupatthat.I’mflyingtotheothersideofthecountry,whereTylerknowsnoone.Icouldpretendwebrokeupbecausehegotcaughtupinhisownfame,andIdidn’twantthatkindoflife.Nobodywouldknowthedifference.Nobodybutme.
TherewasanafternoonafewmonthsbackwhenTylercamehomeunexpectedlyearly;hewasn’tfeelingwell.Itwasaround3p.m.onaThursday,oneofmydaysofffromthegym,andIwassittingonthekitchenfloorwithmylegssplayedoutinalazystraddle,organizingthenewspicerackIhadorderedonline.Aroundme,therewasamessoflittleplasticbottles:saffron,nutmeg,coriander,staranise,redpepperflakes.Ihadaccumulatedsomany,splurgingonwhateverIneededtomakearecipesing.I’ddiscovered,onceImovedinwithTyler,thatIlikedtocook;theprocesskeptmyhandsandmindbusy.AndafteranadolescenceofgrilledchickenandmicrowavedLeanCuisines,therichflavorsIcreatedfeltlikeagift.SoIalphabetizedthespices,sippingagenerouspourofsauvignonblanc.
“Oh,you’re…stillhome?”Tylerhadsaid,anoteofsurpriseinhisvoice,takinginmyraggedpajamapantsandtheafternoonglassofwine.Helookedpastmyshoulder,towardthelivingroomIhadvacuumed,dusted,andstraightenedupearlierthatday.
“Hi!Ididn’tknowyou’dbehomesoearly,”Ichirped.Itiltedmychinupsohecouldgivemeakiss,buthedidn’t.“Doyouwantsomethingtoeat?Icanwhipsomethingupreallyquicklyifyou’rehungry.”
TylershookhisheadandturnedonSportsCenter.Theopen-floor-planlayoutoftheapartmentmeantIcouldstayinthatsamespotonthefloorandseehimonthecouchinthelivingroom.Butafewsecondslater,heturnedofftheTV.
“Youdon’twantto,Idon’tknow…dosomething?”heasked,voicedrippingwithdisgust.
“I’mdoingthis,”Isaid,gesturingtothespicerack.
“You’repracticallyahousewife,”hesaid.“Minusthehusbandandkids.”
Igavehimasourlook.We’dtalkedaboutmarriageasapossibilitysomeday,becauseitseemedimpossibletobelivingtogetherinayears-longrelationshipinyourmidtwentiesandnottalkaboutit.
“Iwork,”Isaidevenly.
“Part-time,”heclarified.
“You’retheonewhosuggestedit,”Iremindedhim.
“Ididn’tthinkyou’dbehappywiththatlittleto-doforever,”hecountered.
“So,what?Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”Iasked,slumpingagainsttherefrigeratorandresistingtheurgetograbmywineglass,lestitmakemelookevenmorelikesomeawfulcliché.
Hesighed.“Idon’tknow,havea…passion?Havesomekindofambition?”
“YouknowIdo.YouknowIdid,”Isaiddefensively,thinkingfuriously:Howdarehe.
“It’sbeenalongtime,Avery.”Hiswordsdripoutcarefully,likehe’sbeenchurningoverthebestwaytosaythisforawhile.
IwastemptedtorattleoffallthethingsIdoalldaythatIgenuinelyenjoy:cooking,coaching,tryingnewworkoutswithmyClassPass.Butthatwasn’twhathemeant.
“Isthisaboutmoney?”Idemanded.“Doyouwantmetopaymoreinrent?BecauseIcanmakeitworkifyouwantmeto.”
“It’snotaboutthemoney.”Hesighed.“It’sjust…”
Hetrailedoffandlookedcriticallyatmybedhead,myshrunkensleepshirtprintedwiththenameofagymnasticsmeetIcompetedinmorethanadecadeago,andtheoverheadkitchencabinetsI’dflungopenwithoutbotheringtoclose.
“It’sjustIexpectedadifferentkindoflifewithyou,that’sall,”hesaidquietly.
AndthenheturnedtheTVbackon.
Thereweremorefightslikethatinthemonthsthatfollowed.Sometimes,I’dbehonestenoughtoadmitthatlongago,ambitionwasallI’dhad.AndwhentheonethingIhadbuiltmyworldaroundcollapsed,Ididn’tknowwhereelsetoturn—Ididn’tknowhowtoturn.MaybeIneverfullyrecoveredfromthedepressionthathitlikeatrucksevenyearsago.Ineverfoundareasonto.
Theplaneentersaroughpatchofairandgivesasickeningjolt.Astheturbulencejostlesus,acleardingringsoutthroughthecabin,andthepilotmakesanannouncementoverthePAsystem.“Atthistime,weaskthatyoureturntoyourseatsandfastenyourseatbelts.Thankyou.”Theneonseatbeltsignflasheson;there’sanuneasygroanfromsomeofthepassengers.Whilemyneighborcontinuestodoze,themanacrosstheaislefrommecrosseshimselfanddownstheremainderoftheJohnnieWalkerhe’sbeennursing.Infrontofhim,aninfantstartstowailinhermother’slap.
Theturbulenceupheredoesn’tbothermemuch.I’mmoreafraidofwhateverliesahead,oncetheflightlandsbackathome.
?CHAPTER2?
MomandDadmeetmeatthearrivalsgateatLoganairportwithfacesscrunchedinconcern.
“That’sallyoubrought?”Dadasks,takingthetwobagsfromme.
“Oh,honey,”Momsays,pullingmeinforahug.Shekissesmyhair.“We’llgetyoufixedup.”
IhadreturnedhomeplentyoftimessincemovingtoLA,butthistime,ithasasenseoffinality.I’mnothereforaquickThanksgivingvisit—whenMomhitstheclickerandrollsherHondaintothecold,mustygarage,I’mreturningforgood.Itakeasuitcaseineachhandandtracemyold,familiarstepsthroughthehouse.
Acornerofthelivingroomservesasashrinetowhatoncewas.There’salife-sizedcardboardcutoutofme,frozenforeveratseventeenyearsold,inared-white-and-bluespangledleotardwithchalkythighsandapileofmedalsaroundmyneck.Trophies,medals,andcompetitionphotosfillthefloor-to-ceilingbookcasebehindit.Iheavemysuitcasespastthelivingroom,upthestairs,andintomychildhoodbedroom.It’sstillpaintedachildishshadeofpink,andthere’sasmatteringofglow-in-the-darkstarsstuckontheceiling.Once-glossypostersofgymnasticsgreatslikeNadiaComaneci,MaryLouRetton,andShannonMillerclingtothewalls.
Ifloponthebed.Comparedtotheking-sizedoneIsharedwithTyler,thistwin-sizedmattressfeelslikeaflimsypoolfloat.I’mnolongerahundredpoundsofpuremuscle;Idon’tfithereanymore.Ilookatmyphonewithasigh,wishingdesperatelyforanysortofdistraction.Ihavenotexts;barelyanyoneknowsI’vemoved.
IopenTwitter.Atfirst,it’samindlessstreamofnews,memes,andsnippycommentsfrompeopleIcan’trememberfollowinginthefirstplace.IseemissivesaboutgratitudeandaccountabilityfromKrista,myoldcollegeroommate;accordingtohertweets,she’sbeensoberforayearnow.Butthenaheadlinecatchesmyattention.MyheartlurchesasIopenthestoryonTMZ:TYLERETTINGERNEWLYSINGLE?SPOTTEDCOZYINGUPTOASWIMSUITMODEL
Ireaditover—once,twice,threetimes—butthewordsseemtoswimonthescreen.SomeoneonTwitterrecognizedTyleratBootsyBellows,aceleb-studdedclubinLA,andtookagrainyvideoofhimgrindinguponawomanthatTMZidentifiesasmodelBriannaKwan.Sheapparentlyhadafour-pagespreadintheSportsIllustratedSwimsuitIssuethisyear.Inafitofself-loathing,Ihitplayonthevideo.Henuzzlesherneckashishandtrailsdownthefrontofherdress;shetiltsherheadbacktowhispersomethinginhisear.Paparazzicaughtthemoutsidetheclub,too,stridinghandinhandfromthebackdoortoawaitingblackcar.Tylerknowswhathe’sdoing—heknowsbetterthanthat.He’stheonewhotaughtmehowtoditchthepapsorthrowthemoffthetrail:don’tshowaffectionorevenwalkwithinthesamephotoframewhenphotographersarearoundunlessyouwanttheattention.Heneverdid.Hesaidhedidn’tliketoomuchpublicityaroundhispersonallife,butnowIjustwonderifhedidn’twantitwithme.
TMZconcludesthatTylerhaslikelysplitfromAveryAbrams,hisex-gymnastgirlfriendoffouryears.“Orifnot,he’ssuretohearfromhersoon…”thesitesnarked.
Ishovemyphoneundermypillowandburymyfaceinit.WhileTylerismovingon,I’mspiralingintotheworstversionofmyself:lethargic,self-pitying,aimless.ThesamewayIfeltafterTrials.Theversionofmyselfthathedidn’twantanymore.Iwanttoscream.Ifeelfullofbitterrageinawaythatmakesmetearup.Iwentsomanyyearswithoutcrying:notwhenDimitriassignedmetriplesetsofconditioningbecauseItalkedbackoneday;notwhenafalloffbeamknockedthewindoutofme;notwhenIdevelopedastressfractureinmyspineatfourteen.TheOlympicTrialsfailureopenedupafloodgateIcouldn’tclose.Eversincethen,thelittlestthingssetmeoff.It’sembarrassing,howquicklyhottearsspringtomyeyesnow.
Thisisn’tlittle,though.Iwishitwere.
IpullupTyler’sInstagramonmyphoneandscrolldown,scanningfortheoccasionalphotoshepostedofmeorofustogether.Thereshouldbeonefromamonthago,whenweattendedhiscousin’sweddingtogether—butit’sgone.SoarethepicturesfromouranniversarygetawaytoSanFrancisco.It’slikehe’serasedme.MystomachdropswhenIseehe’sunfollowedme,too.Worse,still,Iseehejustrecentlyfollowedthatswimsuitmodel.
Ifeelsick.Ican’trememberthelasttimeTylertouchedmethewayhetouchedBriannaintheclub,likemyskingaveofftheoxygenheneededtobreathe.Iknewourrelationshiphaditsissues,butTyleralwayssaidthatifyouloveeachother,youstickitoutthewholetime,nomatterwhat.Nothingapersoncouldsayordowouldpushyouawayforever.Ibelievedhim,becausehewasthefirstguyI’deverreallydated,andhehadhadaseriousgirlfriendincollege.Heknew.HeandMeganhadthekindofrelationshipwheretheywentonsummervacationswitheachother’sfamiliesandtalkedaboutfuturebabynames.ItonlydawnedonmelaterthatheeventuallyleftMegan,too.
Whenthephoneringsatdinner,I’mgratefulforanythingthatcutsthroughtheconversation.MomplatedanendivesaladandaskedprobingquestionsaboutwhyIthinkTylerbrokeupwithme;sheservedgrilledtilapiaandsuggestedjobsIcouldapplyfor;sherefilledourwaterglassesandpepperedmewithupdatesaboutchildhoodfriendsIhaven’tseeninfifteenyears.Shecan’tdosilenceorstillness.Shepicksupthecallonitssecondring.
“Abramsresidence,Michellespeaking.”
IpushabiteoffishacrossmyplateandtrytoshutouttheunwantedimageofTyler’sfingerssnakingdownBrianna’stautabs.Momlistens,drawsoutanelongated“ummm,”andcocksherheadtowardme.
“Sure,I’llputheron.”Shecoversthereceiverwithonehand.“Avery,phoneforyou.”
Ican’timaginewhoitis.NobodyknowsthatI’mhere.ItakethephonefromMomandwanderintothelivingroom.
“Hello?”Iaskuncertainly.
“Avery,hi,”amalevoicesays.“I’msureyoudon’trememberme.It’sbeenamillionyears.ThisisRyanNicholson.”
OfcourseIrememberhim.Hisnameissearedintomymemory;youneverforgetthenameofyourteenagecrush.RyanwasatopgymnastaroundthesametimethatIwas.HetrainedinFlorida,andlikeme,hewashomeschooledformostofhisteenageyears.Becausewebothcompetedonanationalandinternationallevel,wecrossedpathsatmeetsafewtimesayear.WhenmybestfriendJasmineandImadelistsofthecutestboysweknew,hisnamewasalwaysonthem.Tobefair,wewerebothhomeschooledandknewofjusteightortenboyswhodidn’tsportrattails—anunfortunatelypopularfadamongmalegymnastsinthe2000s—butstill.Histhick,darkhair;chocolate-browneyes;andnicelymuscledarmsandabsmadealastingimpression.HewenttotheOlympicsinboth2012and2016.
“Ryan!Hi.Wow.It’sbeenaminute.”
“Itsurehasbeen,”hesays.
“Um,so…”Isay.
It’slikeallnormalsocialnicetieshavecompletelyfallenoutofmybrain.
“Ihearyou’reintownagain,”hesays.
“How?”Iblurtout.
IwonderifhereadtheTMZstoryanddrewhisownconclusions.
“Winnietoldmesheranintoyourdadatthegrocerystoreyesterday.”
Nowthat’sanameIhaven’theardinalongtime.She’stheofficemanageratmyoldgym,Summit.Ilovedher.
“Oh!Right,”Isay,relieved.“Whathaveyoubeenuptoalltheseyears?”
“Hasitbeenthatlong?”heasks.“Wow.Imean,well,alotofthings.Training.IwenttotheUniversityofMichiganforgymnastics,andcompetedinLondonandRio.Didsometravelingforawhile.AndI’vebeencoaching,too.You?”
“Well,IjustmovedbacktoGreenwood,”Isay,hopingthatcoversit.
There’sabeatofsilenceontheline.
“Uh,you’reprobablywonderingwhyI’mcalling,”hesays.
“Yeah,”Iadmit.
Yearsago,ifJasmineandIcould’vechosenapersonalphonecallfromRyanNicholsonorRyanGosling,wewould’vepickedNicholsoneverytime.Ipacethewidthofthelivingroomandwindupface-to-facewithmycardboardcutout.Iswiveltododgeher.
“I’mworkingatSummitGymnasticsnow,”hesays.“IknowyoutrainedthereforyearswithDimitriFederovbeforeheleft.”
“Idid.”
DimitriputSummitonthemapinthe2000sbyproducingmoreOlympicgymnaststherethananyothertrainingfacilityinAmericanhistory—LindsayTillerson,Jasmine,andplentyofothers.Butafter2012,heleftSummittofoundhisowngym,Powerhouse.Summitwastakenoverbyoneofitsownlongtimecoaches,MaryLi,butIhaven’theardmuchabouther.Itsoundslikeshepreferstostaybehindthescenesthesedays,runningthebusiness,ratherthantrainingathletesonherown.
“I’mtrainingthisgirlHallieforTokyo,”heexplains,referringtothe2020Olympics.“She’samazing,especiallyonbars.Hardworkinganddeterminedlikeyou’veneverseenbefore,realnaturaltalent,totalstarquality.Maybeyou’veheardofher?”
“Um,believeitornot,Ihaven’tbeenkeepingupmuchwiththesportlately,”Isay.
Thetruthisthatif2012hadgonedifferentlyforme,ImightnothavethehardfeelingsthatIdonow.
“I’moptimisticaboutherchances,”hesays.“Barsisonlock.She’sstrongonvaultandbeam,too.Butfloorisaweakspotforher.Herroutinehasanimpressivelyhighlevelofdifficulty,especiallywhenitcomestotumbling,butshekeepsgettingdingedonexecution.Herartistrycouldbebetter.”
Iknowwhathemeans.Therearetwotypesofgymnasts:thepowerhouseswhonailsky-hightumblingandhavesomuchenergy,theynearlybounceoutofbounds,andthedelicatedancerswhocaptivatefanswithbeautifulchoreography,butneverattemptthetoughesttricks.Iwasamongthelatter.Youcan’tchoose—youworkwithwhatcomesnaturallytoyou.Atfive-foot-three,Iwasrelativelytallandelegantforagymnast,andmyflexibilityputthefamouslybendyRussianstoshame.FloorwaswhereIshone—Ihadasenseofpoiseandpresencetomyartistrythat’salmostimpossibletoteach.Youeitherhaveitoryoudon’t.
“I’mlookingforanassistantcoachtocomeonboardtoleadhertrainingonfloor,”Ryancontinues.“There’sonlysomuchIcandotohelpher.”
Gymnasticsissplitbygender:womenandmencompeteonbothfloorexerciseandvault,thoughwomenalsodobalancebeamandunevenbars,whilemendoparallelbars,highbar,rings,andpommelhorse.ButeventhoughRyanandIbothdidfloor,theeventisdrasticallydifferentformenandwomen.Webothperformeddifficultandexcitingskills,buthisfocusedonbrutestrengthwhileminewereinterwovenwithdynamicchoreography.Itdoesn’tmatterthatRyanearnedanOlympicgoldteammedal,agoldonhighbar,andabronzeonparallelbars.Hisskillsdon’tfullytranslatetowomen’sgymnastics,althoughplentyofmencoachwomen.That’showit’salwaysbeen.Thegreatestcoachesinthesport’shistory—likeIgorItzkovitzand,yes,DimitriFederov—areallmen.
“I’mwonderingifyouwouldwanttocomebythegymthisweekandmeetHallie,”hesays.“Seeifyou’dwanttoworkwithmetotrainher.”
Ican’thelpit.Iactuallylaugh.
“I’mserious,”hepresses.
“Ryan,I’mflattered,butthisisn’tagoodtimeforme,”Iexplain.“Ijustmovedback,andI’mnotreallylookingforcoachingjobs.Imean,I’venevercoachedatthatlevelbefore.”
“Soyou’renotinterested?”heasks.“Imean,Avery,we’retalkingabouttheOlympics.Ipromiseyou,thisgirlhaswhatittakes.Shejustneedstobepolishedupabit.That’swhereyou’dcomein.”
Ihesitate.It’sdarkoutsidenow,andtherowofgoldtrophiesonthetopshelfgleammenacinglyinthelivingroomwindow.
“Ican’t,”Isay.
Hesighsheavilyontheotherendofthephone.“Whydon’tyoutakemynumberincaseyouchangeyourmind?”
“Uh,sure,”Isay.
Iaddhisnumbertomyownphone,eventhoughIknowIwon’tuseit.
“It’snotliketherearedozensofqualifiedcoacheswithOlympicexperiencerunningaroundthistown,”hejokes.
Hiswordsmakemepause.It’slikeUCLAalloveragain,whenmynamewasbiggerthanmyactualachievements.
“JustOlympicTrials,actually,”Isaycurtly.“Inevermadeitanyfurther.Ihavetogo;myfamily’shavingdinner.Takecare,okay?”
Isaygoodbyeandhangup.WhenIturnbacktofacethekitchen,MomandDad’seagerfacesalreadylookhungryfornews.
“Itwasnothing,”Isay,takingmyseat.“JustacallaboutwhetherI’mlookingforacoachingjob.I’mnotinterestedrightnow.Ijustgotback,youknow.”
Theyexchangeglances.
“Itcouldbeagoodopportunity,”Dadventures.
“Andyoushouldhavesomethingtodo,”Momadds.“It’dbegoodforyoutogetoutofthehouse.”
They’reeagerbecausethat’salltheyknow.Gymnastsdon’tascendtherankstobecomeOlympiansunlessthewholefamilyiscommittedfromthestart.Myambitionburnedout,buttheirsneverdid.
“It’sreallynobigdeal,”Isay.“Let’sjusteat.”
Thatnight,Ican’tsleep.TheTMZvideoloopscruellyinmyhead,interspersedwithmymostromanticmomentswithTyler.Iseehimhand-deliveringabouquetoftwodozenwhiterosesandlilies,justbecauseitwasWednesdayandhemissedme.Iflashtohiseyesshuttight,headboppingtothebeatoftheclub’shousemusic.Irememberthesexy,sleepywayhishairstuckupinbedwhenhewokeuponSundaymornings,andthetimeheboughtoutanentiretheatersoIcouldseeashowingofStickItonmybirthday.MybraincutstothewayheslippedhishandintoBrianna’sastheyexitedtheclub,headsduckedfromtheflashingcameras.Andthenthere’sMom’svoice:Youshouldhavesomethingtodo.Somethingotherthanthis:lyingsweatyinatwin-sizedbedinaroomdecoratedbyaneight-year-old.
Fuckit.IfTylercanmoveon,socanI.Idownloadadatingappandthrowtogetherthebarebones:afull-bodyphotofrommyskinnydaysbeforetheFreshman15setin;aclose-upfromTyler’scousin’swedding,whenmyhairandmakeuplookedgood;andnobioatall,becausewhat’stheretosay?Isetmylocationradiustothirtymiles.Evenafterallthistime,mynameiseasytorecognizeinthissmalltown.PeoplestillthinkofmeasthatgirlwhoalmostmadetheOlympics.
It’spast11p.m.—probablytoolatetoswipewithoutlookinglikeI’monlyhereforhookups.ButIfeelamoroselyintoxicatingcombinationofsadnessandloneliness,soIswipeanyway.Irejectthefirstsevenmenrightoffthebatbecauseonceyou’vedatedaprofootballplayeronPeople’s50MostBeautifullist(numberforty-one,butstill),it’stoughtorecalibrateyourstandards.ButIfindagrooveeventually,indicatinginterestinalocalfirefighter,anaccountant,andamiddleschoolmathteacherIvaguelyrecognizeassomeonewhogrewupinGreenwoodacoupleyearsaheadofme.Imatchwiththeteacher—Lucas—andinvoluntarilyshudder.He’snotTyler.It’sdisorientingtoactivelyseekoutothermen.Idon’tknowifIreallyfeelreadyforthis.
hey,Lucasmessagesme.what’sup?
Notmuch,Iwriteback.JustmovedbackherethisweekfromLA,actually.
Yougrewuphere?heasks.
Iholdmybreath.Yeah,Iwrite.
Butmiraculously,hedoesn’tseemtorecognizeme.Instead,heaskswhatI’muptotomorrow.WhenIanswertruthfullythatIhavenothingmajorgoingon,heinvitesmeoutforadrinktomorrownight.Ihesitate,thenswipequicklythroughafewmorepotentialmatches.Nobodyelsestandsouttome.SoIsayyes.It’snotlikeIhaveanythingbettertodo.
JadeCastleisamediocreChineserestaurantwithoneofthefewliquorlicensesinthisformerlyPuritandrytown.Myfamilynevercamehere;wealwayspreferredtoeatatMing’sHouse—notthatIcouldeverhaveanythingbesidesthesteamedchickenandbroccoli—becauseJadeCastlehasalwaysattractedalessfamily-friendlycrowd.WhenIarriveatseventhirtytonight,Ispotthefatherofoneofmymiddleschoolclassmatessittingatthebarwithagirlhalfhisage,andalargeroundtablecrowdedwithboysinmatchinglacrosseteamjackets,probablyusinganexpiredIDswipedfromanolderbrother.Itakeanemptybarstool;I’mnotsureifLucasintendedforustoeatornot.Whenabartenderasksifshecangetmeadrink,Iawkwardlydecline.It’sbeenaverylongtimesinceI’vebeenonafirstdate,anditfeelslikethemusclehasatrophied.Ifeltoptimisticsettingupthedateontheapp,butnowmyconfidencehasevaporated.
Lucaswalksinatsevenforty,whenI’monthevergeoflosingmynerveandleaving.
“Avery?”heasks,tiltinghisbaseballcapuptorevealababyfaceandasmatteringoffreckles.HehasanarrowerframethanIexpected;aBostonRedSoxjerseyhangsfromhisshoulders.
“Hi,”Isay,unsurewhethertoriseandhughim.
Imakeanattempttostand,butmyfeetgettangledbehindthelegofthebarstool.Heslouchesontotheseatnexttomeinsteadandleaveshisphonefaceuponthebar.
“Youwantabeer?”heasks,notquitemakingeyecontact.
“Uh,sure,”Ioffer.
Whenthebartenderglancesourway,heholdsuptwofingers,andmouths,“Two.”Igetthedistinctsensethathe’sbeenhereonplentyofdates.Hedrumshisfingersonthebarinastaccatorhythm,thenvisiblyrelaxesonceheseesherreturningwithourdrinks.
“So,LA,huh?”heasksfinally.
“Yeah.”
“Why’dyoumoveback?”
Thequestionmakesmefrantic.“Uh,Ijustneededachange.”
“Mustbewickedniceoutthere,”hecomments.“Warm.Beautiful.Yougotothebeachalot?”
IfeelstupidtellinghimIspentsixyearsinLAandcancountmynumberofbeachdaysononehandbecauseIwasn’tconfidentenoughtowearabathingsuit
“Yeah,allthetime,”Ilie.
It’sobviousthatthisdateisnotofftoastrongstart.Andwhat’sworse,it’snotastretchtoimaginemyfutureasastringofeveningsjustlikethisone,probablyatthisexactbar,probablywhileLucasconductsasimilarstringofdatesafewbarstoolsdown.
“So,youteach?Whatarethekidslike?”Iask,turningtheconversationtohim.
“Thekidsarefine.BunchofGoodyTwo-shoes,acoupleofclassclowns,mostlysmartkids,”hesays.“Youknowhowthistownis.”
Ido.Thesuburb’sstrongpublicschoolsystemattractsawildlyoverachieving,goal-orientedpopulation.WhenIwasinelementaryschool,nobodythoughtitwasweirdthatIspentsixteenhoursafterschooleveryweektraininginagymbecauseeveryoneelsespentthatamountoftimeonhorsebackridinglessons,pianolessons,theaterclasses,orallthree.
Idon’tknowwhatelsetosay,soIcastaroundforanythingwemighthaveincommon.
“Is,god,what’shername?Mrs.Marcotti?Isshestillteachingmaththesedays?”
Henodsandrollshiseyes.“Yep.Withastickupherass.”
“Shewasatoughteacher,”Isay,ignoringtherudecomment.
“Youhadher?”heasks.
“Yeah,inseventhgrade?Eighth,maybe?”
“Me,too.Whatyeardidyougraduate?”
“Uh,2010?Imean,technically.Iwaskindofhomeschooledthelastfewyears.”
Hecockshisheadandreallystaresatme.Forafewstretched-outseconds,neitherofusspeak.
“You’rethatgirl,”hesays,squintinglikehe’stryingtorecallthedetails.“Thegymnast.”
“Yeah,”Isayquickly,sippingmybeerinanattempttoshutdownthislineofconversation.
“Youwerethatgirlinthatvideo!”Hisvoicegetslouder.
Mybloodrunscold.Inmymostpatheticmoments,I’vewatchedthedamnvideoalone.ButLucasisjubilant,leaningincloserbuttalkinglouderthanever.
“Iknewyoulookedfamiliar!”hesayscheerfully.
Ifeelcornered.Ishrugandtrytocastaroundforanothertopicofconversationtodistracthim.
“So,doyouever—”
LucasopensYouTubeonhisphoneandstartstotypein“worstgymnasticscrashes.”Itdoesn’ttakehimlongtozeroinonthecliphe’ssearchingfor.Hegleefullyhitsplay,andIhearthefamiliarroarofanathleticarenacutthroughthebar’sdin.Icanhearthefaint,singsongychantofmyname—“Let’sgo,A-ve-ry,let’sgo!”Idon’tneedtowatch;Iknowitbyheart:me,nineteenyearsold,inashimmeringredleotardandaponytail,performingthesharplysultryopeningdancemovesofmyfloorroutineatthe2012OlympicTrials.Evenalltheseyearslater,themusicstirsmymuscles;thisiswhereIpirouette;thisiswhereIrollmyhip.Igroundmyselfbackintorealityonthebarstool,willingmyselfintostillness.
ButIcan’tforgetwhatIknowisplayingouton-screen:theyoungerversionofmelaunchingintomyfirsttumblingpass.It’sthemostimpressiveoneofmyroutine:round-off,backhandspring,whip,backhandspring,double-twisting,doublebacksomersault.Ihadperformeditathousandtimesbefore.Butthistime,IunderrotatedandcamecrashingdownontothebluespringfloorwhileIwasstillspinning.Therewasahorrificshreddingsensationinmykneebeforemyhandsevenhittheground.
“Gnarly,”Lucassaysemphatically,shakinghisheadatthescreen.“Iusedtowatchthisallthetime.Sick.”
Myfloormusiccontinuesastheaudiencegasps.Iscream.Lucastapsthescreentowatchthecrashoveragain,cuttingshortthemomentwhenDimitrirushedontothefloortocarrymeawayinhisarms.MystomachlurchesasIwatchLucasleanevenclosertothevideo.
Iclearmythroat.“Pleaseturnthatoff,”Isay.
“Ican’tbelievethisisyou,”hesays,glancingfrommetothescreen.“Youweresotinybackthen.”
Hemakesnomovetostopthevideo.
“Canyou—?”Inajoltoffrustration,Igrabthephoneoutofhishandsandshutthevideooff,leavingthephonefacedownonthebar.
Idomybestattemptatasmile,butIcansenseitcomesoutallthinandstrained.
“Whoa,”Lucassays,holdinguphishandsasiftoprovehe’sharmless.
“Idon’tliketowatchthat,”Itrytoexplainascalmlyaspossible.Iswallow.“Thatrightthere?Thatwastheendofmygymnasticscareer.Andalotofstuffchangedformeafterthat.Itwashard,okay?So,please,let’sstopwatchingit.”
“Noneedtobesointense,”Lucassaysdefensively.Heslurpsdownhisbeer.“Igotit.”
Somehow,Ihaveahardtimebelievinghe’s“gotit.”IhadtrainedforthatmomentsincethetimeIwasfouryearsold,whenmyballetinstructorcomplainedIhadtoomuchenergyfordanceandsuggestedIswitchtogymnasticsinstead.Byageeight,Iwaspracticingfourtimesaweek.Attwelve,Isatinastraddleonmylivingroomfloor,transfixedasLindsayTillersonwontheall-aroundgold—IknewIcouldfollowinherfootsteps.Twoyearslater,IconvincedmyparentstoletmedropoutofschoolandstudywithatutorsoIcouldtrainfull-timeunderthelegendarycoachDimitriFederov.Inthissport,it’soutrageousforanyonetoclaimaneasypathtoOlympicglory.ButeveryonefromDimitritoJasminetothegirlswhosentmefanemailsallsaidthesamething:Ihadabetterchancethananyotherathleteoutthere.
IwasfuriousthatI’djustmissedthecutofftobeeligibleforthe2008Olympics.Sixteenistheminimumagetocompete,andmybirthdayfelljustweeksaftertheBeijinggamesattheendofAugust.SoIthrewmyselfintothenextfouryearsoftraining,desperatebecauseIhaddreamedofthisonemomentfornearlymyentirelife.
TheOlympicTrialsforgymnasticsareheldjustsevenweeksbeforetheactualOlympicGames.TrialsandtheGamesareheldcloselytogethertolimitthelikelihoodofanythingdisastroushappeninginthemiddle;godforbidagymnastsprainanankle,orworse,develop.In2012,fourteenathletescompetedforjustfivespotsontheteam,plusthreealternates.Iperformedbeautifullyalldaylong,andfloorwasmyfinaleventofthecompetition.Ilikedtheideaoffinishingonahighnote.
AndthenIcrashed.Itwasover.Allofit.Gone.Recoveringfromsurgerywastoughbecauseitseemedasiftherewasnothingtorecoverfor.Iwasnineteenyearsold.Evenifmykneehealedwell,IwastoooldtoseriouslyconsidertheprospectoftrainingforRioinfouryears.Thecruelrealityofthesportisthatyoutrainyourentirelifeforoneevent,andthenthemomentdisappearsinaflash.Bytwenty-one,twenty-two—forgetabouttwenty-three—yourbodyhastakenbeatingsfortoomanyyears.
So,thesamenightmycareerended,Jasmine’stookoff.Shedidn’tjustmaketheOlympicteam—shebecamethestarofit.WhileshecompetedinLondon,Iwatchedthecompetitiononthecouch,recoveringfromkneesurgery.InlullsbetweenperformancesfromtheAmericangymnasts,thecommentatorsnotedthatAveryAbrams,widelyconsideredthefront-runner,theshoo-in,hadn’tmadetheteamduetoalast-minuteinjury.Theyrattledmynameofflikeafunfact,thesamewaytheycommentedonthearchitectureofthestadiumandthenumberofSwarovskicrystalssewnontocompetitionleotards.Jasminewonagoldonbars,asilveronbeam,andagoldteammedal.
IhadimaginedthatI’dreturnhomefromLondonasAmerica’ssweetheart.I’dmodelforWheatiesboxes,chatuptalkshowhosts,andlandSportsIllustratedcoversforafewmonths.Then,oncethemainstreaminterestinmyathleticprowesshaddieddown,I’denjoyareveredcareerwithintheworldofgymnastics.I’dbeacommentatoronTV,designacollectionofleotardsforGK,andgivemotivationalspeechestoaspiringathletesacrossthecountry.TherewasnoplanB.
Meanwhile,JasminewasontheWheatiesbox.ShewasonthecoverofnotonlySportsIllustrated,butPeople,Seventeen,andEssence,too.ShewasinvitedtoNewYorkFashionWeekandtheGrammys.ShewonDancingwiththeStarsandseemedtobeEllenDeGeneres’snewbestfriend.Littlegirlsacrossthecountrydidcartwheelsinleotardsshedesigned.Wehadbeenbestfriends,trainingsidebysideforsixyears.Atfirst,shecalledoften,askingsincerequestionsaboutmykneesurgeryandsayingshewishedIcouldbetherewithher.SheevensentmeacarepackageofsouvenirsfromLondon—BritishchocolatebarsandacommemorativemugstampedwithPrinceWilliamandKateMiddleton’sweddingportrait,takentheyearbefore.Icouldbarelystandtoreply,andIletourfriendshipwithertomonthlytexts.IsawherinpersonjustonceaftertheOlympics;itwashertwentiethbirthdaydinner,andIcouldn’tcomeupwithaplausibleexcusetoturndowntheinvitation.Itfeltlikeallthecomforthadbeensuckedoutoftheairbetweenus.Shedidn’tbothertextingatallafterthat.
Lucasmakesashowofslidinghisphoneintohispocket.Idon’tknowwhattheprotocolisforendingabaddateearly,butIsensewithabsoluteclaritythatIshouldleave.IsawawomanonTVonceslapmoneyonthebarandsaunteraway,whichlookedsupremelyclassy,butI’mnotcarryinganycash.Idon’twanttoleaveLucas—asawfulasheis—withthebill,justonthematterofprinciple.Instead,beforeIlosemynerve,IclearmythroatandtellLucasI’mleaving.
“I’mgoingtoheadout,buthaveagoodnight,”Isay.
Isignalthebartender.AsIwaitforhertocomemyway,Istarestraightahead,notbraveenoughtoevenglanceatLucas.
Hesputters,“You’releaving?Now?”
Ihandmycreditcardtothebartender.“Justfortheonedrink,please,”Itellher.ThenIturntomydate.“I’msorry,yes,I’mleaving.It’sbeenalongnight.”
IgrabmypurseandjacketandstridethroughJadeCastletogettotheparkinglot.I’veonlyhadafewsipsofbeer;Ishouldbefinetodrivehome.BeforeIbackthecaroutofthespot,myfingersfindthepresetfortheangriestindierockchannelontheradio.Thepresetshaven’tchangedsinceIwasinhighschool.Itakethefamiliarturnsthroughthetowncenter,replayingLucas’smoronicallycruelbehavioronaloopinmyhead.IfIhadtoventureaguess,thisisnothowTylerfeltafterhisfirstnightoutwithBrianna.
WhenIreachmydrivewayafewminuteslater,I’mstilltooangrytogetoutofthecar.IknowthatwhenIwalkintothehouse,MomandDadwillprobablypeppermewithquestionsabouthowthenightwent,andI’mnotreadytofacethat.
IlookupRyan’sphonenumberinmycontacts.Theunfamiliarareacodeisproofthathe’sanoutsider—afreshstart.Hesawmeinthecontextofthesport,wherecareer-endingfallsareunfortunatelymorecommonthanyoumightthink.They’reparforthecourse,notalocaltragedy.UnlikeLucas,Ryan—hopefully—doesn’tlookatmeandthink,trainwreck.He’sseenmedrapedingoldmedals.Andit’snotlikeIhaveanythingelsegoingon.Idialhisnumber.
“Avery?”heasks,soundingconfused.
“I’vethoughtaboutyouroffer,”Isay,voiceshakingwithremnantsofanger.“I’dliketotakeyouuponit.”
?CHAPTER3?
ArrivingatSummithurlsmebackintime.OnThursdayafternoon,Iswingopenthefrontdoorinadaze,butnooneelseseemsfazedbymyentrance.Momscongregateinthewindowedlobby,watchingtheirchildren’spractice.Theofficeisstillhometoracksofleotardswithmatchingscrunchiesandwarm-upshortsavailableforpurchase.Theentirebuildinghasthemingledscentsofchalkandsweat.Theonlycluestothepassageoftimearetheselectionofphotoshunginthefronthall.Thereusedtobealarger-than-lifeprintofmeatacompetitionwithmysignatureinblackSharpie.It’sgonenow,andinitssteadareaseriesofframedteamportraits.Irecognizeafewofthefaces—theyoungersiblingsofthegirlsinmyagegroup.ThelasttimeIsawthesekids,theyweresevenoreightyearsold.Nowthey’reteenagers.
WhenIenterthelockerroom,Ifeeltheacutesenseofnolongerbelonging.Thenarrowspaceiscrawlingwithskinnykidswhodon’tyetknowthatthescrunchedcottonunderwearhangingoutthesidesoftheirleotardsmakesthemlooklikeamateurs.Themiddleoftheroomisoccupiedbystacksofcubbiesstuffedwithgymbags,grips,sweatpants,andUggs.Myusualoneisoccupied,soIfindanemptyspottostoremysocksandsneakers.ItightenmyponytailandsteelmyselftofindRyaninthemaintrainingarea.
IopentheglassdoorthatseparateswaitingparentsfromthegymnastsandcoachesandscanthegymforRyan.Theroomisthickwithmemories.EverywhereIlook,Iflashbacktoyoungerversionsofmyself:sixandcryingbecauseIjuststraddledthebeamwhenIwassupposedtolandacartwheel;twelveandhighontheadrenalinerushofmyfirstgiantonbars;eighteenandpreppingmyfloorroutineforNationals.IspotRyanandagirlIassumetobeHalliesequesteredonastretchofmatsbyamirror.They’reconditioning—thefull-bodyworkoutdesignedtobuildthestrengthnecessarytoperform.Iusedtodoanhouradayofcrunches,push-ups,squats,ropeclimbs,andmore,justtostayincompetitiveshape.Ryan’sintrackpantsandaT-shirt,holdingastopwatchasHalliedoesV-upswithweightsstrappedtoeachankle.
IcallhisnameasIapproach.Heglancesatme,thendownatthestopwatch.
“Thirtymoreseconds,Hal,”hesays.Shegruntsinrecognitionandkeepsworking.“Welcomeback,Avery,”hesays,givingafirmhandshake.
“Thanksforhavingme,”Isay.
It’soddtoseehimallgrown-upnow,andIwonderifhefeelsthesamewayaboutme.Insomeways,ofcourse,helooksexactlythesame:chocolate-browneyes,highcheekbones,adimpleinhisleftcheek,athinscaroverhisrighteyebrow,animpressivelystrongphysique.Buthisthick,darkhairislongerontop—Iguesshecanwearitlikethat,nowthathe’snolongercompeting—andthere’sasmatteringofstubbleonhissharpjaw.Upclose,IcanseeacolorfulsliverofatattoopeekingoutfromthesleeveofhisT-shirt.Ofcourse.HehastheOlympicrings,justlikehisteammatesdo.JustlikeIwouldhave,ifthingshadgonedifferently.
“Whatdoyouthinkofbeingbackhereagain?”heasks.
Itakeintheviewofthegym,catchingsightofcoachesIrecognizefromwaybackwhen.“It’sweird,”Iadmit.“Butthisplacefeelslikehome.”
“That’soneofthereasonsIthoughtyou’dbeperfectforthejob,”hesays,clearlypleasedthatIfeelthesameway.“Iwanttotaketodayslowly.Gettoknoweachother.HaveyoumeetHallie.Seehowitgoes.”
“Youknow,Idon’tknowifyouandIhaveeverreallyhungout,”Isay.Ifeellikeoneofushastonotethatthisisourfirstproperconversation—we’vealwaysbeenineachother’sorbit,butthatdoesn’tmeanweactuallyknoweachother.
“I’mprettysureIaskedyoufordirectionstothevendingmachineatsomecompetitiononce,”hesays,shrugginglikehe’sjusttakingavaguestabatamemory.
Buthe’snot.BecauseIrememberit,too.
He’stalkingaboutNationalstheyearIwassixteen,whenthecompetitionwasheldatanarenainHouston,Texas.Thespacewaslargeandconfusinglylaidout;Imusthavewalkedincirclesforfiveminutesonmywaytofindingthebathroom.Iwasreturningfromthewomen’srestroomwhenIspottedRyan—orCuteRyan,asJasmineandIcalledhim.Wehadseeneachotheraroundatothercompetitionsbefore,buthadn’teverspoken.Still,Iwasprettyconfidentthatherecognizedme.
“Hey,Avery—it’sAvery,right?”hehadasked.
Iwassecretlythrilledthatheknewmyname.
“Yeah,”Isaid,tryingnottoblush.
Iwantedtoprojectthefa?adethathotguysspoketomeallthetime.Totallynormal.Yawn.
“Anychanceyouknowwhichwaythevendingmachinesare?Thisplaceislikeamaze,”hesaid.
Luckily,Ihadjustwalkedpastthem.Ipointedhimintherightdirection.Iwonthegoldall-aroundmedallaterthatday,cementingmystatusasagymnasttowatch.ButwhenIthinkbacktothatcompetition,whatstandsoutisthetwinkling,giddyadrenalinerushfromCuteRyanknowingmyname.
Alltheseyearslater,Ifeelvindicated,knowingthatI’mnottheonlyonewhorememberstheinteraction.
“Youknowthere’samachineinthelobbyhere,right?”Itease.
“Yeah,thisone,Igotcovered,”heshootsback.
Thestopwatchbeeps.“Done!”hecallstoHallie.Shecollapsesonthemat.“Comeover,I’llintroduceyou,”Ryansays.
Halliesitsup,clutchesherstomachforamoment,andundoestheVelcrostrapssecuringherankleweights.I’msurethatwhateversetofrepsshejustcompletedwasnojoke,butsheleapstoherfeet.Herauburnponytailswingsoverherbroadshoulders.She’smuscularandcompact;therippledoutlineofasix-packisvisiblethroughthefuchsiaLycraofherleotard.
“Hallie,thisisAvery.She’sgoingtobecoachingwithmetoday,”heexplains.“Avery,Hallie.”
Shegivesmeashysmile.“Hi.I’msureyoudon’trememberme,butIwasalevelfourwhenyouweretraininghere.Irememberyou.”Shemusthavebeenoneoftheskinnykidsrunningaroundinthelockerroomyearsago.
“Oh,really?Wow,”Isay,unsurewhatelsetoadd.Backthen,Iwassofocusedonmyowntraining,Ibarelynoticedthekids.
“Yourposterwasinthelobby,”sherecalls.“Iwantedtobejustlikeyousomeday.”Instantly,hercheeks—alreadypinkfromexertion—flushred.
“Well,I’msureyoucanaspiretoloftiergoals,”Isay.
“No,youweregreat,”Ryansaysconfidently.
Idon’twanttotarnishhisperceptionofmylifesincethen,soIletthesubjectdrop.“Whatareyouworkingon?”Iaskbrightly.
“Finishingupconditioning,”Ryansays.“Wehavefifteenminutesleft.Thenwe’llmoveontofloor,cool?”
“Cool,”HallieandIsayinunison.
RyanalternatesbetweenleadingHalliethroughherremainingrepsandfillingmeinonthesituation.Hallieissixteennow;hemovedheretocoachherthreeyearsago,notlongafterhecompetedinRio.TheOlympicsarethelong-termgoal,ofcourse,butthenexthurdleistheWorldChampionships,heldlaterthismonthinStuttgart,Germany.She’sverystrongonbarsandvault,andprettysolidonbeam.Butshe’sfeelinglessconfidentwhenitcomestofloor.HewantsmetowatchherroutineandseehowIcanhelpherpolishit.
“Warmupyourtumbling,”heinstructsHallie,onceshefinishesconditioning.
Sherefillsherwaterbottle,takesaslurp,thentrotstoonecornerofthebluespringfloortopracticehertumblingpasses.She’sdiligent,efficient,andpolite;shebouncesindiagonallinesfromcornertocorner,lettingother,youngergirlstumbleacrossherinbetweenpasseswhileshecatchesherbreath.Theothergymnastsdefertoherwithanobvioussenseofreverence.Hallie’sskillsarestrong,andshemoveswithapowerfulsenseofenergy.It’stoopowerful,infact—attheendofeachtumblingpass,shebobsandstumblestocontrolhermotion.
Next,shewarmsuptheotherelementsofherfloorroutine:leaps,jumps,pirouettes,smalleracrobaticelements.Here,IseewhyRyanisconcerned.Shehastalentinspades,butlackspoise.Theonelessoncoachesdrillintogymnastsfromthefirstlessonistoalwayspointyourtoes.Halliepointshers—butnotwiththesharplinesorintensemuscularfocusthatsheshould.Untilyou’vefeltyourthighsquakingasyourtoescurltowardyourheels,youhaven’treallypointedyourtoes.
Theproblem,Irealize,ispresentation.Herchinneedstobeafractionhigher,hershouldersshouldpullbackbytwoinches.Herpostureisstiffandstrong,lackinggrace.Shegoesthroughthemotionsofeachskillinatechnicallyaccurateway,butthat’sit.She’smoving,notperforming.IfIcouldteachherhowtodothat,shecouldbeachampion.
If.Idon’tknowifIcan.Idon’tknowifanyonecan.It’salotofpressure.
“Whatdoyouthink?”Ryanasks.
Igetthesensehe’sbeenwatchingmetakeherintogaugemyreaction.
“She’sgood,”Isaytruthfully.“Reallygood.”
“But…”heprompts.
Ihesitate.“Shecouldbebetter,”Iadmit.
Henodsandsilentlywatcheshischargework.Shesquatswithonelegextended,thenwindsuptoperformaclunkypirouettewithherfootmaneuveringinchesabovetheground.It’sanawkwardspin—knownasthewolfturn—buttheOlympiccodeofpointsawardsitaninsanelyhighdifficultyscore,soalmosteverytopgymnastattemptstosqueezeitintotheirfloorandbeamroutinesthesedays.I’mgladthemovewasn’tinvoguewhenIwascompeting.
“Howwouldyouwanttotrainher?”heasks.
“I’dwanttoseeherperformafullroutinefirst,justtogetabettersenseofwhereshe’sat,”Isay.“Butalready,Icansaythatsheneedstofocusonherperformance.She’stalented,andherskillsareimpressive,butshecouldlookalotmorepolished.Andhertumblingneedstogetundercontrol—sheneedstostickthoselandings.”
Ryannodsinagreement,andthatgivesmetheconfidencetokeepgoing.
“Itallboilsdowntooneproblem,really,”Iexplain.“Sheneedstobesharper.Moreincontrol.Cleanlines,solidlandings,moreintentionalmovement—that’swhat’smissing.”
Ipivottofacehim,andI’mgratefultoseeabemusedexpressiononhisface.“Maybeyou’reright,”hesays.Hecallsoutacrossthegym,“Hallie,readytorunaroutine?Let’sshowAveryherewhatyoucando.”
Ryanconnectshisphonetoastereosystemandcallsfortheothergymnaststoclearthefloor.Theyscatter,givingHallieawideberthasshemakesherwaytoaspotafewfeetfromonecornerofthefloor.Shefreezesintoaposewithherleftlegextendedandherrightarmaboveherhead.Then,atinklingfluteleadsintoasweepingpianomelody,andherbodycomesalive.Thestructureofherroutineisfamiliar:afewbriefdancesteps,animpressivetumblingpass,followedbyaseriesofhastilyexecutedacrobaticmovementsandartisticelementsdesignedtopropelherintoanewcornerofthefloor,whereshelaunchesintoanothertumblingpass.Thestructurerepeatsagain,givingherexactlyninetysecondstopackalifetime’sworthoftrainingintoasingleperformance.
There’snodenyingit—it’sagoodroutine.Butit’snotthekindofshowthatbringshomeOlympicmedals.Here,too,herpostureisrigid;hermotionsseemroteanduninspired.Theelegantmusicshe’schosendoesn’tfitherstyleatall.
“Howlonghasshebeencompetingwiththisroutine?”IaskRyan.
“It’schangedabitovertheyears,butbasically,she’sbeendoingthisforforever,”hesays.
Inod.“Sheneedsanupgrade,”Isay.
“Newmusic?Newchoreography?”heasks,lookingconcerned.“Now?Withlessthanayeartogo?”WebothlookbacktothefloorasHallielandsherfinaltumblingpass,throwsherarmsintoadramaticflair,thensinksintoherendpose.Sheholdsitforasecond,thenflopsdownonherback,chestrisingandfallinghardwiththeintensityofherbreath.Floorisanendurancetest;thebestgymnastsmakeitlookeffortless,butthat’sjustanact.
“Yeah,now,”Isay.“Thisisokay,butitdoesn’tplaytoherstrengths.Andthere’ssomuchtorefine.Itcouldbebetterforhertostartfromscratchandlearnsomethingsheloves,ratherthanbeatingadeadhorsehere.”
Ryangrimacesandrollshisneck,lettingthevertebraecrack.Reflexively,Irotatemywristsuntiltheycrunchandpusheachknuckleintoasatisfyingpop.Thesportisbrutalonourjoints.
Halliejoinsusbythestereo.Shehasherhandsonherwaistandshelookslikeshe’stryingnottoappearoutofbreath.
“What’dyouthink?”sheasks,bitingherlip.
“Awesome,”Ryangushes.“GreatheightandrotationonthedoubleArabian;that’sreallycomealongway.Thewolfturnlookstightertoday,too.Yourlefthipisn’tdroppingasmuchanymore.”
Hiscommentsaren’tthefullpicture.OfcourseherdoubleArabianhadfantasticheight—sheexcelsattumbling,eventheforward-rotatingflipsrequiringsuperhumanpowerlikethatone—andsheknowsit.Herwolfturnwaspassable,butthat’shardlythemostpressingitemtocritique.Idon’tknowRyanwellenoughtodetermineifhe’sasoftyorifhejustlacksthegimleteyenecessarytopickapartthesubtletiesofawomen’sfloorroutine.Buteitherway,he’sshortchangingHallie.He’slettingherslidebywithoutthegruelingfeedbacksheneeds.IfDimitrieversawthisroutine,Halliewouldneverheartheendofit.
“Avery?HowdidIdo?”Hallieasks.
Sheradiatesdesperateenergy;Icanfeelhowbadlyshecravesmyapproval.Iwasjustlikeheronce.
“Thatwasverygood,”Isayhonestly,steelingmyselftobestraightwithher.“Butthere’sroomforimprovement,andI’dlovetoworkwithyou.”
Herjawsetswithdisappointment.“Yeah?”sheasks.
Sheshiftsherweightontoonehipandcrossesherarmsacrossherchest.Themuscularcurvesofhertricepsjutoutproudly,andforasplitsecond,awaveofdoubtwashesoverme.Mytricepsaresoftandflabby.Sevenyearsago,sure,IcoulddowhatHalliejustdid.Icoulddoitbetter.Butnow?WhoamItotellthislean,powerfuldynamohowtoimprove?
Hallie’shazeleyesnarrow,andinthem,Irecognizeaself-consciousflicker.Iseeherswallowhard.IfI’mguessingright,she’sgifted,hardworking,butanxious.Ibetsheknowshernaturaltalentandambitioncanonlytakehersofar.Ryanknowsit,too.That’swhyI’mhere.Inmyexperience,acoachcan’tonlybeyourfriend—theyhavetopushyou,too.Ryandoesn’tseemlikethetypetozeroinonagymnast’sinsecuritiesandmanipulatethemintomotivation,thewayDimitridid.Butifhe’saneffectivecoachonbars,beam,andvault,thenmaybeIcouldbethebadcoponfloor.Gymnasticsisclassifiedasanindividualsport,butit’snotreally.Nogymnastcansucceedwithoutacoachshapingthemintothebestversionofthemselves.
“Yeah,”Isay,straighteninguptomyfullheight.
ItakeadeepbreathandtrytoplasteronthefrontofcalmconfidenceIusedtowearincompetitions.I’moutofpractice.
“Don’tgetmewrong,you’reincredible,”Isay.IexplainwhatI’vealreadytoldRyan.“Butyourexecutionissloppyandrushed.Yourlandingsaren’tclean.Yourpostureisstiff.Yourtoesaren’tevenonehundredpercentpointed.”
“Ipointmytoes,”shefiresback.“I’mnotababy.”
I’mstunnedintosilence.IfIhadgivenDimitrisomuchsass,Iwould’vesufferedthroughanextrahourofconditioningalone.
“YouhavetheskillsofanOlympian,butyoudon’tlooklikeone,”Isumup.Isoundcold,butIdon’tcare.Sheneedstohearit.“I’mbeingstraightwithyoubecauseIknowhowhardyou’veworkedforgodknowshowmanyyears,andIdon’twantthattobeawaste.Youhaveashot.Letmehelpyougetthere.”
ShegapesalittleandturnstoRyan.Heshrugsandjutshischinoutatme.
“Showherwhatyoumean,”hesays.“Goahead.”
Ithinkforamoment.Icouldrunthroughfeetstretchesuntilshelearnedwhatitreallymeanstopointhertoes,butthatfeelslow-impact,unimpressive,andpossiblyasorespot.Instead,Itellhertofollowmetoamirroredwallalongonesideofthefloor.
“Showmetheverybeginningofyourroutine,”Iinstruct.“Justthedanceelementsbeforeyourfirsttumblingpass.”
Shegetsintoposition,pauses,thenlaunchesintomotion.Herarmsswing,herlegsbend,herheadtilts.Shepivotsandshimmiesintoplace.Theentirethingtakesfiveseconds.Whenshe’sdone,shelooksupatmewithaflat,expectantlook.
“Okay,no,”Isay.“Thestartofyourroutineiswhereyoudrawpeoplein.It’sanopportunitytoshowcasewhatyou’vegot—notatimetorushthroughafewstepsofchoreographybeforegettingtothebig,flashystuff.Insteadofthat,itcouldbethis.”
Icopyhermovements,butampthemup.Eacharmmovementendsinasharpflickofmyfingers.Eachstepistakenwithperfectlypointedtoes.Ipivotwithadramaticbumpofmyhip.AsIspin,Icatchmyreflectioninthemirror,andfeelanothercrashingwaveofnostalgia.
“See?Yourturn.”
Sheresumesherposition,thendivesintothefirststep.
“No,”Isay,cuttingheroff.
Isquatdownnexttoherandpushherfootintothearchedpositionitneedstobe.Heranklestiffensatfirst,thenreluctantlyturnstoputty.
“Likethat,”Isay.“That’syourfirststep.It’snotjustaboutmovingyourfootfrompointAtopointB—it’saboutcreatinganintentionalshape.Dancecanbepowerful,too.”
“Likethis?”sheasks,rockingbackandforthfromherinitialposeintothestep.
Shewatchesherselfinthemirrorandbendsherkneeexperimentally.
“That’sbetter,”Isay.“Again,fromthetop.”
Weworklikethisfortenminutes,dissectingeachstepofchoreographyuntilsheunderstandsexactlywhenandhowtomoveeachmuscleinherbody.Ibetshe’dratherbepracticinganewskillordrillingtumblingpassesuntilshecanstickoneperfectly,butsheletsmetrainher.WhenIdemonstrateamoveforher,shestudiesmecarefully.Andwhensheregurgitatesthechoreographybackatme,sheattacksitwithnewenergy.Asshehonesinontherightmotions,shelookscloserandclosertothewayIwould’veperformedthischoreographywhenIwasherage.Itbreaksmyheart.Butit’snotmytimeanymore.TheonlywayIcanbelongtoelitegymnasticsnowislikethis,asamentor.
Ryanhadbeenwatchingquietlyfromthesidelines,butnowhestepsinwithasuggestion.“Trythewholeroutineagain,”hesays.“Throwallthatinthere.”
I’mskeptical—youdon’trelearnhowtomoveyourentirebodyafterjusttenminutesofinstruction.Youcan’tsimply“throwallthatinthere”andexpectrealchange.ButHallietakesherusualplaceonthefloorandwindsupforanotherroutine.
Whentheopeningnotesofhermusicringout,shefliesintoaction.Thefirstfewstepsofchoreographyaresharpernow,butsoonenough,herpoisefalters.Hershouldersslumpforward,herchindrops,hertoesgoslack.
“Hip!”Ryanroarsoverthemusic,asshesinksdownintoawolfturn.
Inresponse,herbodyflinchesintoposition.Shepullsofftheturnwellandboundsintothehomestretch.Whentheroutineisfinished,shewalksbacktous,panting.
“Better?”sheasks.
“Thebeginningwasmuchbetter,”Iadmit.
“Looksgreat,”Ryansays.
Iwaitforhimtogivehernotesontherestofherlacklusterroutine,buthedoesn’t.Instead,heclapsherontheshoulder.Thisgymnast-coachdynamicisonehundredandeightydegreesoppositefromwhatIwasraisedon—I’mnotsureIunderstandit.
“Let’sbreakonthisfornow.Grabyourgrips,andmeetmeatbarsinfive,”heinstructs.
“?’Kay.Thanks,Avery!Thiswascool,”shesays,givingmeanexhilaratedhighfive.
It’snotmyplacetoarguecoachingstrategyinfrontofher.RyanandIwatchasshescampersawaytowardthelockerroom.
“Niceworktoday,”Ryansays,turningtowardmeandshovinghishandsinhispockets.“Thanksforcomingin.”
Hecatchesmeoffguard.Ididn’trealizeI’dbedismissedsoquickly.
“Oh,that’sit?That’s—Oh.Thanksforhavingme.”
Henodsatthedoorleadingouttowardthelobby.“I’llwalkyouout,”hesays.
Mychesttightensattheprospectofleavingbehindthismustyhavenofadrenalineandambition.Idon’twanttoleave—Iwanttodanglefromthebars,tiptoeacrossbeam,andlaunchmyselfeightfeethighabovethewhitetrampoline.
“So,I’llseeyoutomorrow?”Iaskawkwardly.Mycheeksflush.
Hiseyesstaygluedtothefloor.“I,uh,Idon’tknow.Tobehonest,I’minterviewinganothercoach,too.We’llseehowthingsgo.”
“Who?”Ispitout.
“Doesitmatter?”heasks.Hehesitates,thenadds,“Shewasn’teveratyourlevelherself,butshehasadecademorecoachingexperiencethanyoudo.IthinkshecouldbegoodforHallie.”
“IreallyfeellikeIcanmakeabigdifferencehere,”Iinsist,pushingpasttheinsistentlumpthat’sbeginningtoforminmythroat.“IknowIcan.”
Hedoesn’trespond.Thisishumiliating.I’msurprisedathowboldIamwithhim,butIhavenothinglefttolose.I’mluckyenoughthatthisgigfellintomylap;findinganotheronethatwouldmakemefeelevenafractionasexcitedasI’dbecoachingatSummitdoesn’tseempossible.
We’reatthedoornow.Ryanplaceshishandonthehandle.Parentslinedupingrayplasticfoldingchairspeeratusthroughthewaitingareawindow.TheirpassiveboredominLululemonleggingsandzip-upsissofamiliartome.
“Avery,Ilikeyou.Irespectyou.Iwanttobehonestwithyou—Idon’tknowifthisisgoingtowork,”hesaysapologetically.“Worldsissoclose,andthentherearejustafewmoremonthsuntiltheOlympics.Idon’tknowifyourapproachistherightone.Ithinksheneedstopolishwhat’sshe’sgot—notstartover.”
Amentalimageappearsinaflash:meslippingunderwater,slumpedonthecouchinmyparents’basement,withnothingtolookforwardtotomorroworthenextdayoranydayatall.Idon’thavetoimagineit;Iknowitintimately.ThisgymistheonlyplaceI’veeverfelttrulyathome;thisjobfeelslikeitshouldbemine.Ican’tfathomRyangivingittoanyoneelse.ButIdon’tknowhowtosuccinctlyexplaintheterritorialgreedIfeelforthiscoachinggigandhowbadlyIneeditwithoutsoundingdesperate.
Ryanopensthedoorhandle,andImutter“Thanks”asIpropelmyselfthroughthewaitingarea,downthehallway,andintothelockerroom,whereSummitgymnastswhoaren’tquitegoodenoughhavealwaysgonetobreakdownintosilenttears.
NOVEMBER2019
?CHAPTER4?
AfamiliarvoiceblaresfromtheTV.Icrunchanapplenoisilybetweenmyteethtoblockoutthesound.Myparentsaresprawledoutonthecouchinthelivingroomwiththeirfeetkickedupontheottoman,passingasingleglassofredwinebetweenthemastheywatchtheWorldChampionshipsonTV.
“Hon,you’resureyoudon’twanttowatchwithus?”Momcallsfromtheroomnextdoor.
“It’sJasmine!”Dadadds.“She’sdoinggreat.”
Igroan.
“I’mfineinhere!”Icallback.
JasminehasbeenaregularcommentatorfortelevisedgymnasticscompetitionssincethelastOlympics.AsjealousasIam,shedoesafantasticjob.Herdeepknowledgeofthesport,statusasahouseholdname,andprettyfeaturesmakeforgoodtelevision.
It’sbeentwoweeks.Ryannevercalled.Iassumehemusthavegonewiththeothercoach.IbetthecoachiseventherewithRyanandHallieinStuttgartrightnow.Truly,Ican’timagineaworseeveningthanwatchingapersonwhoknockedmeoutoftherunningforajobwhilelisteningtocommentarythat—hadlifegonedifferently—Icouldbedeliveringinstead.
Ichomponanotherbiteofapplewhileswipingleftonthreemoredatingappprofiles.Ihaven’tbeenoutwithanyonesincemyJadeCastledatewithLucas.Infact,I’vebarelydoneanythingatall.I’vehalf-heartedlycobbledtogetherarésuméandscannedjobboards.IknowIcan’tcoastlikethisformuchlonger—mybankaccountisrunninglow—butIcan’tgetthethoughtoftheSummitjoboutofmyhead.Nothingelsecompares.I’vebeenslightlymoreproactiveonthedatingfront;Ihaveahandfulofconversationsgoingwithdifferentguys,thoughhonestly,I’mtoowarytomeetupwithanyofthem.Anotherprofilepopsup.
Cali>Mass,theprofilereads.Lovefootball,hockey,and420.
Iflickdisinterestedlythroughtheguy’sphotos,ifonlybecausewe’vemadethesamegeographicmove.Inhisthirdphoto,he’swearingaRamsjerseywithTyler’snamestampedacrossit.Iswipeleftand,inafitoffrustration,deletethedatingappfrommyphone.
“Ave,yougottacomeinhere!”Momshouts.“ThatgirlfromSummitiscomingupnext.”
“Andthiscoach,remindme,what’shisname?”Dadasks.
Iwon’tgetanypeaceinhere.
“Coming!”Ishoutbackfinally.
Itrudgeintothelivingroomandperchonthearmofthecouch.There’saglareontheTVfromtheoverheadlightsreflectingoffthetrophycasealongonewall.I’vetoldmyparentstomovethem.Jasmineandadecoratedmalegymnastfromthe’90sareon-screen.Insomeways,shelooksthesame:hereyesstillsparklewithahintoftheglitteryeyelinershe’salwaysloved,andherwarm,brownskinpopsagainstatight,long-sleeved,magentatopthatlooksvaguelyreminiscentofaleotard.Butnow,dolledupforthecameras,she’swearingbrightlipstickthatmatchesheroutfit,andherhairissmooth.
Abannerrunningacrossthebottomofthescreenliststhecommentators’names:BarryMcGuireandJasmineFloyd-Federov.Ialwaysforgetsheworksunderherhyphenatedmarriedname.ThatwastheotherthingthathappenedduringmydownwardspiralinLA:JasmineandDimitri.Theygottogether.Thenewsfeltlikethemostviolenthangoverofmylife.Iturneddowntheinvitationtotheirwedding,citingafamilyreunionthatsameweekend.Itwasalie.
Nothingaboutitfeelsreal.Forstarters,he’smorethantwentyyearsoursenior.Hecalleduseach“girl”interchangeably,likeitwould’vebeentoomuchefforttolearnoruseournames.AndbetweenmeandJasmine,hewasalwaysharderonher.Whenhemockedmyvault,chidedmeforrunninglikeagirl,andmademedolapsaroundthegymwithweightsstrappedtomyankles,Icouldgetthroughit.Iknewhisnextcomplimentwasjustonegoodroutinearoundthecorner.ButwhenJasminewobbledthroughabeamroutineandhescreamedthatshewasa“sloppycow,”everyoneknewthathereallymeantit.Hisabrasivedemeanor,stormymoodswings,cruelnicknames,andoutsizedpunishmentswereintendedtomoldusintochampions,buttheyleftmewithpuredistasteforhim.Ican’tfathomhowJasminesurvivedallthatandcouldstomachmarryinghim.Ifwewerestillfriends,maybeIcouldaskher.MaybeI’dseeadifferentsidetohim.Butmychanceislonggone.
“Now,Halliealwayshasverystrongshowingsonvaultandbars,andtodaywasnoexception.Herbeamroutinewasfairlydecent,butfloorhasn’thistoricallybeenherstrength,”Jasmineexplains.Hertoneisauthoritativebutsympathetic—sheknowsexactlyhowitfeelstobetheunderdog.
Barrytutsinagreement,launchingintoalistofherfloorscoresfromthepastyear.
“ButIhearshe’sbeentraininghardonfloorrecently,solet’sseehowshedoes,”Jasmineaddsdiplomatically.
Shetucksherhairbehindherear,andIcatchaflashofadiamondringglintingonherlefthand.Ijustcan’tfathomhoworwhyshe’swithDimitri.Icertainlycan’timagineherlovinghim.
ThecamerapanstoHallielingeringbytheedgeofthefloor,awaitingherturn.Sherollshertoesunderherfoot,bitesherlip,andtugsonherponytailtotightenitup.She’salone.JasmineandIatleastalwayshadeachother.Beforeeverycompetitionperformance,we’dhuddleup,armsloopedaroundeachother’sshoulders.We’dchantsomethingencouraging,like,“Wegotthis,”or,“You’regonnanailit.”Itmadeusfeelconfident,centered.Andasweapproachedeachperformance,we’dcalloutthesamesingsongychantforeachother:“Let’sgo,Avery,let’sgo!”Clap,clap.“Let’sgo,Jasmine,let’sgo!”Clap,clap.
Ahigh-pitchedbeepringsoutacrossthearena,indicatingthatHallieispermittedtostart.Shestridestoherspotonthefloor,settlesintoposition,andwaitsforhermusictobegin.Iwatchcarefullyasshehitstheopeningstepsofchoreography.Hermovementsaren’tquiteaselegantastheyshouldbe,butatleastherchinisliftedproudlyandhertoesreachtowardasharppoint.Herfirsttumblingpassissky-high,butthere’stoomuchpowerinherlanding;shebobblesoutofplace,andthenoutofbounds.Shetakesthreeseparatestepsasshewincesandstrugglestoslowherinertia.Notgood.
MomandDadgaspandsquint.Oldhabitsdiehard—theystillgetanxiousandoverlyinvested,evenasunattachedbystanders,ratherthanparentswithskininthegame.
“Threesteps,that’sathree-tenthsdeduction,”Jasminenotes.
Hallieslidesdownintoaone-leggedsquattowindupforherwolfturn,lookingdetermined.Shepushesoffthegroundintoahastyspin,butherlefthipdropslikeusual,andherleftheeldragsacrossthefloor—anotherdeduction.
“Oof!”Barrysays.“She’sstruggling.”
Duh.Ireallycoulddobettercommentarythanthis.
Ifeelaprickofpaininmyhand,andrealizeI’mbitingmyknuckleoutofnerves.It’stoughtowatchhersloppyexecutionandstiffstylewhilepowerless,stuckhereinmyparents’mustylivingroom.
Halliedragsherselfthroughtherestoftheroutineandsheepishlysalutesthejudgesbeforetrottingoffthefloor.Ryanwrapshisarmaroundhershouldersandwalkswithherquicklyawayfromthecameras.He’smutteringsomethingunderhisbreath.
“So,thatroutineprobablyknocksHallieoffthepodiumforall-around,butshestillhasashotatmedalingonindividualevents,”Barrysays.
“Let’sgobacktothatgorgeousdoubleArabian,though,”Jasminesuggests.
Sureenough,thechannelplaysbackthatimpressivetumblingrun.JasminewalkstheviewerthroughexactlywhatmakesitsospecialtofillthetimeasthejudgesdeliberateonHallie’sscore.Whenitfinallyarrives—12.475—Halliefurrowsherbrowandlooksaway,dejected.
IfeelmyselftunnelingbackintimetoeveryshakyroutineIperformedatacompetition.Iremembertherawhorrorthatseizedmynerves,thewaymyfrenziedbraintauntedmeonaloop—You’renevergoingtomakeit.Justgiveupnow.Failureisinevitableinthissport;ithappenstoeveryoneatsomepoint.Butthere’snoroomforfailure,notifyouwanttomaketheOlympics.Notifyouwanttowin.Theparadoxiscrushing.
“Poorgirl,”Dadsays.“She’stalented,butthatroutinedidn’tdoheranyfavors.What’dyouthinkofher?”
Isighandslideoffthecouch.“IthinkI’ddoabetterjobcoachingherthanwhoeverRyanhired.”
IknowHallieandRyanwon’tstayinStuttgartforlong.TherearejusteightpreciousmonthstogountilOlympicTrials—notimeforaEuropeanvacation.Ifigurethey’lltravelhomeonSundayandstartpracticeagainonMonday.Igivemyselfoneextraday,justtobesure,andonTuesdaynight,IdrivetoSummit.Ibackintoaparkingspotunderamapletreeandstayinthedriver’sseatsoIcanwatchthelastfewgymnastsstreamoutthefrontdoor.Theyhavepinkcheeksandmessybuns,withbarelegsstuffedintoUggs.IlistentoKiss108,theTop40station,asIwaitforHallietoemerge.
Idressedcarefullytonight:no-nonsenseblackleggingsandwhitesneakerspairedwiththered,white,andbluehoodieeverymemberoftheUSelitewomen’sgymnasticsteamreceivedduringtrainingin2011.Theonce-brightcottonhasfaded,butmynameisstillembroideredonthesleeve—proofthatIoncebelonged.
Sureenough,HallietrudgesoutofthegymwithaphoneinonehandandanelectricyellowbottleofGatoradeinanother.Anavycanvasgymbaghangsfromoneshoulder.Shespotswhatmustbeherdad’scarandmakesherwaytowardit.Idipmyheadandpretendtofiddlewiththeradiodial;Idon’tthinksheseesme.Onceshe’sbuckledupandherdadhaspulledoutoftheparkinglot,IgetoutofmycarandwalktowardthegymbeforeIcanlosemynerve.It’sdark,andachillnipsatmyankles.
InsideSummit,thefluorescentlightsarestilloninthelobby,buttheparentshaveallclearedout.Itakeadeepbreathandventurearoundthecornertotheoffice.Forasplitsecond,thecozyfamiliarityofthecharcoal-gray-fleckedcarpetandtheneatrowsofpaperschedulesthumbtackedtothewallmakemeslipbackintime.IcouldbeheretogiveWinniemyparents’checkforthequarter,ortokilltimebeforepracticebyflickingthroughrowsofplushvelvetandslickLycraleotards.Butit’slate.Winnie’sgonehomeforthenight.Instead,Ryanishunchedbehindthedesk,onefistclenchedtightlyinhishair,theotherproppingupaniPhone,thesoundturnedallthewayup.
“Yes!”hewhispers.“Yes!No!”
Then,sensingmypresence,hesnapshisheadup.
Igiveabelatedknockonthedoorframe.
“Hi.CanIcomein?”Iask.
Hegiveshisphonescreenapainedglance,thenpausesthevideohe’swatching.
“Iwasn’texpectingyou,”hesays.
“Iknow.”
Itakeacoupleofhesitantstepstowardhim.There’snowhereconvenienttosit,soIhoverafewfeetfromthedesk.
“Watchinganythinggood?”Iask,noddingtowardhisphone.
“Football,”hesays,tappingthescreen.“Youafan?”
“Notreally,”Isay.
“I’mwatchingtheRamsslaughtertheGiants,”heexplains.“Theyhavethisquarterback—”
“Yeah,Iknowabouttheirquarterback,”Isaycurtly,cuttinghimoff.
ThisfeelslikeasignthatIshouldn’tevenbehereatall.IwonderwhatTylerwouldthinkifheknewIwasreturningtothegymtobegforajob.He’dprobablynodencouraginglywithpuppy-dogeyes,like,That’sgreat,Ave!andthengothrowawinningpassorwhatever.Iclearmythroat.
“Iwashopingyou’dbeheretonight,”Ibegin.“IwatchedWorlds,IsawHallie…andRyan,she’ssoclose.Shehassomuchpotential,butshe’snotquitesolidenough.Iknowshecandobetter.Youknowit,too—that’swhyyouwerelookingforanewcoachinthefirstplace.”
“Worldswastoughforher,”headmits,lookingaway.
“Look,Idon’tevenknowwhoyouhired.It’snothingpersonal.Butwatchingherflounderlikethatonfloor?Itwaspainful.”
“Andyouthinkyoucandobetter?”heasks.
Inod.“Ireallyrespectyou,Ryan.You’redoinganamazingjobwithher.Butsheneedsextrahelponfloor.RememberhowquicklyshepickedupwhatIwasteaching?Whatifwecoulddothateveryday?Justimaginehowmuchwecouldaccomplishtogether,youandmeandher.”
Myheartisracing.Everythingrestsonhisreaction.Ryanleansforwardontothedeskandrestshischinonhisinterlacedknuckles.Foramoment,hedoesn’tspeak.
Thenfinally,hesays,“Itdidn’tworkout.”
“Theothercoach?”Iask.
Heshakeshishead.“SvetlanaMorozova.Youknowher?”
“Thenameringsabell,”Isay.
“Russian.She’s,like,sixty,superold-school.SheandHalliedidn’treallyclick.”
“Oh.”
Heliftsonedarkeyebrow.“Shelikesyou,though.”
“Ilikeher,too.Igether.Imean,IthinkIdo,”Iadmit.
“Shekindaremindsmeofyou,waybackwhen,”hesays.“Superdetermined,ambitious,followseveryrule.”
Ilaugh;Ihadnoideaheknewmewellenoughtothinkofmeinanyparticularway,muchlesslikethat.Icouldvolleybackajokeabouthowthatdidn’tlastsolong,butitfeelstoosad,giventhereasonIspiraledoutofcontrol.
“Shesoundseasytocoach,then,”Iofferinstead.
Ryannodswordlessly.Heholdsmygazeforabeatlongerthaniscomfortable.Iwantthejobsobadly.
“Icandoit,”Iblurtout.“IwasinHallie’sexactshoessevenyearsago.Iknowwhatshe’sgoingthrough.Iknowhowtotakehertothenextlevel.Floorwasmything—it’swhatIdidbetterthanalmostanyoneelseintheworld.”
“Iremember,”hesays,leaningbackinhisspinningchairandkickinghissneakersupontothedesk.
“IfItrainedHallie,I’dgobacktobasicsandfocusonherpoiseandherposture.I’dfindhernewmusicandgivehernewchoreographythatplaystoherstrengths.”
PitchingmyplantoRyanremindsmeexactlyhowdeeplyIneedthisjob.I’monthevergeofchokingup,butItakeadeepbreathandforcemyselftoholdittogether.
“She’sgonnashine—Iknowit.Just…please.Givemeachance.”
Ryanrunsahandalonghisstubbledjawandsquintsatme.Ifeeltooexposednow;Icurlmyfingersaroundthesleevesofmyhoodieandfoldmyarmstightlyacrossmychest.
“I’lltalktoHallie’sparents,”hesaysfinally.“Iftheysignoffonyouworkingwithher,thenthejobwillbeyours.”
I’mgrinningsohard,mycheekshurt.“Thankyou,”Isay.
ThegravityofRyan’sdecisionfillsmewithagiddysortofdelight;mymindglossesrightoverthefactthattheConwayfamilyhastoapproveofmefirstandskipsstraighttowardablurofpractice,choreography,andchalkdust.IthrowmyarmsaroundRyaninahug,andtomysurprise,heactuallyhugsback.Hepromiseshe’llletmeknowwhenhe’shadachancetospeakwithHallie’sparents.WhenIexitthegym,Idon’tevenfeelthecrispnightair.IfeelthewayIfeltaboutleavingpracticeadecadeago:pink-cheeked,highonadrenaline,bloodrunninghot.
AsIcrosstheparkinglot,Ifeelthisprimalurgetocartwheelacrossthesmoothpavement.Iturntocheckoverbothshouldersbeforelettingmyarmsstretchdownandmyfeetpinwheeloverthetopofmyhead.IfeelweightlesswhenIsinkintothedriver’sseatofthecarandturnuptheradio.It’slate,andtheroadshomeareemptyatthistimeofnight.IwishIhadsomewheretogoorsomeonetotellaboutmyexcitingnews,butmyonlyrealoptionishome.IdrivealittlefasterthanIshould,andforthefirsttime,theglitteringgreentrafficlightsinthetowncenterandthedarkpinetreesalongthebackroadsfeellikeexhilaratingmarkersofwhatcouldbemynewlife,notdullremindersofmyoldone.
ThehouseisquietwhenIwalkin.Mom’sprobablywatchingTVinbed,andDadisprobablyreadinginhisoffice.Islumpdownonthecouchinthelivingroom,feelingrestlessbutunsurewhattodo.Thatoldlife-sizedcardboardcutoutofmeinaleotardisproppedupagainstthemantel.Therearevisibleshadowsmarkingeachindividualabandthemuscularcurveofmythighs,butevenso,I’mslenderandlithe.Thecardboardversionofmehasonehandonmytightwaistandtheothercasuallyholdingthegoldmedaldanglingfrommyneck.Idon’twantthatoldimageofmyselfhauntingmeanymore.Igetupfromthecouchandfoldthecardboardstandinthebackintothecutout.Ipickitupandseeasoftgraycoatofdustonthefloor.Icarrythecutouttothegarageandpropitupbytherecyclingbins,facingthewall.ThenIgrabthevacuumfromthefronthallclosetandsuckupadecade’sworthofdustbunnies.I’mgladtoseethemgo.
?CHAPTER5?
Twodayslater,RyanarrangesameetingwithKim,Todd,andHallieConwaybeforepractice.IwantHallietolikeme,ofcourse,butI’vealreadydonemybesttowinherover.Now,it’scrucialthatIcanconvinceKimandToddtotrustmewiththeirdaughter’scareer.MynervesjanglewithanticipationasIslogthroughrush-hourtrafficinthetowncenter.Iusedtodreadbeingupthisearly,buttodayI’mwide-awake.Thismorningwillmakeorbreakme.
SummitisstillsleepywhenIarrive.Thepracticespaceisempty;thefluorescentlightsareoff;there’snohumofTop40radiooverthesoundsofcreakingbarsandcoaches’shouts.ImeetRyanandtheConwayfamilyintheoffice.Walkingintothatroommakesmyheartpound;IwishIhadmoreprofessionalexperiencetobolstermyconfidence.
“Hi,it’ssonicetomeetyou,”Kimsayswarmly,reachingtoshakemyhand
Shehasbangsbrushedacrossherforehead,andshe’sdressedcasuallyinjeansandafaded,oversizedbutton-down.Iwonderifshestillworks,orif—likesomanymomsatthislevel—shequitherjobtosupportherdaughter’sgymnasticscareer.
“Hi,”Toddsays,extendinghishand,too.
Likehiswife,helooksasifhe’sinhismidforties.He’sinacharcoal-graysuit,likehe’sheadingstraighttosomeofficejobafterthismeeting.Halliegetshersquarefaceandhazeleyesfromhim.
ItaketheopenseatbetweenRyanandHallie.
“I’msureyoudon’trememberus,butIrememberwatchingyoutrainhereyearsago,”Kimsays.
“Oh,really?”Isay,flustered.
“Youwereabeautifulgymnast,”shesays.“Reallyincredibletowatch.”
“Thankyou,”Isay.
Kim’ssunnydemeanorturnsslightlystrained.Sheglancesatherhusbandandcontinues,“Don’tgetmewrong,I’mexcitedtoseethatyou’resopassionateabouthelpingHalliehere,butIalsodowanttoknowforsurethatyou’reonehundredpercentqualifiedtogetherthrough2020.”
Hallieslumpsbackinherchair,likeshe’sheardthiscomplaintonetoomanytimes.
“Mom,Ineedhelponfloor,”shemutters.
Toddclearshisthroat.“We’dliketohearmoreaboutyourexperienceasacoach.”
“It’snotthatwedon’ttrustyou,”Kimrushestoadd.“It’sjust,youknow,Trialsareonlyeightmonthsaway,andthisisaonce-in-a-lifetimeshot.”
“Ofcourse,Iunderstand,”Isay.
Familiesmakeenormous,life-changingsacrificestogivetheirkidsachanceinthissport,andIdon’tfaultthemforwantingnothinglessthanthebestfortheirdaughter.Otherwise,thosesacrificesaren’tworthit.
“Hallie’ssixteennow,andifwewaitanotherfouryears,she’llbe…”Kimmakesahelplessgesturewithherhands.
“Maybetooold,”Ioffer.
“Twenty’snotold,”Halliegroans.
“Inthissport?Honey,it’salongshot,”Kimsays,rufflingahandthroughherbangs.
“Doyouwanttotryfor2024?”Iask.
“That’llbewhere,Paris?”Toddasks.
Ryannods.
“Ofcourse!”Halliesays.“Andthenafterthat,college,maybelawschool,whoknows?”
It’simpressivethatshehasthenextdozenyearsofherlifemappedout,butI’mnotsurprised.Sincechildhood,herentirelifehasrevolvedaroundasingular,far-offgoal.
“But2020isyourbestshot,”Kimremindshergently.“AndtheOlympicteamwillbesmallerandmoreselectivethaneverbefore.”
She’sright.In1996,theUSgymnasticsdelegationincludedsevenathletes,nicknamedtheMagnificentSeven.Buttheruleshavechangedovertime.By2012,theyearItriedtomaketheOlympics,onlyfivegymnastscompeted,knownastheFierceFive.Anotherfivegirls,theFinalFive,competedatthe2016Olympics,butbythatpoint,theWorldwideOrganizationofGymnasticshadalreadyruledthatteamsizeswoulddwindletofourspotseachin2020.MakingtheOlympicteamthisyearwillbeharderthaneverbefore.
“I’mveryconfidentinAvery’sabilities,”Ryansayssmoothly.“Iwouldn’tbringherinifshewasn’trightforHallie.”
“Pardonmysayingso,butthat’sexactlywhathappenedlastmonth,”Toddcounters.
IhaveaflashofHallie’sdisastrousfloorroutineatWorlds.
“Mr.andMrs.Conway…”Ibegin.
“Please,callusKimandTodd,”sheoffers.
Itakeadeepbreathtosteadymyvoice.“KimandTodd,IcoachedgymnasticswhilelivinginLA,andbeforethat,IwasthetopgymnastinAmericawhenIwasHallie’sage.Barringaninjury,Iwould’vemadetheOlympics,andIdon’tmeantobrag,butIwould’vemedaledonfloor.Iknowfloor.I’vewatchedyourdaughterperform,andIhaveagoodgrasponhowtohelpherimprove.”
Theyleanforwardhungrily.AsmuchasHalliehashereyessetontheOlympics,sodothey—maybeevenmoreso.
“I’dliketochoreographanewroutineforHallie,onethatplaystoherstrengths,”Iexplain.“Itsoundslikeshe’sbeenperformingthesameroutineforyears,anditisn’tservingherwellanymore.Onceshelearnsthenewroutine,it’llbeamatteroffinessingherperformance:we’llworkoncontrollingthatextrapowershegetsonhertumblingpasses,stickingthelandings,movingwithmorepoiseandbetterposture,andpolishingherdanceelements.Herskillsareallthere.Butherexecutioncouldbemoregracefulanddynamic,andthat’swhereIcanhelp.”
Toddsitsbackinhisseat.Kimbitesherlip.Theylookateachother.
“Hmm,”Kimsays.
Ican’ttellyetifthey’refullyconvinced.
“Ifyou’reabletofindanotherfloorspecialistwhocanworkwellwithHalliewithjusteightmonthstogountilTrials,byallmeans,pleasedo,”Isay.“Butmorethananyoneelseoutthererightnow,IgetexactlywhatHallieisgoingthroughandIknowhowtohelpher.So,please.Letmehelpyourdaughter.”
Toddrubshisjaw.Kimswallows.IfeelthesamewayIdidduringcompetitions,backwhenIhadfinishedaroutineIfeltunsureaboutandhadtowaittorturousminutesforthejudgestorevealmyscore.
“Mom,Dad,Ireallyneedhelp,”Hallieadds.“Comeon.”
Herparentsexchangeglances.
“Youreallywantthis?”Toddasks.
Shethrowsherarmsup,exasperated.“Idon’thavetimetowaste.I’mgoingtogowarmup.”
Hallieheadstothelockerroomtodropoffherbag.
“Let’sgivethisashot,”Ryansays.“Trustme.”
Kimsighs.“Allright,butifthenewroutinedoesn’tcometogethersoon…we’llhavetohaveanotherconversationaboutwhat’snext.”
Toddgetsup,closesthebuttononhissuitjacket,thenshakeshandswithRyanandmeagain.
“Let’smakethiswork,”hesays.
Ican’ttellifthat’sapromiseorathreat.
KimandToddleave,andHallieandRyanenterthegym.ItellthemI’lljoininjustaminute,andmakeittothebathroomjustintime.Lockedinastall,Islumpagainstthecoolwhitetilewall,clapahandovermymouthtomufflemysobs,andbreakdownsilently.I’veneverfeltsuchintensereliefinmylife.IfeltaimlessinLAandcompletelylostbackinGreenwood;onceIhadmyheartsetonthisjob,nothingelseremotelymeasuredup.Ican’tbelieveit’smine.Thetearscomeinhotandfast.Myshouldersshake.Thereisstillsomuchofmylifetofigureout—Ican’tliveinmychildhoodbedroomforever,andthelonelinessI’mfacinginthewakeofmybreakupisawfullyisolating—butthisisastart.Thisisgood.Iwillbeokay.
Afterwipingawaymytears,IfindHalliewarminguponfloor,runningthroughthesamerotecardioexercisesandstretcheseverygymnasthasburnedintotheirmemory.Ryanflicksonthelightsandtheradioforher,thenjoinsmetowatchonthesidelines.I’mstillbuzzingwithadrenaline.
“Nicespeechinthere,”hesays,clappingmeontheshoulder.“You’regoodunderpressure.”
Allgymnastsare.
“Thanks,”Isay.
“Herparentsaren’treallysobad,”hesays.“Todd’salittleintense,buthejustwantsthebestforher.Theybothdo.Kimusedtoworkinmarketing,butnowvolunteerspart-timeatthelibrarysoshecanmostlybearoundforHallie.”
Ryanpullsathree-ringbinderfromtheshelfunderthestereo.“Ihavehertrainingmappedoutforthenexteightmonths,butIwanttogetyourtakeonit,”hesays,takingaseatonthefloor.“Sit.Let’slookatthistogetherwhileshefinishesup.”
Wesitsidebyside.ItrynottonoticethewayhiswhiteT-shirtstretchesacrosshisbroadchest,thoughit’snoteasy.Heflipsthroughthestuffedbinder,showingmetheCodeofPoints,whichassignsadifferentlevelofdifficultytoeachskillandchangeseverythreeyears;apracticeschedule;alistofgoals;Hallie’semergencycontactsandlistofdoctors.Hefindsthecalendarsection,outlinedwithwhatheandHalliewillbeworkingoneverymonthuntilTrials.It’scrammedwithhisspikyhandwriting—notestohimself.
“Whenitcomestovault,she’ssolid.ShedoesanAmanarandaMustafina,”heexplains.
Thosearetwoofthemostdifficultvaultsintheworld,bothnamedafterthefirstgymnasttoperformeach,asisthesport’scustom.TheAmanarisaround-off,backhandspringontotheboard,withatwo-and-a-halftwistingbacklayoutoff,whiletheMustafinaisaround-offandhalfturnontotheboardwithafull-twistingfrontlayoutoff.
“Herrightanklebothershersometimes,sowe’vemostlybeendrillingthemintothepitthesedays,”Ryancontinues.“Idon’twanttopushhertoohardonthelandings.Butthethingis,shegetsatonofpowerofftheboard,soshehasatoughtimestickingit.Soonethingwe’refocusingoniskeepingheranklestrong,sowecangetthoselandingsinconsistentlygoodshape.”
“Gotit.I’llbecarefulaboutherankle.”
“Onbars,herroutineisalreadyexcellent,butI’dliketoupgradeitoverthenextfewmonths,”hesays.“Like,rightnow,shedoesaTkatchevintoagiantintoaPakSalto,butshecouldcutthegiant.”
It’sbeenalongtimesinceI’vespokenthelanguageofgymnastics,andI’mrelievedthatitallcomesfloodingback:theTkatchevinvolvesflingingyourselfupandoverthehighbarbackwardinastraddleposition;agiantmeansswingingaroundthebarinafullcirclewithbodyoutstretched;aPakSaltoiswhenyouswingoffthehighbar,archintoanelegantbackflip,andcatchthelowbar.
“Whichmeansahigherdifficultyvalue,”Isay,mentallymappingoutthecombinationinmyhead.
BecausetheTkatchevandthePakSaltoarebothreleasemoves,Halliewouldearnmorepointsforconnectingthemback-to-back,ratherthanseparatingthemwithagiant,whichisconsideredaneasier(andlessrisky)move.
“Exactly.We’llplayaroundwithit.Andwe’reworkingonsomeothercoolstuff.HaveyoueverheardofaSeitz?”
“Maybe?”Icockmyhead.I’vebeenoutofthisworldforalongtime.
Hiseyessparkle.“It’satransitionmove.Imagineatoe-oncircleonthelowbarwithafulltwisttocatchthehighbar.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,wow,”hesays,exhaling.“That’sourgirl.Wejustgottagethertherecognitionshedeserves.
“She’snotbadonbeam.Heracrobaticskillsareallthere—abackhandspring,backwhip,backlayoutcomboyoucoulddiefor,asolidfrontaerial.Butthereareplacesshecouldtightenup,likethatgoddamnwolfturn.”
“Shedoesthatonbeam,too?”
“ThewaytheCodeofPointsisthesedays,youbasicallyhaveto.Shedoeshersasadouble,butI’mhopingwecangetittoatwoandahalf.”
“That’llbetough.”
“Right.”Heclosesthebinderanddrumshisfingersonthecover.“Andthenthere’sfloor.That’sinyourhandsnow.”
“Thanksforlettingmedothis,”Isay.
Ryansmirksandtapsonthebinderagain.“Imean,yougottacomeupwithaplan,”hesays.
IalreadyknowIwanttochoreographanewfloorroutineforher,andthatincludesselectingnewmusicforhertoperformto.Iknowtherestwillcomeintime.
ThenexthourofHallie’sworkoutslipsaway—forme,atleast.Icantellsheworkshard.Shedoesn’tskimpontoughabworkormind-numbingreps,likesomekidsdo.Onthecontrary,Igetthesenseshedeepenshersquatsandtightensupherplankformwhenshenoticesmewatching.I’mhonoredsheconsidersmeworthyenoughtoimpress.Whenshe’sfinishedwithconditioning,shetakesawaterbreak,thenmeetsRyanandmeonfloor.Sheplacesherhandsonherhipsandlooksfromhimtome,waitingforinstructions.
“I’mallyours,”shesays.“Putmetowork.”
“Trustme,Iwill,”Isay.“Butfirst,weshouldtalk.”
I’mnervous,butknowIhavetodropthebombanyway.
“Hearmeoutonthis:yourfloorroutineisgood,butitdoesn’tplaytoyourstrengths.Iwouldlovetocreateanewroutineforyou—mostlythesametumbling,butnewdance,newmusic,maybesomenewskills.”
Sheflinchesandrecoils,crossingherarmsoverherchest.“But—butwe—thereare—wehavejusteightmonthstogo,”shesputters.
“Sowhywastethosemonthsonaroutinethat’snotworking?”Ishootback.
“I’vebeenusingthisroutineforever.Youwantmetothrowitawaynow?I’llneverlearnanewoneintime.”
“Ofcourseyouwill.Iseehowhardyouwork.Yougotthis.”
“I’llberushed,I’llforgetthechoreography,I’llmessitup—probablyincompetition,andthenI’llfailoutofgymnasticswithoutevenahighschooldiplomaandI’llbestucklivingathomewithmyparentsforever.”
I’msureit’sjustaflippantcomment,butthecruelrealityofherwordscutsmedeep.
“Hallie…”Ryanadmonishes.
“There’snoneedtobesodramatic,”Isay,breezingpastherinsult.“Pleasejusttrustmewiththis.”
“I’monboard,”Ryantellsher.
Shebitesherlip.Foramoment,she’squiet,consideringtheprospect.
“Okay,”shesaysfinally.“ThensoamI.”
IpickupthebinderandriflethroughituntilIfindthesectionthatlistseveryfloorskillwithvalueintheCodeofPoints.Totesthercapabilities,Irattleoffdifferentacrobaticandartisticelementsandaskhertoperformthem,startingwithtumbling.HerdoubleArabianisfantastic,buthertripletwistisn’tdoingheranyfavors—thattumblingpassmightworkbetterasadouble-twistingdoublebacklayout.Halliediligentlyfollowsmyinstructionsandswivelstogaugemylevelofapprovalaftereachtumblingpass—soshe’ssassybutultimatelyobedient.Icanworkwiththat.
Fifteenminutesin,Inoticehergrimaceandrollherrightfootcarefullyfromsidetoside.
“Ryan,hey,”Isay,catchinghisattention.Helooksupfromhisphone.“Itlookslikeherankleisbotheringher.”
“Yeah,let’stakeabreak,”hesays.
“Hey,hey,Hallie,stop,”Icall.“How’syourankle?”
Shewinces.“It’sstartingtohurtagain,”sheadmits.“It’sreallynotthatbad,though,promise.I’llkeepgoing.”
“No,let’srestforasec.I’mgoingtograbyousomeice,okay?”
Sheexhales,clearlyfrustratedwithherself.“Fine.Thanks.”
Iretrieveanicepackfromthecoolerandwrapitinapapertowelsoitdoesn’tfreeze-burnherskin.BythetimeImakeitbacktothefloor,Ryanisalreadywrappingupheranklewithgauzyprewrapandwhiteathletictapetokeepthejointstable.
“Thanksfortheice,”Halliesaysglumly.
“Howlonghasthisbeengoingon?”Iask.
Shesighs.“Onandofffor,like,twoyears.”
“Ithinkit’stimetoseethatsportsmedicinedoctoragain,”Ryansays.
“Dr.Kaminsky?”Hallieasks.
“Yeah.”
Shemakesaface.“I’mfine.”
Everygymnastracksupinjurieslikethese,butthey’renearlyimpossibletohealwhileactivelytrainingforcompetition.Ipushedthroughmystressfractureatfourteenandwoundupwithbackpainthatflaresupforweeksatatime,evenmorethanadecadelater.Isometimeswonder:ifIcouldgobackintimeandmakedifferentchoices,wouldIavoidalifetimeofpain?Eveninmyworstmoments,Idon’tthinkIwould.Asdebilitatingastheflare-upscanbe,whatIgainedfromgymnastics—identity,discipline,commitment—isworthsomuchmore.ButjustbecauseI’vemadepeacewiththatchoicedoesn’tmeanthatHallieneedsto.
“Adoctormightbeabletoreallyhelp,”Isay.“Whydon’tyougojustonce,justtocheckin?”
Shejutsoutherchinlikeshe’sgoingtoprotest,butRyan’sreactionstopsher.
“Hal,youdon’twanttomessaroundwithaninjurythisyear.Besmartaboutthis.”
“Fine.I’llgo.”
“Let’stakeiteasytoday,”Ryansays.“Afteryourbreak,we’lldobars.Nodismounts,nothingcrazy,justtoplayitsafe.”
Shepouts.“Butthat’ssuchawasteofatrainingday.”
Anideahitsme.“Whataboutthis—whileyouiceyourankle,whydon’twelistentonewfloormusic?Picksomethingout?”
Ryanbacksmeup,andHalliereluctantlyagrees.Hestepsouttograbsomecoffee,promisingtobebackinjustafewminutes.ThisisthefirsttimethatHallieandIhaveeverbeenalone,andIwanttomakethemostofit.Ineedtogetonhergoodside—andrightnow,thatmeansfindingtheperfectsong.
Floormusicneedstobeexactlyninetysecondslongandcontainnolyrics,soyoucan’tusejustanything.IstartbyriflingthroughthecollectionofCDsandcassettetapesstillstackedunderthestereo,butthesehaveallbeenheresincebeforeevenIwasagymnast.Whenmysearchturnsupnothingfreshorinteresting,IpulloutmyphoneandGooglenewoptions.
“Weneedsomethingpowerful,somethingfun,”Isay,scrollingthroughalistofsongtitles.“Nothingdainty,nothingboring.”
“Maybe…jazz?”Hallieasks.Shelooksupatmenervously.
“Youlikejazz?”Iask.
Sheshrugs.“Yeah,itseemsfuntoperformto.”
“Jazz!”Ipracticallyyelp.“Let’sfindyousomething.Youneedsomethingyou’llenjoy,whateverthatis.”
Forthenextfifteenminutes,welistentosnippetsofsongsanddebatetheirmerits.Whenwelandonatrackpackedwithenergetictrumpets,weknowwe’vegotitright.It’sabigbandnumbercalled“JazzFling.”Halliebopsherheadalongtothemelody.WhenRyanreturns,Iplayitbackforhimandwatchhisexpression.
“Youlikeit?”Iaskhopefully.
Hegivesabemusedsmile.“Onfloor,Idefertoyou.Doyoulikeit?”
Thisismyfirstbigdecisionasacoach.Therightsongcanmakeorbreakaroutine.IknowtheupbeattempoandplayfulsoundareastrongmatchforthepowerfulphysicalityofHallie’smovements.Shehasjustenoughbravadotopullitoff.
“Ido.Let’sdoit.”
Atnoon,Kimreturnstothegymtopickupherdaughterforhermiddaybreakforlunchandhomeschoolingbeforeshecomesbackforasecondpractice.It’scompletelyunnecessaryforKimtoactuallywalkintothegymandchatwithus;Halliecouldeasilyheadoutintotheparkinglotonherown.Igetthesensethatshe’sprobingtoseehowwellI’mdoing.SheinstantlynoticesHallie’stapedankle.
“What’sgoingonhere?”sheasks.
“It’sbeenanokayday,butI’dgetthatcheckedoutsoon,”Isuggest.
Kimsighs.“I’llmakeanappointmentwithDr.Kaminsky.”
“I’mfine,Mom,”Hallieprotests.“Andhey,theotherbignewsisthatAveryisredoingmyfloorroutine,andwepickednewmusic.I’llplayitforyouinthecar.”
“Seeyouthisafternoon,”Kimsays,usheringherdaughtertowardtheexit.
“Areyoustayinghereorheadingout?”Ryanasksmeoncethey’regone.
Itdidn’tactuallyoccurtomethatI’dneedtofigureoutawaytospendtheafternoon.
“Iusuallytakemylunchintheoffice,helpoutaroundthegym,thatkindofthing,”Ryanoffers.
I’dbehappytohelpothercoacheswithwhatevertheyneed,buttheprospectofeatinglunchalonewithRyanmakesmenervous.AsidefromHallie,I’mnotsurewhatwe’dtalkabout.Igrewupexclusivelyaroundfellowfemalegymnasts,gossipingaboutcuteboyswesawatcompetitions,tradingcomplimentsonnewleotardsandscrunchies,andquotingStickIttoeachother(“It’snotcalledgym-nice-tics”).I’veneverhadanyplatonicmalefriends;theonlytimesI’veeverhungoutone-on-onewithguysweredates.Freshlyheartbrokenornot,Istillcan’tignorethatRyan—formerlyacuteboy—grewupintoahighlyattractiveman.It’snotsmartformetoletthiscrushofminefester.ThelastthingIneedtodoisletmyfeelingsgetinthewayofthisjobordumpmybrokenheartonRyan’splate.
“I,uh,IthinkI’mgoingtoheadhome.ButI’llbebacklaterthisafternoon,cool?”
Ryanfist-bumpsme.“Cool,seeya.”
Iheadintotheparkinglotandsitinthedriver’sseat,butdon’twanttogohomejustyet.NowthatI’malone,Ican’thelpbutdwellonHallie’stossed-offcommentfromthismorning—theoneaboutfailingoutofgymnasticsandbeingstucklivingathomeforever.Outofcuriosity,IlookatCraigslistforhousesorapartmentswithspareroomsnearby.I’veneverlookedforaplacetoliveoutsideofLAbefore,andthetinyselectionofresultsmakesmenervous.Therearen’tthatmanypeoplelikemeinGreenwood—thetownismostlyfilledwithfamiliesraisingkidsinbig,beautifulhouses,notsinglepeoplewhoneedtorentoutasparebedroom.RenthereismoreaffordablethanitwasbackinLA,butnotbymuch.I’llneedtoworkforafewmonthstosaveupenoughmoneytomoveout.It’sadauntinggoal,butIknowIcandoit.Ihaven’thadmuchfaithinmyselfthesepastfewyears,butIhavefaithinthis:myabilitytoworkhard.
It’slunchtime.Icoulddriveintothetowncentertopickupasandwichorasalad.There’sanewItalianplacethatopenedupsinceI’velastlivedherethatlooksdelicious.Butthat’smoneyIdon’tneedtospend.Instead,Idrivebacktomyparents’house,thinkingallthewhileaboutthedayI’llcallsomewhereelsehome.
?CHAPTER6?
Afterpracticeendsthatnight,Igetreadytoleavethegym.Buttheprospectofheadinghomeisunbelievablydepressing—Ilovemyparents,butmovingbackintowhatisessentiallyashrinetomyfailedchildhooddreamisunbearable.Theyhover.Theyasktoomanyquestionsaboutmyplansforthefuture.I’mgratefulthattheyletmestaywiththem(rent-free,even),butI’dbefinespendingaslittletimethereaspossible.So,halfwaythroughcrossingthegym’slobby,Iturnaroundandheadbackontothefloor.It’slate,andthegymisempty;thisisagoldenopportunitytostartchoreographingHallie’snewroutinewithoutgymnastsandothercoachesgawking.
Ichoreographedallthegirls’routinesbackinLA,butthisisadifferentbeast.WithHallie,therearenophysicallimits;anythingIcandreamup,shecando.Thatdoesn’tmeanIhaveentirelyfreerein,though.Thesport’sscoringsystemislaughablycomplex.Itusedtobesimple:aperfectperformanceearnedaperfectten.Butnow,accordingtorulesinstitutedinthe2000sbytheWorldwideOrganizationofGymnastics,aroutine’stotalscoreismadeupofadifficultyscoreandanexecutionscore.Onfloor,onlythetopfivehardesttumblingskillsandtopthreemostchallengingdanceskillsareallowedtocounttowardthedifficultyscore,thoughadditionalpointscanbeearnedbyconnectingmultipleelements.Pointsaredockedifyoumissoutoncertainskills.ItakeRyan’sbinderfromtheshelfunderthestereoandflipthroughituntilIfindthesectionoftheCodeofPointsthatdetailstherequirements:I’llneedtoincludealeaporjumpseries,afrontflip,abackflip,aflipwithafulltwistormore,adoubleflip,andafinaltumblingpasswithadifficultyvalueofatleasta“D”(skillsarerankedalphabetically,withtheeasiestoneslabeledas“A”).Inotherwords,choreographingawinningfloorroutineisn’tjustanart—it’sascience,too.
IhookupmyphonetothestereosystemandrollmyheadandanklesoutinalightstretchasIfind“JazzFling,”thepieceofmusicwe’vechosen.Iplaythefirsttensecondstojogmymemory—Dundundun…dun-dun-dundundundun—andexperimentwithmovementonthefloor.Icouldstartwiththispose,orthatone.Therecouldbeaflashykick,oraspin,oraflickofmywrists.IwatchmyselfcarefullyinthemirrorasIstringtogetherasequenceofdance,andtryitouttothebeatofthemusic.It’sgood.ButwhatifIsqueezeinajumpseriesbeforethefirsttumblingpass?IreworkthechoreographythreedifferentwaysbeforeIsettleonaversionIlike.Itryitout—andthistime,I’mpleased.
Thenextsectionofthemelodysoars,andImakeamentalnotetoreservethatforHallie’sfirsttumblingpass,theimpressivedoubleArabian.Ilistenasthemusicunfurlsandtrytoimaginewhatcouldcomenext.Thesonghasflaringtrumpetsandasassybeat.Youdon’tjustdancetothismusic—youstrut.Ipopmyhip,flickmyfingers,shimmymyshoulders.Iletmyselfgetlostinthesong,leapingandpirouettingwithabandon.It’sbeenclosetoadecadesinceI’veallowedmyselftoindulgeinthisway,andIcanpracticallyfeelmyheartglowingwithjoy.
Thatis,untilIcatchsightofthemirroracrossthefloor,reflectingstiffjointsthatdon’tbendthewayIenvision.It’scringeworthy.IhearechoesofDimitri’scriticisms:thesplitinmyleapisn’tcrispenough;myShushunovadoesn’tgetenoughheight;theroutinewouldreallylookbetterifmythighswerethinner.IthoughtIwasdonemourningthelossofmyabilityyearsago,butfreshgriefspringsupagain.It’soverwhelminglysadtoknowthatnomatterhowhardItrain,IcanneverregainthebodyIoncetookforgranted.
Itakeabreak,lettingthemusicplayoutasItakeanice-coldslurpfromthewaterfountain.ThenItightenmyponytail,takeadeepbreath,andqueueupthebeginningof“JazzFling”again.
Overthenexthour,thebonesoftheroutinebegintotakeshape.I’mremindedofoneofthemanythingsIlovedaboutgymnastics:ifyouworkhard,youcanbecomeasuperhumanversionofyourself,atleastforatime.IfIwereinprimeshape,Icouldspirallikeaballerina,contortmyselflikeacircusperformer,catapultmyselflikeasoldier,anddefygravitylikeagoddess.TherewouldbenolimitsonwhatIcoulddo.Outsidethegym,that’sneverbeentrueforme—Icouldn’tmakeitthroughcollege,andIcouldn’tmakeTylerstayinlovewithme.Buthere?Thisismyworld.Oratleastitwas.UntilIwenttoTrials.
Irunthroughthelightversionofthechoreography—IcartwheelacrossthefloorwhereHalliewilltumbleforreal;Ispinonmybuttwhereshe’lldoawolfturn.Idon’twanttooverextendmyselfandtriggeranotherflare-upofbackpain,soItakeiteasy.Watchingthechoreographygeltogetherissatisfying,andIgetsolostinperformingitthatIdon’thearthesoftcreakofthedoorontheothersideofthegym.Whenthesongfinishes,there’sabeatofsilence,thenthesoundofapplause.
Iwhipoutofthedramaticfinalpose—chestthrustout,backarched,armsoutstretched—andturntowardthenoise.I’mmortifiedtoseeRyanwalkingdownthevaultrunwaytowardthefloor.
“Impressive,”hesays.
Icrossmyarmsovermychest,embarrassed.“Ihadnoideaanyonewasstillhere.”
“Iwasintheoffice.So,willthatbeHallie’sfloorroutine,orareyoujustplayingaround?”Helooksbemused.
“Thatdepends,”Isay.“Doyoureallylikeitorareyoujustbeingnice?”
“Comeon,Avery,”hesayswithasmirk.
Ryandoesn’tseemlikethekindofguywho’djokearoundwhenitcomestowork.Thestakesaretoohigh.Igenuinelyliketheroutine:thechoreographyisplayful,energetic,andsuitedtoHallie’sstrengths.ButI’mnotsobrazenlyconfidenttoexpectRyantolikeitrightoffthebat.
“It’sgreat,”heclarifies.“Iloveit.”
“Youknowthisisn’tactuallythereal,finalthing,”Iwarnhim.“Ijustcan’tperformatthatlevelanymore.SoHalliewillkickupthedifficultylevelby,like,fivenotches.”
“Yeah,that’sfine.Ifigured.Showmethebeginning?”heasks.“Imissedit.”
Ijogtothestereotorestartthesong,thenscamperintoplacefortheopeningstepsoftheroutine.I’mterriblyself-consciousofhisgazeonmyunmuscledarmsandsoftstomach,butthatleavesmewithonlyonechoice:Ihavetothrowmyselfintothechoreographyandperformittothefullestextent,becauseotherwiseit’lllooklackluster.It’sfineforhimtothinkI’moutofshape—buthecan’tthinkI’mbadatmyjob.
“Nice,nice,nice,”hecallsoverthemusicasIsashaythroughasectionreservedforatumblingpass.“Igotit.”
Relieved,Iturnoffthemusic.
“So?”Iask,tryingnottoletonthatI’mclosetopanting.
Hecrossesthefloortojoinmenearthestereo.“So!That’sit.”
Ilaugh.“No,Imean,doyouhaveanynotes?Suggestions?”
“Mmmm…no?Notnow,atleast?Let’sseehowHalliedoeswithit.Avery,youdidanamazingjob.”
Heshakeshishead,grins,andlooksaway.
“What?”Iask,suddenlyself-conscious.
Nowthathe’sjusttwofeetawayfromme,IrealizehecanprobablyseethesheenofsweatonmyforeheadandthehalooffrizzthatalwaysescapesmyponytailwhenIdance.
“Ijust…”Hetrailsoffandlaughsquietly.“DoyourememberWorldsin2010?”
“Yeah.”
Thememoriesofthatweekendsnapintofocus.Myscrunchieflewoffmyheadduringmybarsroutine.ThatwasthefirstdayIheardwhispersaboutmeasalikelycontenderfor2012.JasminecriedthatnightinoursharedhotelroomwhenDimitripointedoutthatmaybethereasonsheslippedoffbeamwasbecauseherever-expandinghipsandassthrewheroffbalance.
“I’llneverforgetseeingyourfloorroutinethatday.Imean,Irememberwatchingfromthesidelinesandthinking,Damn,thatgirlisgoingplaces,”herecalls.Hegazesoffintothedistance,thensnapsbacktowardme.“Andnowyou’rehere.”
Thewordsshouldfallflat,buthesaysthemwithasenseofwonder.Hisfacelightsup.Idon’tknowwhattosay.
“IfIhadknown,allthoseyearsago,thatwe’dendupworkingtogether,IthinkI’dbekindastarstruck,”headds.
Icanfeelmycheeksflushpink.“Starstruck?!”Iyelp.
“Hundredpercent,”hesays,nodding.
Apanickedthoughtflashesby—isheflirtingwithme?AmIimaginingthecoywarmthbehindhiswords?ItakeinhiscasualstanceandtheimpressivecurveofhisbicepsstrainingatthesleevesofhisT-shirt.Helooksgoodwithouttrying.
“Well,Iwasprettystarstruck,myself,whenyoucalled,”Iadmit.Myvoiceisjustatouchmorehoneyedthanusual.“Olympiansdon’tcallmeeveryday,youknow.”
I’dassumedmyabilitytoflirthaddriedupafterIstarteddatingTyler,butI’mpleasantlysurprisedtofindit’sstillthere.Myhandsfindmyhips;Istraightenupandsuckinmystomach.
Hewavesawaymycomment.“Youshould’vebeenone,too.Itwasjustbadluck.”
“Yeah,”Isay,shrugging.Thisisn’tmyfavoritesubject.I’dratherchangeit.“So,youspendallyoureveningshere?”
“Ouch,areyoutellingmetogetasociallife?”heshootsback.
“Hey,allI’msayingisthatyouspendanawfullotoftimeinagymthatsmellslikefeet,”Isay,holdingupmyhands.
IbrieflyweightheprosandconsofwhatIwanttosaynext,andspurredbyarushofadrenaline,Itossitoutthere.
“What,nohotdatetonight?”Itease.
Aflickerofsurprisecrosseshisface.Herecoversbyshovinghishandsintohispocketsandlookingaway,laughing.
“Nottonight,”hesayssoftly.“ButI’lltakethatasmycuethatyouwantthegymtoyourselftofinishchoreographing.”
Hestartstowalkaway,butIrealizeIdon’twanthimto.
“Wait!”Icall.“Ididn’tmeanitthatway.Stay?”
Hewavers.“Youwantmeto?”
Ittakesmeasplitsecondtothinkofaplausibleexcuse.“IneedsomeonetofilmwhatI’vechoreographedsofar,right?”
Heturnsbacktowardmewithasmile.Hepullshisphoneoutofhispocket.“Let’sdoit.”
DECEMBER2019
?CHAPTER7?
BythetimeHallie’sankleisstrongenoughforhertolearnthenewchoreography,theradioplaysholidayshoppingjinglesbetweeneverysong.Thetowncenterisdeckedoutinblueandwhitelights.Ihavetothrowaparkaonovermysweatsjusttomakeitfromtheparkinglottothegym.Christmasbreakisthreeweeksaway,andmostofthegymnastsandcoachesarebuzzingaboutholidayplansandwintervacationtripstovisitgrandparentsinFlorida.Butnotus.Ryan,Hallie,andIwillspendtheweekbetweenChristmasandNewYear’shere.There’snosenseinwastingaweekofprimetrainingtime.IhavebeenpracticingtheroutineeverynightafterHallieleavespractice,ensuringthechoreographyflowsflawlesslyandI’vemaximizedeverymomenttosqueezeoutthehighestpossibledifficultyscore.I’vebeenwaitinguntilshe’sgonesoshedoesn’tcatchaglimpseofituntilI’msatisfiedit’sperfect.
“LetmeshowittoyoufirstbeforeIteachittoyou,okay?”ItellHallie
She’sjustfinishedwarm-ups,stretching,andconditioning,andishappytositonthesidelinesforaninety-secondbreak.Igivehermyphonesoshecancontrolthemusic.
“IfyoucheckouttheNotesapp,you’llseetheentirebreakdownofthechoreography,”Iexplain.“Youcanfollowalong,soyoucanseewhere,forexample,Ispinaroundonmybutt,butyou’llactuallydoawolfturn.”
“Gotit,”shesays,peeringatthescreen.
“AndwhenIdoaswitchleapwithafullturnanditsucks,you’lldoaswitchleapwithafullturnbutmakeitlookgood,”Isayinthesamematter-of-facttone,hopingshe’lllaugh.
Shesnickers.“Understood.”
Iunzipmyhoodieandkickoffmysneakers.They’llonlygetintheway.Ihearthebarscreakingontheothersideofthegym;Ryanisdoingpull-ups.Hismusclesbulgecartoonishly.Iforcemyselftolookaway.
“Ready?”sheasks,onceI’vestruckthestartingposeonthefloor.
“Ready!”Isay.
“JazzFling”fillstheroom.TotheextentthatIcan,IperformthehelloutoftheroutinewiththesamepassionandintensityIusedtogivethejudges.IneedtosellHallieonthisroutine.Itstrikesme—whileupsidedown,midwaythroughacartwheelwe’reallkindlypretendingisHallie’sthirdtumblingpass—thatthethrillofthisperformanceisn’tsofarofffromtheadrenalinehighIusedtogetfromdoingmyownroutineduringcompetition.Maybetherecanberealjoyonthesidelinesasacoachandachoreographer.WhenI’mfinished,Iretreattowardher,tryingdesperatelytocatchmybreath.
“Okay,cool,teachme,”Halliesays,bouncinguptoherfeet.
“Youlikeit?”Iask.
“Well…”Shefidgets,scratchingthebackofonecalfwiththeotherfoot.Shelooksatmewithashygaze.“It’sdifferent.I’llgiveitatry.”
She’sclearlyskeptical,butnotstrong-willedenoughtochallengemyjudgment.I’mrelievedshedoesn’trejecttheroutineflatout,butIknowIcan’tletmyexpressionwaver.Thecoach-gymnastrelationshipissacredandbuiltonaconcretefoundationofrespectandtrust;shecan’tcatchontothefactthatI’manxiousandhavefeelingsthatcanbehurt,justlikeanyoneelse.
“Whew,okay.Let’sbreakitdownfromthetop.Starthere,acouplefeetoutfromthiscorner,”Iinstruct,pointingtothespotinwhichsheneedstostand.
Fromtheothersideofthefloor,IseeRyanwatchinguswithasmile.
IwalkHalliethroughthechoreographystepbystep,focusingonteachingherthebroadstrokesofeverymove.Wecansharpeneachmotionlateron,onceshe’sgottenthehangoftheroutine.Shehasn’twarmeduphertumblingyet,soshegoesforlazy,easypasses,likearound-off,backhandspring,backtuckinsteadoftherealdeal.WithHallietoningdownherskillsandmeperformingtothefullestextentofmyabilities,theplayingfieldisalmostlevel.
Shepicksuptheroutinefairlyquickly,delightinginthecreativecombinationsI’vethrowntogetherforher.Noteverythingrunssosmoothly,though.Iplannedaswitchringleapconnectedtoaswitchleapwithafullturn.Aswitchleapinvolvesscissoringyourlegsbackandforth,soyouhitbothaleftsplitandarightsplitinmidairbeforelanding;eachvariationistrickyonitsown,butthetwomovesback-to-backareevenmorecomplicated.That’sthepoint,ofcourse—themoredifficulttheseriesis,thehigherthepayoffisfromthejudges.Halliefumblesthecombinationthreetimesinarow.Itdoesn’tmatterhowpowerfulorenergeticsheis—themoverequiresanabsurdamountofprecision.
“Youhavetouseyourarmsformomentuminbetweenthetwoleapssoyoucanhaveenoughheightonthesecondtomakethefullrotation,”Iexplain.
Sheexhalesandtriesitagain.It’ssloppy,andsheknowsit.Themomentherfeettouchthefloor,sheshootsmeafrustratedglance.
“Moreheight,”Iremindher,demonstratingthewaysheneedstoswingherarms.“Tryitagain.”
Shetakesafewstepsbackwardandscrewsupherface.Icantellshe’stryingtovisualizethemoveinfrontofher.Shesashaysintothecombination,buttheserieslooksmorelikeajumbleofflailinglimbsthanrealgymnastics.Ifwehadastrongerrelationshipatthispoint,I’dfeelcomfortablepushinghertoworkthroughit.Butrightnow,Idon’twanttobringdownhermood.Today,herconfidenceisworthmorethanthedifficultyvalueofthatleapseries.
“Ormaybeweputsomethingelseinthatspot,”Isuggest.“Movingon…”
Whenwemakeitthroughtheendoftheroutine,Igiveheracelebratoryhighfive.
“Let’sdoitagain,”shesays,bouncinguponhertoes.“Forreal,thistime,tomusic.”
“Youthinkyouhaveallthatmemorizedalready?”Iask.
Iknowshe’sgood,butshecan’tbethatgood.
“Notallofit,butmost,”shesaysproudly.
“Okay,”Isay,chuckling.“Onemorewalk-throughtogether,thenyoudoitbyyourselfforreal.”
Werepeatthechoreography.Thistime,shedeftlyslidesintomostoftherightmoves,thoughshedoesspendhalftheroutinewithherneckcranedtowardme.Herswitchleapseriesisaflop,butshepushesthroughtomakeittowardthefinaltumblingpassandthesimplelastbitofdance.(Bythetimeyouhitthefourthtumblingpass,you’reflat-outexhausted.Evenwavingtoacrowdcheeringyournamefeelsimpossible.SoIkeptherlastfewmotionseasy.)
Ryandropsdownfromthebars.“How’sitgoingoverthere?”hecalls,wipingsweatfromhisbrow.
“Good!”HallieandIshoutatthesametime.
“Jinx,youowemeasoda,”shesaysquickly.AsRyanapproaches,shelowershervoice.“NotthatIevendrinksoda,but,youknow.”
“I’llgetyouaGatorade,”Ireply.
“CanIseehowit’sgoing?”Ryanasks.
“Whatdoyouthink,Hallie?Areyoureadyformusic?”Iask.
“Yeah,”shesays,juttingoutherchin.“Let’sdothis.”
Shescramblesovertothestartingspot,settlesintothefirstpose,thenpeeksbackatme,asiftoensureshe’sdoingitright.Inodandturnonthemusic.Onherownforthefirsttime,herperformanceisroughanduneven.Shenailscertainsectionsofchoreography,thoughI’dstillliketotightenupthewayshemovesandperforms;otherbits,though,shestumblesthrough,orforgetsentirely.Iwatchherfacefreezewhensherealizesshehasnoideahowtotransitionfromuprightandstandingtodownonthefloorforthewolfturn.Shedoesn’thaveenoughtimetofigureitout;themusichasalreadymovedon.Soshespasmsanddropstothefloor,shoutinganapologyasshegoes.
“That’spartofit?”Ryandeadpans.
“Yeah,doesn’titlookgreat?”Ijokeback.
Hallieflitsthroughtherestoftheroutine,shoutingadramatic“Ta-da!”asshehitsthefinalpose.
“Needssomework,”Ryansuggestskindly.
“Butwe’reontherighttrack,”Iinsist.
“I’llrunthroughittwentymoretimestoday,”Halliepromises.
“That’snotnecessary,”Isay.“LetmebuyyouthatGatorade,andthenwe’lldrillthechoreographyuntilit’smusclememory.”
Hallieskipsthroughthegym,leaningononebalancebeamasshekicksupherfeetandclicksherheelsinmidair,makingherwaytowardthevendingmachineinthelobby.
“Motivatingherwithtreats?Interestingcoachingstrategy,”hepointsout.
“Effectivecoachingstrategy,”Icorrecthim.
Iheadtowardthelobby.Ryanmakesasoftnoiselikehe’sclearinghisthroat,andwhenIlookbacktowardhim,hismouthishalf-open,likehe’sabouttosaysomething.
“Yeah?”Iask.
Hepresseshislipstogetheranddipshisgazeawayfrommine.“Nothing,”hesays.“Iwasgoingtosaysomething,butit’snothing.”
Ilookathimcuriously,buthejustcrosseshisarmsoverhischestandnodstowardthedoorofthegym.
“GocatchupwithHallie,”hesays.
?CHAPTER8?
IwanttobelievethatI’vegrownupalotsinceIwasHallie’sage.ItwouldbenicetothinkthatI’veblossomedintoamature,confident,gracefuladult.ButthenRyanwillmakeaparticularlycharmingjokeorsimplybreatheinmydirection,andI’mforcedtorememberthatI’vebeenharboringthesameteenagecrushforafulldecade.Somaybenotmuchhaschanged.
“Headingout?”Ryanasks.
It’saWednesdayinthemiddleofDecember;we’vejustwrappedupourmorningpractice,andwe’rescatteringindifferentdirectionsforourmiddaybreak.KimpickedupHallieforlunchandhomeschooling,Ryanisretreatingintotheofficeforameal,andperusual,I’monmywayout.EventhoughI’veworkedatSummitforamonthnow,I’veneverquitebeencomfortablespendingthelunchbreakhangingoutwithRyan.Iknowhestayshere.Idon’twanttointrudeonhispersonalspace—andifI’mreallyhonestwithmyself,theprospectofregularalonetimewithhimsoundslikeanervousthrill.WhatwouldIsay?SoItypicallyeatathome.
“Yeah,”Isay,alittleembarrassed.
Hegivesmeabemusedsmile.“Youknow,you’remorethanwelcometohangouthere,”hesays.“Evenwhenyou’reofftheclock.”
Ilookatthedoor,thenbackatRyan.“Doyouwantcompany?”Iask.
“That’dbenice,”hesays.“Unlessyouhaveotherplans.”
That’dbenice,Ireplayinmyhead.Betweenclubbingincollegeandahigh-profilerelationshipwithafamousathleteinmytwenties,Ieventuallygotcomfortablearoundmen—evenintimidatingonesIwasattractedto.Icouldflirt,banter,relax.ButmaybebecauseRyanisfromacompletelydifferenteraofmylife,backwhentheprospectofinteractingwithguyspoint-blankterrifiedme,Ilosemycoolaroundhim.
It’stimeforthattochange.
“Doyouhavefoodhere?”Iask.
“Ibroughtatonofleftovers,ifyouwanttoshare,”hesays.“It’sjustsomechickenandriceandveggies.”
Theofferisverysweet.“Sure,whynot?Thankyousomuch.”
Heheatsuptheleftoversintheoffice’smicrowaveandclearsspaceoffthedeskforustositandeat.
“Didyoumakethis?”Iask.
Thechickenisalittlebland,butit’snotbad.
“It’sbasicallytheonemealIknowhowtomake,yeah,”hesays.
“IateaversionofthisprettymucheverysingledaybackwhenIwastraining,”Isay.“It’slikecomfortfood.”
“Exactly,same,”hesays.
There’samomentwhereneitherofussaysanything.Icouldchangethesubjecttosomethingcompletelyprofessional,likeHallie’sfloorroutine—butIrecognizeitwouldn’thurtforRyanandmetogettoknoweachotheronafriendlier,morepersonallevel,too.
“Iactuallylovetocook,”Itellhim.“MyfirstfewyearsinCalifornia,Ilivedindormsorthesetinyapartmentswithbadkitchens,buteventually,Imovedintothisplacewithahuge,awesomesetupforcooking.Forthefirsttimeinmylife,itwaslikeIhadboththespaceandthelifestyletoactuallyenjoyfood.”
“Oh,wow,”hesays.Helooksdownandpokesapieceofchickenwithhisfork.“IwishIhadknownthatbeforeservingyouthis.”
“No,no,don’tworry,thisisgood,”Ilie.“Andit’ssoniceofyoutoshare.MaybeI’llcooksomethingforyousometime.”
Ican’ttellifI’moversteppingaboundary,buthedoesn’tseemtoflinch
“It’sfunnythatyousaythatyoucouldenjoycookingmoreonceyouleftgymnastics,”henotes.“That’showIfeltaboutworkingout.”
“Yeah?”
“Itturnsout,oncethepressureofwinningmedalsisn’thangingoveryourhead,youcanchilloutalittlemore,”hesays.
“Nokidding,”Ideadpan.
“IusedtogetsoboredwithconditioningwhenIwasagymnast,butafterIretired,IrealizedImissedthatkindofworkout.Sothat’swhyIstartedliftingweightsjustforme—notforthesakeofthesport.”
“Ha,see,Ifelttheoppositeway.I’vedoneenoughconditioningforonelifetime,”Isay.
“Fairenough,”hesays.
“How’dyougetintocoaching?”Iask.
“Backinhighschool,Icoachedkids’classes,justtomakealittlemoneyduringthesummers,”heexplains.“SoIknewIlikedit.AndthenaroundthetimeIwasthinkingofretiring,myoldcoachfromMichiganconnectedmetoMaryhereatSummit.Thetimingwasperfect,sinceHalliewaslevelingupandwantedtoworkone-on-onewithacoach.TheConwayslookedintoPowerhouse,butDimitrididn’thaveroomforheratthetime.”HeexplainsthatDimitri’shandswerefullwithothergymnasts:EmmaPerry,SkylarHayashi,BritAlmeda.“AndtheConwayswereprettyreluctanttofindanothercoachinanotherstatebecauseofTodd’scareer.SoIwasthebestoption—betterthannothing.”
“Theytookaprettybigchanceonyou,”Isay.
Heknockshisknucklesagainstthewoodenwindowsillbehindhim.“Trustme,I’mgratefulforthateverysingleday.”
HealreadyknowsthatIcoachedapreteengirls’gymnasticsteambackinLA,andwetradecoachingstoriesbackandforth.He’shadmorethanhisfairshareofdealingwithsassythirteen-year-oldgymnastsandtheiruptightparents,butsohaveI.Thisissuchanicheprofession,it’srarethatImeetsomeoneelsewhounderstandsitcompletely;evenintheclose-knitgymnasticscircle,Idon’tknowanyothercoachesaroundmyownage.I’mgladIgotovermynervesabouteatinglunchwithRyanatSummit.It’sgoodforustobefriends.
?CHAPTER9?
WhiletherestoftheworldcountsdowntotheclockstrikingmidnightonNewYear’sEve,ortheballdroppinginTimesSquare,we’remorefocusedinthegym.ChalkdusthangsintheairasHallieSharpiesaredXoverthedayinthecalendarinRyan’strainingbinder.Thereare175daystoTrials.
Hallie’sfloorroutinehasbeenmysingularobsessionformostofthemonth.Isometimescatchmyselftappingoutthestepswhilerinsingmyhairintheshower,orhummingthemusicwhileIrefillmywaterbottle.Shehasthechoreographydownpatbynow,andwe’vesettledonwhichtumblingpassesgowhere.Westillhaveawaystogowhenitcomestoheractualperformance—butIknowthenuanceddetails,likethesassytiltofaheadorthesatisfyingthunkofacleanlystucklanding,taketimetodevelop.She’llgetthere.I’moptimistic.
So,today,RyanwantsHallietoprioritizebarsandvault.HetoldmeIcouldtakethedayoff,buttheprospectofaweekdaystuckinthehousewithMomandDadwastoodulltoconsider.Instead,Ispendhourslollingaboutbythechalkbinsbetweenthebars,fluffingthedismountmats,suckingdownwaterbottleswhilewieldingawhistleandstopwatchthroughHallie’sconditioningreps.
WhenHallieheadshomefordinneratsixthirty,thesliverofnightskyIcanseethroughthegymwindowsisnavyblueandstuddedwithstars.NewEnglandwinternightsarefrigid,andthisoneisnoexception.I’mgatheringmystuffbythestereo—phone,socks,hoodie—whenRyansidlesupandleansnonchalantlyagainsttheplasticshelves.
“Areyougoingouttonight?”heasks.
Ihavenoplans.Threedaysago,asIslatheredpeanutbutteronabananaandslidoutthesidedoortothegarage,MomandDadsuggestedthatweallwatchtheballdroponTV,likeweusedto.That’showIspentalmosteveryNewYear’sEveasateenager,backwhenIlivedathomeandhadnosociallifeoutsideofthegym.Mynewlifemirrorsmyoldonealltoowell.IfIwerestilllivinginLA,Imighttrytoslitherintoasequinedminidress,pulleddowntightaroundmythighs,anddancewhileclutchinganoverfilledchampagnefluteastheclockstruckmidnight.Ican’tdothathere.IhavenoclueifBostonevenhasclubs,andifitdoes,there’snowayIwanttobravethelineoutsidewithbarelegsonawinternight.
“Uhhh…”Itrytostretchoutthewordinordertobuymyselftimetogeneratearesponsethatsavesmefromlookinglikealoserwithnofriends,butnothingcomestomind.“Well…notreally?”
I’mgratefulthathisexpressiondoesn’tflickerwithpity.
“Myfriendishavingapartytonight,”hesays.
“Oh,”Isay,exhalingandfeelingmycheeksflushingpink.“Youdon’thavetoinvitemeoutjustbecauseIhavenothingbettertodo.”
“No,no,I’msaying…”Hechucklesandlooksdown.“I’msayingyoucouldcome?Ifyouwantto.”
Thewayhisvoicelilts,Igetthesensethathe’snotjustbeingnice.Hesoundsnervous,likehe’sactuallyhopingIsayyes.I’veneverseenahintofvulnerabilityfromhimbefore,butIlikeit.Partofmewantstospitoutareassuringanswerquicklysohedoesn’thavetofeelflustered;partofmemarvelsatseeinghimlikethis.
“Or,youknow,ifyou’dratherdosomethingelse,that’scool,too,”herushestoadd.
It’sfunny,Iguess,thewaywe’vespenthundredsofhourstogetheratthispoint,andyetwe’restillnotquitecomfortablearoundeachother.Ourlunchtwoweeksagowasagoodstepforward,butwehaveawaystogo.
“Thatsoundslikefun,”Isay,aimingtosoundcoolandconfident,insteadofoverlyeager.I’mnotsureIlandtherighteffect.“Icouldswingby.”
“Sweet,”hesays,knockingthesideofthestereowithhisfist.“I’lltextyouthedetails.”
Amillionquestionsstarttounfurlonmytongue:WhatshouldIwear?ShouldIbringdrinks?Who’syourfriend?Where’stheparty?…Isthisadate?ButbythetimeIworkupthecouragetospitouteventhemostbasicones,Ryanisalreadystraighteningupandheadingacrossthegym.
“Seeyoutonight!”hecalls,stretchinguptoslapthetopofthedoorframeashedisappearsintothelobby.
OnceI’msurehe’sgone,Iturntofacethemirrorthatrunsalongoneedgeofthefloor.I’mbare-faced,withalifelessponytailthatprobablyshould’vebeenwashedyesterday.Chalkdustandfoampitparticlesclingtomyclothes.IhavenoideawhatkindofpartyI’minfor,butIcanguaranteethatthislookisn’tgoingtocutit.Iheadhome,checkingmyphoneateachredlight,waitingforRyan’stext.
There’samessageonmyphonewhenIstepoutoftheshower.IwipethefogfrommyscreenagainsttheblueterryclothofmytowelandreadRyan’stext:aSomervilleaddressIdon’trecognize,10p.m.,BYOB.ManyofmyformerclassmatesmovedtoSomervilleaftercollege,especiallytheoneswhostayedlocalforschool.FromwhatIknowofit,it’sthekindofplacewithfixed-gearbikesandall-organicmarkets,notfarfromHarvard.It’sjustbustlingenoughtofeelhip—Ithink.I’veneveractuallybeen.
Iclutchthetoweltomychest,shiveringalittleattheshockofcoldairoutsidetheshower,andheadintomybedroomtofindsomethingtowear.Myflimsyclubbingdressesaregone,butanyofthemprobablywould’velookeddesperateandoutofplace,anyway.Instead,Ifindapairofpleatherleggingsandasilkyblackcami.Ihesitate,wonderingifmyblackknitsweaterwouldbemoreappropriate.IrummagethroughadresserdraweruntilIfindit.Thefabricfeelscomfortablythickundermyfingers.Ryanismycoworker.Butarmsarejustarms,aren’tthey?Andit’sNewYear’sEve.Ipushthesweaterbackintothedrawer.
Iblow-drymyhair,putonatastefullayerofmakeup,grababottleofwinefromtheliquorcabinetdownstairs—thoughIneedtoblowacoatofdustoffofitfirst—tostashinmypurse,andthen…waitfortimetopass.It’sbarelyaftereight.Therewasatimeinmylifewhengoingoutbeforemidnightseemedlame.Now,theprospectofevenmakingittomidnightseemsquestionable.Ipadintothekitchentoscroungeforleftovers.
“You’regoingout?”Dadasks,lookingupoverhisglasses.He’seatingaplateofpastawithonehandandreadingamagazineintheother.
“Yeah,ifthat’s…okay?”Iasktentatively.
Hetiltshishead.“IguessIcanseehowsittingaroundwithyourparentstonightprobablyisn’tyourideaoffun.”
“Oh,comeon,Dad,”Isay,tryingtoforcealaugh.
Heshrugs.“Pasta’sinthefridge,”hesays.
Imakemyselfaplateandpopitintothemicrowave,tryingtofigureoutwhattosaytohimastheappliancehumsinthebackground.
“Ryaninvitedmetohisfriend’splaceinSomerville,”Iexplain.“I’lltakeanUberthere.”
Dadreachesforhiswalletandfishesouttwotwenties.
“No,Dad,”Isay,laughing.“Uberdoesn’ttakecash.ButIgotit.I’mgood.I’mmakingmoneynow,youknow.”
AfterDadandIfinishourpasta,wejoinMominthelivingroomtowatchTV.ThecrowdpackedintoTimesSquarelooksmiserableintonight’sfrigid,slushyweather.Their“2020”glassesareajarringreminderthattheOlympicsarejustmonthsaway.BetweenthecountdownclockinthecorneroftheTVscreen,tickingawaytheminutestomidnight,andtheuncomfortablesensationofmypleatherwaistbanddiggingintomystomachwhenInormallysithereinsweats,it’simpossibletoforgetthatIhavesomewheretogo.I’manxioustoleave;I’mnervousabouttheprospectofheadingintoapartywhereIonlyknowRyan,andI’mcurioustoseehowthenightwillunfold.Theyearaheadfeelslikeafreshstart,andIwantittohurryupandarrivealready.
MomandDadencouragemetoleaveatninethirty,butIforcemyselftowaitatleastanothertwentyminutesbeforeIdarecalltheUber.Idon’twanttoshowupembarrassinglyearly.Whenmydriverarrives,hegrumblesabouttrafficbutplaysacomfortingmixofpophitsfromthe’80sand’90sasthecarwhisksmethroughthesuburbsandintothecity.IfIweremeetingTylerataparty,I’dtexthimaheads-up:Onmyway.ButIdon’tknowRyanthatwell.Myfingerhoversoverhisnameinmyphone.Idomybesttoresisttheurge.
Finally,attenthirty,thecarstopsinfrontofathree-storyhousewithastripofasnowyfrontlawn.Agroupofpeopleclusterinthewidebaywindowofthefirst-floorapartment;thatmustbeit.Iscurryupthefrontwalk,climbtheshortsetofstairstotheporch,andtakeadeepbreathbeforeringingthebuzzer.
Atrim,dark-hairedguycomestothedoorafewsecondslater.Hismouthpartshalfway,andhegivesmeaquizzicalexpression.“Hi?”
IglancepasthisshouldertoseeifIcanspotRyan,butI’mnottallenoughtoseebeyondthisguy’sbulkyframe.“Hi,uh,Ryaninvitedme?”
“Oh,hey,c’moninside,”hesays,steppingbacktowelcomemeintotheapartment.Hisexpressionsoftens.“I’mGoose.Thisismyplace.”
“Goose?”Iask.
“MikeGuzowski,buteveryonecallsmeGoose,”heexplains,gesturingtothegroupofpeoplegatheredinhislivingroom.
Theroomisdim,illuminatedbyastripoflightsalongthewindowthatemitasoftglowthatrotatesthroughthecolorsoftherainbow.There’samassivesectionalalongonewallwhereanassortmentofthick-necked,muscledguyssitwiththeirdates,facingtheTV.ThescreenisturnedtothecountdowninTimesSquare,butmercifully,it’sonmute.Instead,ambientelectronicmusicfloatsthroughtheroom.Thepartyisdominatedbyadiningroomtablesetupforbeerpongwithteamsoftwofacingoffateachend.Thekitchenislandisentirelycoveredwithemptybeerbottles,flattenedsix-packcartons,openbagsofchips,andaTupperwarefulloflopsided,homemadechocolatechipcookies.
Ryanisperchedonthearmofthecouch,sippingabeer.Hepopsupwhenhespotsme.
“Hey,youmadeit,”hesays,approachingmeandGoose.
Hehesitatesforasplitsecond,thenleansinforahug.It’sthefirsttimewe’veeverbeenthisclose,andIcandetectsomekindofcologne.Ileanintohimforabriefmoment,andhishandgrazesthesmallofmyback.
“Goodtoseeyou,”Isay.
Trainingwasonlyafewhoursearlier,buthere,attheparty,itfeelslikeitcould’vebeendaysago.Iunzipmyblackwoolcoatandshrugitoff,tossingitonthepileofparkasandpeacoatsontheloveseat.
“Ibrought,um,this,”IsaytoRyan,fishingthebottleofmerlotoutofmybag.
“Oh,sweet,”hesays,lookingdownatthelabel.“Thanks.Shouldweopenit?”
Themerlotseemedfineearlierthatnight,butnowthatIseeeveryoneelsenursingbeers,itfeelslikeanuncomfortablyfussychoice.
“Maybelater?”Isuggest.“I’llhaveoneofwhateveryou’rehaving.”
Ryangrabsabeerfromthefridge,scansthetableforanopener,andsnapsoffthecap.Weclinkbottlesceremoniously.
“Youlookgreat,”heofferssheepishly.“I’veneverseenyou,youknow…”Hegesturestotheslickpleatherpantsandlookslikehe’satalossforwords.“I’veneverseenyouwithyourhairdownbefore.”
Washiscommentflirty?Itfeltflirty—butmaybeheonlywantedtobringmealongbecausetheotherguysherehavedates.
“Oh,thanks,yeah.Ifigured,youknow,Icouldlookalittlemorepresentableforanightout.”
Idon’tknowwhatelsetosay,soImumblethathelooksgreat,too.It’snotalie;he’sinacharcoal-graysweaterthatlookslikecashmereandslim-fittingblackpants.Awayfromthegym’sharshfluorescentlighting,dressedinrealclothes,helooksmorelikeaGQmodelthananyrealpersonhasarightto.Hemaybemyboss,butI’mnotimmunetothefactthathe’shot.Ilikethatwhilehe’stallforagymnast,he’smuchclosertomyheightthan,say,Tyler.It’snicenottohavetocranemynecktohaveaconversationwithhim.
“So,uh,howdoyouknowGooseandeveryone?”Iask.
“GooseandIgrewuptogetherinFlorida,”heexplains.“He’sbeeninBostonsincecollege,andhalfthereasonIwaspsychedtotakethecoachingjobatSummitisbecauseit’dmeanseeinghimregularlyagain.Andthenalotoftheseguysarebuddiesfromthegym.Here,letmeintroduceyou.”Hegesturesfortwopeopleonthesprawlingsectionaltoscootapartandmakeroomforus.“Move.”
Aspaceopensup,andwesit,ourthighsbumpingaswegetcomfortableonthecouch.
“ThisisAvery,theothercoach,”Ryantellsthegroup.
Hereelsofftheirnames,thoughtherearetoomanyformetokeeptrackofthem.Hisfriendsnodatmeinrecognition,likethey’veheardofmealreadyandknewtoexpectmetonight.Peoplesayhello,thenreturntoaheatedconversationaboutthePatriots’chancesofmakingtheSuperBowl.ThelastthingIwanttodoistalkaboutfootballwithanotherguy.
“So,youmusthavebeenagymnast,too?”Gooseasks.
Nexttohim,hisgirlfriend,ablondgirlwithmeticuloushighlightsdressedinaclingy,metallicsweaterdress—Melissa,Ithink?—looksup.
“Yep,”Isay.“Iretiredafteraninjuryaboutsevenyearsago,soI’mjustintocoachingthesedays.”
“That’ssick,”hesays,shakinghishead.
“Socool,”hisgirlfriendadds.
Theattentionmakesmeslightlyanxious.IknowthenextlogicalquestionisifIwaseverintheOlympics,likeRyan,andthat’sarabbitholeIdon’twanttohavetodealwith.SoIjumpinwithaquestionofmyowntodiverttheconversation.
“Whatdoyouguysdo?”Iask.
Gooseworksinsalesforatechstart-up,andMelissateachesfifthgrade.
“Itlookslikethey’refinishingup,”Goosesays,noddingtothebeerpongtable.“Wanttoplaynext?”
“Yeah,”Melissasays,leaningforward.Sheclutchesmywrist.“Girlsagainstguys?”
“Let’sdousagainstthem,”Ryansays,claimingmeonhisteam.
“Areyouanygood?”Iask.
Hegivesmeacockylook.“Twoworld-classathletesagainstthesetwo?Wegotthis.”
Wewaitaminuteforthegametowrapup,andthenGoosesetsupthetableforanotherround.HethrowsthefirstballandsinksitintoaredSolocup,butRyandoesn’tlookworriedatall.Iexpecthimtostepuptothetableforthefirstthrowfromourside,butheencouragesmetotaketheshot.Icentermyselfagainstthetable,focusontheexactspotIwanttheballtolandin,andsteadymyself.Theprecisionremindsmeofpreparingforavault—excepthere,myskillsareshakyatbest.Sureenough,myballbouncesofftherimofonecupandricochetsacrossthelivingroom.Ichaseafteritinahurrybeforeitdisappearsunderthecouch.
“Tryalightertouchnexttime,”RyansuggestswhenIreturn.Hemimicsthethrow.
Ichuckle.“Areyoucoachingme?Youknow,we’reofftheclock.Thisisjustforfun.”
Heholdshishandsup.“Allright,you’reright,I’msorry.”
“No,no,Idon’tmeanyouhavetocutitout—I’mjustteasingyou.Showmehowtomakeashot.”
Overthecourseofthegame,betweenturns,heslowlybutsurelyguidesme.He’sstandinginchesbehindmewhenIfinallylandone,andheleansforwardtowraphisarmsovermyshouldersinacelebratoryhug.
“Yes!”heexclaims.“Greatjob.”
Whenwewintheentiregameafewminuteslater,it’sallbecauseofRyan.
“Victory!”Icheer,throwingupbothhandstopunchtheair.
“We’reagreatteam,”hecounters.
“ThatonepointIscoreddefinitelyhelped,”Isayfaux-seriously.
Hedoesn’targuewithme.
Werelinquishthetabletothenextgroupofplayersandgetanotherroundofbeersfromthefridge.Thepartyhasgottencrowded.
“So,Avery,beerpongchampion,”hebegins,“Iknowwespendallthistimetogetheratwork,butpleasedon’ttakethisthewrongway—canyoutellmeaboutyourself?”
Ilaugh.“Like,firstdatestyle?”
“Firstdatestyle,”heechoes.
“Isthisadate?”Iask,suddenlyfeelingemboldenedbythebeerandthevictoryandtheheadyrushofNewYear’sEve.
Hisshoulderscreeptowardhisears,hislipscurl,andhecockshisheadtooneside.“Maybe?”heaskscoyly,self-consciously,likemyquestioncaughthimoffguard.“Ifyouwantittobe.”
BeforeIcanformulatetherightresponse—doIwantittobe?—heclearshisthroatandrushestoadd,“Orifyoudon’twantittobe,thatisabsolutelyokay,too.”
“Iwonderedwhatyouwerethinkingwhenyouinvitedmeout,”Isay,hedgingmybets.
“I…”Hefalters.“Ineverheardyoumentionseeinganyone.Areyouseeinganybody?”
“I’mnotseeinganyone,no,”Isay.Ihesitate,thendecidetosharealittlemore.“Butthat’skindofwhyImovedbacktoGreenwood.IwasinarelationshipinLA,andthenitended.”
IconsidertellinghimmoreaboutmybreakupwithTyler,butdecideagainstit.Thatconversationwouldrequireexposingtoomuchofmyself.Idon’tneedRyantoseetheraw,messybitsofmylife.It’sbetterthathethinkofmeonlyasastellarcoachormaybeevenassomeonehemightstarttolike.There’snouseruiningthatimpression.
Ryannodsandsipshisbeer.“I’msorrytohearthat.”
MaybeI’mimaginingit,butwhateverglimmerofpotentialtherewasbetweenusbefore,it’shardenednow.Hisjawsetsamillimetertighterthanitdidbefore.IshecalculatinghowlongI’vebeenbackintownandhowquicklyapersoncangetoverheartbreak?
“Itwas…itwasforthebest,”Isay.“Itwastime.Weshould’vebrokenuplongbeforeweactuallydid.”
I’veneversaidthatoutloud,butit’sthetruth.I’vealwaysbeenconsciousofthefactthatTylerpulledmeoutofadangerousspiral;Iknowhewassodamngoodformewhenwemet.Butwebothchanged.Wegrewapart.AndjustbecauseI’mgratefulforhowhewasbackthendoesn’tmeanIowehimforever.Theideaisstrangelyenergizing.I’vebeenleaningonelazyhipagainstthekitchencounter,andIstraightenuptomyfullheight.
“You’reafighter,”hesaysserenely.“You’llgetbackoutthereinnotime.”
Afighter.Ican’trememberthelasttimesomeonecalledmethat.It’sbeenagessinceIdeservedthatcompliment.Itfeelsgoodtobeseenthatway.
“Yeah,Iknow,”Isay,testingoutwhatit’sliketoacceptpraise.Notbad.
Ryandigsthroughanopenbagofpotatochips,andwhenhelooksbackupatme,hehasafunnylookonhisface.Hismouthtwiststooneside.Igetthesensethathe’sweighingwhetherornottosaysomething,andIdon’twanttointerrupthistrainofthought.Ipicklightlyatthechips.
“Fortherecord,I’mnotseeinganyone,either,”hesaysfinally.“Ihaven’thadanythingseriousforawhile.”
“Mmm.”
IworrythatifIsaytoomuch,I’llscarehimintochangingthesubject—andIwanttohearmore.
“ItwastoughtodatewhenIwastrainingseriously,andthenafter,Ijumpedintoarelationship,probablyjusttofeelnormalandfillallthattime,youknow?Ifigured,ifIcan’tbeacompetitivegymnastanymore,maybeIcouldbesomeone’sboyfriend.”
Ican’thelpbutletoutashort,harshlaugh.“Oh,Iknowthatfeeling.Maybetoowell.”
Hisfacelightsup.“It’sweird,isn’tit?Goingfromthisthingthatdominatesyourwholeworldtonothingatall.It’slike,well,shit,canIevenbeanybodyelse?”
Iexhaledeeply.“Iknowwhatyoumean.”
“Butanyway,thatdidn’tpanout.Obviously.”
“Obviously,”Isay.
Hetakesanotherchipandturnsitoverinhishand,consideringit.
“SoIguesswhatI’msayingisthat,ifthiswereadate,Iwouldn’tmind,”hesays.
Ilikethehopefultwinkleinhisexpression.
“Well,I—”Istarttosay.
“Hey,everyone!”Gooseboomsfromthecouch.“Oneminutetomidnight.Thecountdown’scoming.”
Hedouble-fistselectronicdevices,cuttingoffthemusicwithhisphoneandusingtheTVremotetotaketheTimesSquarebroadcastoffmute.Ihadn’tevennoticedMelissabustlinginthekitchen,butwhileRyanandIhadbeentalking,shemusthavepouredchampagneintotwodozenplasticfluteslinedupinrowsonthecounter.
“Here,helpmepasstheseout,”sheinstructsasshesqueezesbyme,clutchingfourtoherchest.
I’mfrustratedthatmyconversationwithRyangotinterrupted.IgrabasmanyflutesasIcancarryandmakemywayintothecrowd,passingthemout.WhenIturnbacktogetmore,Ryanisbehindme,hisgazelockedonthetrembling,overlyfilleddrinks.Ihandthreeplasticflutestostrangersandkeepafourthformyself.Ifeeltooself-conscioustotakeupprimerealestateinaspotinfrontoftheTV,soImovetotheedgeoftheparty,nearthewindows.There’saroaring,rhythmiccheercomingfromthehordesoftouristsinTimesSquarethatsignalsthenewyearismeresecondsaway.Iwonderhowmanymillionsofpeoplemustbewatchingthissameexactsight,andwhatunfathomablepressurethatmustplaceonwhoeverisresponsibleforloweringthatmassivecrystalball.
“Ten,nine,eight,”thepartychants.
Ishrinkclosertothewindows,unsurewhetherornottojoinin.Theyaren’tmyfriends.
“Seven,six,five,”theyshout,growinglouder.
Suddenly,Ryanslipsbetweenthecoupletomyleft,andhe’sbymyside.
“Hi,”hebreathes.
“Hi,”Isay,instantlyfeelinglessalonehere.
Heplaceshishandonthesmallofmyback.
“Four,three,two,one!HappyNewYear!”everyoneannounces.
Allaroundus,coupleseruptincelebratorykisses.Iturntohimjustasheturnstome.Acuriousgrinplaysonhisface.Hisfingersslideovermywaist,keepingusclose.Iplacemyhandlightlyonhischest,tiltmyheaduptolookathim,andwekiss.Ifeelagiddyburstofadrenaline,andit’snotonlythefestiveenergyradiatingthroughouttheroom.Despiteharboringacrushonhimforyears,IneverfathomedaworldinwhichIstirupthesamedizzyingfeelingsthathecreatesinme.Ryanpullsbackeversoslightly,andasmilecurlsonhislips.
“HappyNewYear,”Iwhisper.
“IthinkIlikethisyearalready,”hesayssoftly.
Herestshisdrinkonthewindowsill,thenpullsmeclosertohim,slidinghishandsovermyhips.Hisembraceiswarmandthrilling.Ifeelconfidentenoughtoletmyhandroamfromhischesttohisshouldertohisneck,feelingthepowerfulmusclesunderneathhissweater.Myfingersbrushtheplushedgeofhishair.Henuzzlesmycheekandtrailskissesdownthesideofmyneck.Thesensationiselectrifying,andmyeyesflutteropen.
Mostofthecrowdhasmovedonfrommakingout;themusicisbackon.ItsuddenlyhitsmethatI’mkissingRyan—notjustCuteRyanfrommyteenagedreams,butRyan,thecoachIworkalongsideeveryday.Thepersonwho,likeme,isresponsibleformoldinganOlympicchampion,andprobablyshouldn’tbedistractedrightnow.Athickblanketofself-consciousnesssettlesoverme,andItenseup.
“Youokay?”Ryanasks,droppinghishandsfrommywaist.
Istareoutattheroomofpeople.“I,uh,I…I’msorry.”
“Forwhat?”heasks,lookingconcerned.
“Shouldwebedoingthis?”Iask,pushingmyhairbackfrommyface.
Anxietycreepsintomychest.
“Isthistoosoon?”hesays,inchingawayfromme.
Itakeadeepbreath.It’shardtofacehim.
“Ilikeyou,butIdidn’texpecttolikeyoulikethis,”Isay,fumblingfortherightwords.I’mnotbraveenoughtosaywhatIreallymean,whichisthatIdidn’texpecttolikehimthismuch.Crushesneverreallyworkoutthatway—justbecauseyouthinksomeoneisattractivefromafardoesn’tmeanshitwhenitcomestohavingarealconnection.“Shouldwemaybe,Idon’tknow,thinkaboutthis?Idon’twanttomessupwhatwehaveatwork.”
Herubshisjawanddoesn’tlookatmerightaway.“Surething.”
“Ishouldgo,”Isay.
Hedoesn’tprotest.
TheentireridehometoGreenwood,Ireplaythatkissinmymindandregretleaving.
JANUARY2020
?CHAPTER10?
SummitisclosedonNewYear’s,butopensthefollowingday.Ipullintotheparkinglotwithoneminuteuntilpractice,althoughIdon’tgetoutofthecarrightaway.Ryan’sSubaruisparked,andI’mworriedaboutenteringthegymwithoutHallieasabuffer.Ispentmostofyesterdayping-pongingbetweendesireandself-doubt;Iwanttoletmyselfenjoythememoryofthattantalizingkiss,butIknowIshouldn’t.Withouttheheadybuzzofthepartycloudingmyjudgment,itseemsawfullystupidtojeopardizemyprofessionalrelationshipforthechanceatanythingromantic.Wecan’triskHalliecatchingon;she’sshelteredenoughthatamidnightkissbetweenhertwocoacheswouldsoundscandalous,notfestive.Itwouldbeadistractionshecan’taffordtoindulgeinrightnow.Andbeyondthat,RyanistheclosestthingIhavetoafriendthesedays.Idon’twanttoruinthat.Thethoughtofexplainingthistangleofemotions,responsibilities,andfearstoRyanmakesmequeasy—I’drathersimplypretendthekissneverhappened.Weweretipsy;Iwaslonely;that’sthat.SoIwaituntilIseeHallie’smomdropheroffbeforeIdaregetoutofmycarandenterthebuilding.
Hallieisusuallyhappytochatterawaythefirstmorningafterabreak,likeaweekendoraholiday.ButwhenIfindherandRyanonthefloor,she’snotdilly-dallying—she’salreadyrunninglaps.Itlookslikeshedoesn’twanttosquanderamomentofpractice.
“It’s2020,”shepantsasshecruisespastme.“Notimetowaste.”
Ryanturnseversoslightlytowardmewithhisarmscrossedoverhischest.“Hi,”hesayssimply,likehe’stestingoutthevibebetweenus.
“Morning,”Isay,maybeabittoobusinesslike.
“Howwasyourdayoff?”hesaysevenly,turninghisgazebacktoHallie.
Ifollowsuit.It’seasiertowatchherthantolookathim.
“Fine.Yours?”Isay,aimingtosoundslightlysofterthistime.
“Fine,”hereplies.
Halliejogspastusagain,andwefallintouneasysilence.
“Areyoucoldinhere?It’scoldinhere,”hesays,sometimeafterherthirdlap.“I’mgoingtogofiddlewiththethermostat.”
Hestaysacrossthegymforlongerthanittakestoadjustthetemperature.
ItstrikesmethatevenifIwanttopretendthekissneverhappened,hemaynot.Maybehefeelsrejected,orembarrassed,orlikehemisreadthesituationentirely.OrmaybehecametothesameconclusionthatIdid,thatgettinginvolvedwitheachothercanirreparablydamagetheworkwe’redoing.IfHallieoverhearsourawkwardness,there’snowayshewouldn’tpickuponthefactthatsomethingisoff.
IglanceatHallie—she’sbeendoingavariationofthissamewarm-uproutinesinceshewasinpreschool.Shedoesn’tneedmetohoveroverherandbarkinstructions.IleavemyregularperchbythestereoandheadtothebackofthenearlyemptygymtofindRyanleaningagainstthewallandlookingatsomethingonhisphone.
“Hey,canwetalk?”Iaskquietly.“Like,forreal.”
We’refarenoughthatHalliewon’thearus,butstill,I’mnervous.
“Hi,what’sup?”hesays,makingavaliantefforttoappearcasual.
Iwringmyhandsandsteelmyselfforamomentofterrifyinghonesty.“Ihadsomuchfunwithyoutheothernight,andIreallyappreciatethatyouinvitedmeout,”Ibegin.“Itwasallamazing,includingthekiss,butI…Idon’tthinkitshouldhappenagain.Ithinkwe’dbebetteroffasfriends.”
“Oof,”hesayscoolly.“You’requicktoturnmedown.”
“No!That’snotit.Imean,ifthecircumstancesweredifferent,I’dwanttogiveusarealshot.”
Heraisesoneeyebrow.“Whatdoyoumean?”
ItakeadeepbreathandtrytosummonthevulnerabilityIneedtopulloffthisconversationsuccessfully.
“Ilikeyou.Alot.Ireallyappreciatethatwecomefromthesameworld;itmakesmefeellikeyouunderstandmebetterthanmostpeople.Ithinkthatifwe…”
Thisismortifyingtosayoutloud,butIhavetokeepgoing.
“Ifwegottogetherforreal,itwouldbeincredible,”Isay.I’mfullyemotionallynakedinfrontofhimnow.“Butthatscaresme,becausewecouldgetcaughtupinwhatever’sbetweenus,andthatcouldaffectourabilitytoworktogether.”
Hisfacesoftens.Hedoesn’tlookangry—justsad.
“Thisisn’tjustaboutus,”Iremindhim.“It’saboutHallie,too.Thisisaonce-in-a-lifetimeshotforher.”
Iseehisgazedriftovermyshoulder,andIturntofollowit.Hallieisstretchinginanoversplit—asplitwithstacksofmatsundereachfootandhercrotchflushagainstthefloor.Shegrabsthetoesofherfrontfootandbendsovertofaceherknee.Thepositionrequiressuperhumanflexibilitydevelopedoveryears,whichsumsupmypointexactly.Weallhavetostayfocusedonourgoal.
Hesighs.“You’reright.Igetit.”
“I’dstilllovetobefriends,though,ifyou’reopentoit,”Iadd.“Really.”
Hisexpressionistoughtoreadatfirst,butitultimatelycrinklesintoanattemptatasmile.“Ofcourse.”
MeandRyan,friends.There’ssomethingabouttheideathat’shazyandhardtopicture,butmaybethat’sbecausenothingaboutmyfuturefeelscompletelysolidrightnow.I’vefinallysavedupenoughmoneytomoveoutofmyparents’house,andI’mgoingtoseeanapartmentthisweekend.Theideaofmovingmakesmefeelhopeful.
“I’llseeyouaround,”IpromiseRyan.
Heclapshishandsauthoritativelyandcallsacrossthegym,“Hallie,how’sthatstretchinggoing?”
Fortherestofthemorning,RyanandIstayoutofeachother’sway.IgivehimspacewhileheworkswithHallieonvault.Whenit’stimeformetotakeoveronfloor,hetellsHalliehe’sgoingtoheadtotheofficetoanswersomeemails.
“Tumbling,let’sgo,”Iinstruct.
Shewarmsupandpracticeseachofthefourpasseswe’vechosenforherroutine.Afterahardlanding,shesighsandrollsoutherankle,flexingherfootindifferentdirections.
“Feelingokay?”Icallacrossthefloor.
Shetakesafewexperimentalsteps,headcockedtotheside.
“Yeah,yeah.Thatlandingwasweird,butI’mgood.”
“Didyougetachancetoseethatdoctor?”Iask.
“Dr.Kaminsky?”sheasks.“Yeah.Hecheckedmeout.”
“Whatdidhesay?Howareyoufeeling?”
Shesighs.“Nothingmajoriswrong,butIcantapeitupifit’sbotheringme.”
“Didheorderanytexts?X-rays?MRIs?”
“It’sallfine,”shesays.“I’mgonnatapeupmyankle.”
Sheretrievesgauzyprewrapandathletictapefromthesupplyclosetandsitsononesideofthefloorwithherfootinfrontofher,methodicallywindingthematerialsaroundherankleandheeltostabilizethejoint.
Isitandjoinher.Shesilentlyfumeswhenthetapeistootoughtoripcleanly.Ihelpherpulloffalongstrip.
Shebitesherlip.“Iknowhe’sagooddoctor,butIdon’tknow…Ikindofgotaweirdvibefromhim.Andmyanklereallyfeelsfine,anyway.Soit’snotlikeI’dneedtogoback.”
SomethingaboutHallie’squiet,fidgetydemeanorandinsistencethateverythingisnormalraisesaredflagforme.SheremindsmeofJasmine,backwhenwewerekids,thewayshe’dpretendlikeDimitri’sbehavioronbaddaysdidn’tbotherher.Shealwayscriedlater,whenitwasjustthetwoofus.Irememberthepressuretostaytightlycontrolledandfocusedontraining,thewaywewouldpushdownourfeelingsuntilwecouldbarelynoticethemanymore.Idon’twantthatforHallie.
“Ifsomething’snotright,youcantellme,youknow,”Isayslowly,choosingmywordscarefully.“I’malwayshereifyouwanttotalk.”
Shehesitates,glancesatthedoor,andthenbackatme.Ryanisnowhereinsight.Sheabsentmindedlypicksattheedgeoftherolloftape.
“BothtimesI’veseenhim,heexaminesmyankleandshowsmecertainexercisesIcandotostrengthenit,”shesays.“ButthenhealsosaysthereasonIhavetroublewithithassomethingtodowithmyhips.Sohehasmerolldownmyleggingsalittle,andheholdsmyhipsandwatchesmebendover.”
Shedoesn’tmakeeyecontact.Shekeepspickingatthetape.
Idon’tknowenoughaboutmedicinetoknowifshe’sdescribingalegitimateprofessionalencounterorsomethingfarmoresinister.Butsomethingfeelsofftome.
Shepullsherkneesuptoherchest.“He’sadoctor,”shepointsout.“Mymomwasintheroomwithmebothtimes.Shedidn’tthinkanythingofit.”
WhenHalliefinallylooksupatme,hereyesarebrightandglassywithtears
“It’sneverokayforhimtomakeyoufeeluncomfortable,”Isay.“Notevenifhe’sarespecteddoctor,andnotevenifyourmomisintheroom.”
“Gotit,”shesays.Shedigsherchinintoherknee.
“Ijustwanttomakesureyou’reokay,”Isay.
Sheshrugs.
“Itmightbehelpfultotellyourmom,”Isuggestgently.“Thatway,she’llbesurenottobringyoubacktohim.”
Idon’twanttopressureHallieintosayinganythingshe’snotreadyfor,butalso,herparentsshouldprobablyknow—andI’mnotsureit’smyplacetotellthem.IrememberhowdauntedIfeltatheragebytheprospectofbeingvulnerablewithmyparents.ButIwishIhadbeenmoreopenwiththem.
“Maybelater,”shesays.“Notrightnow.AndcanyoupleasenottellRyanaboutthis?”sheasks.
Shelooksatmesoexpectantly,Idon’tknowhowtosayno.
“Sure,”Isay,leaningforwardtowrapherinahug.
Hallieleansherforeheadagainstmyshoulderandletsmeembraceher.Ifeelthisoddwaveofmaternalinstinct,andsoIstrokeherhairandrubsoothingcirclesonherback.Sheexhales.
?CHAPTER11?
OnCraigslist,IfoundaspareroominanapartmentontheedgeofGreenwood.Thepersonleasingit,ayogainstructoraboutmyagenamedSaraMcCarthy,wastwoyearsbelowmeinGreenwood’spublicschoolsystem,thoughwedidn’tknoweachotheraskids.Normally,thiswouldmakemewary;Iwouldn’twantarepeatofmydisastrousdatewithLucas.ButasSaragavemeatourofthecozy,colorfulapartment,shedidn’taskanyleadingquestionsorpryforuncomfortableanswers.Sheseemedbothbubblyandrelaxed.Theapartmentspannedthetopfloorofaduplex;thelivingroomwaspaintedanelectricshadeofpurple,likeRachelandMonica’sapartmentinFriends;therentwasaffordable;thebedroomcamefurnished.Isaidyesonthespot.
Aweeklater,IpackmythingsintothetrunkoftheHondaanddriveacrosstowntomovein.Sarahelpsmecarrymysuitcasesandlaundrybasketsofclothingoutofthecarandupthestairs.
“It’sfineifyousmoke,justopenthewindowfirst,”shesays,mimingholdingajoint.“AndImakekombuchaeverySunday—you’rewelcometohavesome.”
I’mnotparticularlyinterestedineitheroffer,butIappreciateheropenness.
“Cool,thankyou,”Isay.
Shejostlesopenthedoortotheapartmentandleansoneofmysuitcasesagainstthecouchcoveredbyanenormoushand-crochetedafghan.Apinkyogamathangsinanyloncarrieronahookbythecoatrack,andatrioofcreamywhitecandlesrestonthecoffeetable.
Despitemyproteststhatthere’snoneedforherhelpunpacking,Saraseemshappyto.Shebrewsushot,fruityteaandcarriesitintothebedroomattheendofthehall—theonethat’snowmine.Sheletsmehavewhatisclearlythebetterofthetwomugs,printedwithafadedgraphicofacatwearingbejeweledcat-eyeglassesandonlybarelychipped.Shesitscross-leggedatthefootofthebedandfoldsclothesintoneatstacksformetoplaceinsidetheold-fashionedarmoirebythewindow,chatteringeasilyassheworks.
“So,I’lladmit,Iknowwhoyouare,obviously,”shesays,pushingherhairbehindhereartorevealaconstellationofsilverstudearrings.
“Oh,”Isaynervously.
MaybeI’dmisjudgedher.
“Imean,like,fromyearsago,”shesays.“MylittlesisterwenttoSummitandpracticallyworshippedyoufromafar.She’dflipifsheknewyouweremovingin,butIdon’tknow…Youseemsonormal?Isthataweirdthingformetosay?”
“Um…Idon’tknow?Alittle?”Isay.
IgetthesinkingfeelingthatI’vejustmovedallofmypossessionsintothehomeofawomanwhoseesmeasAvery,theathlete,notAvery,theregularroommate.
“I’msureyourlifehasmovedon,”shesaysgraciously.
I’mgratefulshesaidthat—itmakesmefeelmoreconfidentthat’strue.
“IjustrecentlymovedbackfromsixyearsinLA,”Isay,asiftoprovethatI’mnotstillthegirlwhogrewupinGreenwood.
“Imean,I’mnotthepersonIwasafewyearsback,either,”shesays.“IwenttoUMassforpsych,butthenIgotprettyintoyogathere,andthatledtomegettingmyyogateacher’strainingcertificate,andhereweare.Justcouldn’tstayawayfromthisex-ci-tingtown.”
Hertonemakesitclearshe’skidding.
“IteachatMind&BodyYoga,”sheexplains,namingtheyogastudionotfarfromGreenwoodHigh.“SinceIpracticedtheresooftenduringsummerbreakshomefromcollege,Icouldn’tsaynowhentheyofferedmeajob.Igottasay,I’mjealousthatyoumovedaway.IwishIcould’vedonesomethingcoollikethat.”
“Imean,it’skindalikeyousaid,onethingturnsintoanother,right?Andthenyouwindupinaplaceyouneverthoughtyou’dbe?Aftermygymnasticscareerended,ImovedtoLAforschool,thenstayedbecauseofmyboyfriendatthetime,”Isay,glossingoverthemanicyearsofpartying.I’mnotsureifshe’dapprove.“Andthenwhenthatrelationshipended,Ididn’thavemuchkeepingmethere.SoImovedback,andluckily,acoachingjobopenedupatSummit.”
“Okay,waitasec,”shesays,loweringhervoiceconspiratorially,eventhoughwearetheonlypeoplearound.“Yourboyfriend.Youdatedthatfootballplayer,right?”
AssoonasshementionsTyler,ithitsmethatIhaven’tdwelledonhiminaweek.Ifeelalittleproudofmyselfforbeginningtomoveon.
“Yeah,yeah,Idid,”Isay,tryingtodownplayit.
IturntowardtheclosetandhangupmyparkasoIdon’thavetofaceher.
“Thatsoundstotallymajor,”shesays.“Whatwasthatlike?”
Hertonesoundshungryforgossip,butI’mnotinthemoodtogiveit.Igetwhysomepeoplemightbestarstruckbytheprospectofdatingaprofootballplayer,buthavingactuallydoneit,thesheenislostonme.
“Uh,lotsofmuscles,lotsofsweat,”Isayquickly.“Butunderneathallthat,justthesameold,sameold.”
“Huh,”shesays,chewingthatover.
“Wejustgrewapart,”Iexplainslowly,testingoutherreaction.“Webothchanged.Wewanteddifferentthings.”
Shedramaticallycloseshereyesandplacesherhandstogetherinprayer.“Preach,girl.”
Ilaugh.
“Iusedtodatethisguywho…”shebeginsbeforecuttingherselfoff.Sheshakesherhead.“Youknowwhat?No.He’snotevenworththebreathitwouldtaketoexplainit.”
“Fairenough,”Isay.
I’mstartingtolikeSara.
Ireachforthescissorsonthenightstandtocutopenmylastboxofthings.We’rebothquietforaminute.
“Actually,Ilikethisnewguy,”Iblurt,surprisingmyself,even.
“Yeah?Who?”sheasks.
IruntheoddsinmyheadthatSarawouldhaveevercrossedpathswithRyan.Greenwoodhasjustthirtythousandpeople,buthedidn’tgrowuphere,andtheyseemtorunindifferentsocialcircles.Idon’tthinktheyknoweachother.IgrabmymugofteaandsinkdownacrossfromSaraonthebed.
“HisnameisRyan.Weworktogether.”
“Ooh…anothercoach?”
“Yeah.Iactuallysortofknewofhimwhenwewereyounger,andIalwaysthoughthewascute.Weworkprettycloselytogethernow—it’sjustthetwoofustrainingthisoneincrediblegymnast.WethinkshecouldhaveaprettydecentshotatmakingthenextOlympics.”
“Sohasanythinghappenedbetweenyoutwo?”Saraasks.
Right—sheisnotheretolistentomythoughtsonHallie’sathleticcareer.ThequestionwasaboutRyan.
“WewereworkfriendsupuntilNewYear’sEve,whenheinvitedmeouttohisfriend’sparty,”Isay.“Wekissedatmidnight.Andthen…Idon’tknow,thingssortofchangedbetweenus?IrealizedhowmuchIlikedbeingaroundhim.Itfreakedmeout.Idon’tknow.”
ThisisthefirsttimeI’veevertoldthisstoryoutloud,thefirsttimeI’vehadapersontotellitto.TheeventsofthatnighthavebeenplayingonajumbledloopinmybraineversinceIleftthepartyinSomerville,butthatdoesn’tmakeexplainingwhathappenedwithRyananyeasier.
“Notagoodkisser?”sheasks,wrinklinghernose.
“No,notthat.Notatall,”Irushtosay.
God,howmanytimessinceNewYear’sEvehaveIimaginedtheelectricityofourkiss?Sometimes,IcatchmyselfdaydreamingaboutitatSummitwhenIknowIshouldn’t.
“Youshouldgoforhim,”Sarasaysclearly.
“What?”
“Youlikehim.Sotellhimthat.Gooutwithhim.Dosomething.”
Ifeelhot,likeI’munderaspotlight.
“Ican’tdothat,”Iprotest.
“Youcansithereinyourdiscomfort,oryoucanstepoutsideyourcomfortzoneandtrysomethingnew,”shecontinues,slippingintowhatIassumemustbeaplatitudefromheryogaclasses.
“Weworktogether.It’scomplicated,”Iexplain.“Itoldhimweprobablyshouldn’tdoanythinglikethatagain.”
“Lifeisshort,”shesays.
Sheshrugsandscootsoffthebed,thenwhirlsaroundtofaceme.“Wecanbefriends,can’twe?”sheasks.
“Ofcoursewecan,”Irushtosay.
“Good.Iwashopingyou’dsaythat,”shesays,grinning.“Ihavetogetgoing.ThestudiodoescandlelityogaonSundaynights.I’mteachingatsixthirtyandeighto’clock.Wannajoin?”
Iglancearoundthebedroom,whichdoesn’tquitefeelhomeyyet,thoughit’sshapingintosomethingthatfeelslikemine.Thisapartmentfeelslikeafreshstart.Idon’twanttoleaveitjustyet.
“Maybeanotherday?”Isuggest.
Idon’tmeanit.It’sthewayIwasraised—unlessaworkoutinvolvesaraisedheartbeatanddeath-defyingstunts,I’mnotinterested.Chantingmantrasindownwarddogdoesn’tseemlikeit’ddoitforme.
“Freeclassesonmeanytime,”shesays,headingaroundthecornerintoherownbedroomtogetready.
Isinkontothebed.FirstSummit,thenwhateverisgoingonwithRyan,andnowthisnewplacetolive.Forthefirsttimeinalongtime,Ifeelthedifferentelementsofmylifeclickingtogether.Ilikethisnewlife.
AfterSaraleaves,theapartmentisquiet.Idrivetothesupermarket,pickupanarmfulofcarrots,mushrooms,herbs,andrice,andmakerisottoformyself.Cookingdinnerforoneisanendeavorthatrequiresalittletoomuchtime,energy,andmoneyforwhatit’sworth,butIneedtodosomethingtokeepmyhandsandmindbusy.IhavetofocusondrizzlingthepanwithpreciselytherightamountofoliveoilanddicingthevegetablestherightwaysoIdon’thavethebandwidthtothinkaboutRyan.He’sbeenonmymindmorethanI’dliketoadmitlately.
Ididn’tusedtobelikethis—sappy,emotional,withasoftcenter.Iusedtopridemyselfonbeingabletoblockoutdistractions.It’sanecessaryskillingymnastics:whenyou’refourfeetaboveground,balancingonafour-inch-widebeam,there’snoroomtonoticethetrillingofanothergirl’sfloormusicortheflailingkidcartwheelingpastyouorthewatchfulgazeofyourcoach.There’syouandthere’sthebeam.That’sit.Tonight,there’smeandthere’sthismeal.Iwishthatcouldbeit.MymindkeepscirclingbacktothoughtsIshouldn’tbehaving.
There’snothingworthgettingdistractedfromOlympicglory,leastofallacrush—that’swhatDimitridrilledintomeyearsago.ButthetruthisthathoweverdeeplyIknowRyanandIcan’thookupordateorwhateverwewereveeringtoward,Istillwanttokisshimagain.Ican’tstopthinkingaboutrunningmyfingersthroughhishairandfeelinghispowerfulhandspressingintothecurveofmywaist.Ilikehim.Ilikedhimbackthen,too,thoughIdidn’tthinkIcoulddoanythingaboutit.Now,though?I’mnotsure.I’minanewhome.It’safreshstart.Anythingcouldbepossible.
?CHAPTER12?
Monday’spracticeslipsbyinaflash.Hallie,cladinablindingneonorangeleotardsprayedwithsparkles,whipsthroughwarm-upsandconditioningwithalarminggrit,chargesdownthevaultrunwaylikeasprinter,attackshertumblingwithgusto,andmoveswithanimpressivesenseoffocusonbeam.Nationals—theannualcompetitionthatbringstogetherthecountry’stoptalent—isoneofthemostimportanteventsoftheyear,andit’sjusttwomonthsaway.Theupcomingcompetitionsharpensthepressure.WhenHallie’smovingintopform,likesheistoday,practiceneverdrags.It’simpossibletolookawayfromher.
SheandRyanhavespentthefinalhourofthedaytogetheronbars,drillinghernewTkatchev–PakSaltocombo.It’scomingtogethernicely;rightnow,shecanpullitoffjustfine,thoughshehassomeworktoputinbeforethecombinationlookseffortless.That’sthegoldstandardingymnastics:makingtheimpossiblelooknotjustpossible,buteasy.I’vebeensittingandstretchingonthesidelines,watchingRyantrackingHallie’smovementsasshearcsthroughtheair.Hisarmsareoutstretched;he’sreadytocatchherifshefalls.
“It’ssix,”hesaysfinally,afterwhatmustbeherthirtiethattemptatthemove.
“What?”shesays,spinningaroundtolookattheclock.Shegapes.“No!Iwasjustgettingintoit.”
“Timetogo,”hesays.“Youknowyourparentslikeyououtofthegymintimeforhomework.”
“Onemore?”shepleads.
Helaughs.“Onemore.Thenyougottagetoutofhere.”
“Avery,wouldyoufilmthisone?”sheasks.
ShelikestohavevideoclipstopostonInstagram—though,ofcourse,onlythemostjaw-droppingonesactuallygetposted.
“Sure,”Isay,diggingmyphoneoutofthepocketofmyfleecezip-upandgettingreadytorecord.“Readywhenyouare.”
Shetakesherpositionunderthehighbar.Ryangrabsherbyherwaist,andshejumps;hehelpsherreachthebar.Shedoesamovecalledakiptoswingupsothewoodenequipmentisflushagainstherhips,thenscrewsupherfaceinalookofpureconcentrationbeforelaunchingintoahandstand,giant,andfinally,aTkatchevfollowedswiftlybyaPakSalto.Hercompactbodyflingsoveronebar,thenbetweenthetwo,andit’smagnificent.Oncethefinalmoveiscomplete,herkneesbend,andhershoulderssagintoarelaxedswing.Sheknowsshe’snailedit.Shedropsdownandjogsovertomyspotonthemattowatchtheplayback.
“Ilookprettygood,right?”shemuses.
“Youdo,”Iadmit.“I’lltextthistoyou.”
“Thanks!”shesays.“Okay,nowIcanheadout.Ijustwantedtonailitonce.”
Shestripsoffhergripsandheadsacrossthegymtopackupforthenight.Ryanjumpsuptothehighbarhimself,swingsbackandforth,anddropsbackdowntothemat.
“Youleaving,too?”heasks.
Ishrug.“Imean,Iguess?Mynewroommate,Sara,invitedmetoanotheryogaclasstonight,butItoldherpracticemightrunlate.”
“Weneverrunlate,”hepointsout.
“Yogaseemsboring.ButIcan’ttellherthat,”Isay.
Helaughs.“Gotcha.”
Ryanmeandersaroundthebarsandleansagainstoneofthesilverpolesholdinguptheapparatus.
“So,ifyou’renotdoinganything,then,wouldyouwanttogetdinner?”heasks.Heclearshisthroatandhastilyadds,“Asfriends.”
IfonlyheknewhowIregretsayingthatIonlywantedfriendship.
“Yeah,let’sdothat,”Isay.“It’llbecooltocatchupoutsidethegymagain.”
“Yeah?Awesome.MaybeabiteatStonehearthPizza?”
Iknowtheplace.Wood-firedpizzawithsurprisinglyhealthytoppings,whichisaplus,butbrightlylitandfullofkids—lessthanideal.
“Iwasactuallyplanningtocooktonight.Icouldmakeusdinner?”
Toolate,IrealizethatinvitingRyanovermightfeeltoointimate.
“Youlovetocook,Ilovetoeat,”hesays,likethedecisionhasbeenmade
MaybeI’moverthinkingit.
“Perfect.”
“Cool,I’mjustgonnagograbmycoatfromtheoffice,then,”hesays.
Aswewalktogetherfromthebarstothedoor,Itrytopretendthateverythingisfineandnormal,andthatIhaven’tspentthepasttwoweekswishingforanotheropportunitytospendtimealonewithhim.WhenIduckintothechangingroomtopickupmyparkaandpurse,IspendanextrathirtysecondsfixingmyponytailandputtingonacoatofmascarafromthetubeIfindinthebottomofmybag.Thisisnotadate,IremindmyselfasIlacquerupmyeyelashes.
IfindRyaninthelobby,leaningagainstthewallandlookingathisphone.There’ssomethingcasuallyintimateaboutthewayhewaitsforme;it’ssomethingTylerdidwhenImethimafterfootballpractice.ButIcan’tletmyselfthinkthatway.
“Hey,”hesays,straighteningupwhenheseesme.“IwasthinkingIcanfollowyouinmycar?”
“Surething.Let’sgo.”
Hetailsmeacrosstown,andItrynottolookbackathisreflectioninmyrearviewmirrortoooften.Ialsorefrainfromturningontheradio,incasehegetsanembarrassingglimpseofmeboppingmyheadalongtothemusic.ItrytorememberexactlyhowmessytheapartmentwaswhenIleftthismorning.Idon’tthinkthereareanyrandombrastossedoverthearmofthecouch,butIcouldbewrong.
Imeethiminmydriveway,andweclimbthestairstomyapartmenttogether.Thisisnotadate,Iremindmyself,asIunlockmyfrontdoorandusherahandsome,funnygentlemaninside.Thisismyfirsttimeinvitingaguestovertomynewapartment,andit’salittlenerve-wracking.IdistractmyselfbybabblingtoRyanaboutthetortellinisouprecipeIwasplanningtotryouttonight.
“So,it’sactuallyagoodthingyou’rehere,becauseitwassomuchsouptomakeforjustoneperson,”Iexplain.
“GladtohearI’mgoodforsomething,”hesays.
Isiftthroughmyfridgeandcabinets,pickingouttherightingredientstomakethedinner.CookingwillkeepmebusyinfrontofRyan,whichisareliefbecauseit’sjarringtoseehimsitononeoftheyellowbarstoolsinmykitchen,watchingmework.
“Hey,doyouwantsomewine?”Iask.
Ihopehe’llsayyes,soIcanhavesome,too.It’lltaketheedgeoff.
“Yeah,Icoulddoaglass,”hesays.
Ifindabottleofredwineinthecabinetandgiveuseachagenerouspour.Thefirstsipissoflavorful,thatalonecalmsmedownanotch.
There’salullintheconversationasIstarttopeelandchopanonion.TheapartmentfeelsquietwithoutSarahere.
“CanIhelp?”heasks.“I’mnochef,butIcanfollowinstructionsifyoutellmewhattodo.”
Iconsidertherecipe.“Doyouthinkyou’reupforthechallengeofchoppingcelery?”
Henods.Ihandonetohimalongwithaknifeandacuttingboard,andwegettoworksidebysideatthekitchentable.Ourknivesthwackrhythmicallyintoourrespectivevegetables,andIrealizeagainthatIdon’tknowwhattosaythatwillstriketherightbalancebetweenfriendlyandpolite.
Ryanclearshisthroat.“Halliewasgreattoday,”hesays.“Clean,onpoint.”
I’mbothrelievedanddisappointedthathebroughtupwork.It’seasy,safeterritory—Idon’thavetoworryaboutaccidentallysayinganythingunprofessionalorinappropriatelypersonal.Butontheotherhand,well,it’swork.Idon’twanttobejusthiscoworker.
“Cheerstothat,”Isay,raisingmywineglass.
Heclinkshistomine.“Cheers.Seriously.Let’sjusthopeshekeepsupthegoodwork,”hesays,sighing.
“I’msureshewill,”Isay.“You’reagreatcoach.”
“Idoallright,”hesays,shrugging.“ButyouhadDimitri.Thebest.I’mjealous.”
“You’rejealousIhadhim?”Iask.
“Yeah,”hesays,hisvoicefullofawe.“He’salegend.Itriedforyearstogethimtotakemeon,butheonlycoacheswomen’sgymnastics.Whatwashelike?”
“Tough,”Isayhonestly,movingontominceacloveofgarlic.“Reallybrutallytough.Ilikeyourstylebetter.”
“Really?”Helooksskeptical.
“Oh,onehundredpercent.Hallielovesyou.Dimitriwas…intense.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Eh,Idon’twanttogetintoit.Let’sjustputitthisway:hehadinsanelyhighexpectations,anditwasimpossibletomeetthemall.”
“Huh.I’msorrytohearyouhadahardtimewithhim.”
“It’sfine,”Isay.
“Ididn’tmeantopry,”hesays.
“It’sfine,”Isayagain,usingatonethatIhopewillshutdownthesubject.Istanduptostartcookingtheveggiesinapotonthestove.“I’mfine.”
Luckily,Ryandoesn’tkeepdigging.
“Coaching’sreallytheonlythingI’mqualifiedforatthispoint,soIbettermakethemostofit.”
“Youwenttocollege,though—whatdidyoustudy?”Iask.
“ImajoredinbusinesssoIcouldalwayshavetheoptionofstartingmyowngym,ifIwantedto,”heexplains.“ButIdon’tthinkIwasthemostdedicatedstudent.Iwenttoschoolonagymnasticsscholarship,andthatwasmostlywhatIcaredabout.”
“Wouldyoureallyopenyourowngym?”Iask.
“Maybefarinthefuture.Butfornow,I’verealizedI’dbehappiercoachingthandoinganythingelse,andyoudon’tneedadegreetodothat—justexperience,andobviously,theseincrediblemuscles.”
“Modest,”Iobservedryly.
“It’soneofmybestqualities,”hejokes.“Howlongwereyouincollegefor?”
“Onlyayearandahalf.”
Hesnapshisfingers.“Thatexplainsitall,then.”
“What?”
“Whyyou’resoterribleatbeerpong,”hesays,eyessparklingwithpuredelightatdeliveringaplayfulburn.“Mostpeoplegetafullfouryearstopractice.”
“Oh,veryfunny,”Isay,pursingmylipsandpretendingtobeannoyed.“AsIrecall,wewonthatgame.Mostlybecauseofyou,butstill.Wewon.”
“True,true.So,why’dyouleaveschool?”
MyanswertumblesoutbeforeIcansecond-guessmyself.“Iwascompletely,totally,andmajorlydepressed.Andalso,Ipartiedtoomuchtoevermakeittoclass.”
Heletsoutalowwhistle.“Thatgotdarkfast.”
Iwince.“Toodark?”
“Nah,it’sgoodtobehonest,”hesays.“Sorryyouwentthroughthat.”
“Yeah,thanks,”Isay.
IshrugandturnmyattentiontothepotonthestovesoIdon’thavetoseewhatIassumeisalookofpity.ButwhenIlookbackatRyan,hedoesn’tlooklikehepitiesmeatall.Henodsinawaythatmakesmethinkheunderstands.
“Youspendallthistimeobsessivelyfocusedonthisonething,anditbecomesyourwholeidentity,andthenit’sgone,”hesaysquietly.“Andthenit’slike,well,whatnow?”
“Exactly,”Isay,relishinginthefactthathegetsit.
“Butyou’redoingallrightnow?”heasks.
“KindofthebestI’vebeeninalongtime,actually,”Isay,suddenlyrealizingjusthowtruethatis.“You?”
“Yeah,it’sallgood,”hesays.
Thistime,Ryanraiseshisglassandclinksitagainstmine.
“Well,cheerstothat,”Isay.
Iwanttosaysomethingmore,tocomeupwithacleverideatotoastto,butIgettongue-tiedwhenhemakeseyecontactoverourdrinks.Instead,Ifinishmakingthesoupandladleitintotwobowls.I’mpleasedwithhowitturnedout—savory,hearty,burstingwithflavor.It’sasimplemeal,butRyanseemsimpressed.
“ThisbeatsStonehearth,handsdown,”hesaysappreciatively,scoopingupatortelliniwithhisspoon.
Overdinner,Ryanregalesmewithstoriesfromhistravels.Yearsofcompetingacrossstatesandcountriessparkedhisloveofseeingnewplaces,andnowhesavesupforasmanytripsashecan.
“Nextup,obviously,I’msavingtodoatriparoundAsiaafterTokyo—ifHalliemakesittoTokyo,ofcourse,”heexplains.“Youeverbeen?”
“No,Ihaven’t,”Iadmit.“What’sbeenyourfavoritetripsofar?”
Hethinksforamoment.“Travelingforgymnasticsisalwayscool,butyoudon’tgettonsoftimetoactuallyexploreorindulgeingreatfood,so…hmm.IguessmyfavoritewouldbethesummerthatGooseandIbackpackedacrossEuropetogether.”
IwishIhaddonesomethinglikethat.
“Andobviously,wesawsomeofthebestbeachesintheworld,”hesays.
“Whyobviously?”Iask.“I’dthinkthatwouldbe,like,theCaribbean.”
Heleansincloserandstage-whispers,“Nudebeaches.”
“Youperv!”Isqueal.Thewinehasdefinitelystartedtogotomyhead.
Heholdsuphishandsinprotest.“Hey,I’mjustaman.”
“Idon’tknowifIcouldeverdothat,”Imuse.
“What,gotoanudebeach?”heasks.
“Yeah.Imean,maybeyearsago,whenIwasinshape,butcertainlynotnow.”
Heraisesaneyebrow,thenlooksdowninintenseconcentrationathisbowl.
“What?”Iask.
Hesipshissoup.“Youcouldgo,”hesays,coylyglancingupatme.
“Didyoustripdown?”Iask.
“WheninRome…”hereplies.
Ifeelprecariouslyclosetotheedgeofsayingsomethingstupidlyflirty,soIshoveatortelliniintomymouthtokeepmyselffromspeaking.DiscussingnudebeachesmakesmewonderwhatRyanlookslikenaked,whichisabsolutelytheverylastthingIshouldbedoing.
Welingerafterwefinisheating.HetellsstoriesaboutwhatHalliewaslikewhenhefirstmether(apparently,“tiny,furiouslyhardworking,adorablywholesome,andtooenergetic”—orinotherwords,exactlylikesheistoday).Wegooffontangentsaboutgymnastswecompetedalongsideadecadeago,musingaboutthefewinthepubliceyetodayandthemajoritywhofadedintoquietlives.Wetrytogaugewherewefallonthespectrum,andjokinglyagreetonotletthefamegotoourheads.
Ryanrunsafingeraroundtherimofhisemptywineglass,andhismouthscrewsuptotheside.
“What?”Iask.
“Iwasgoingtosuggestanotherglass,butthat’sprobablynotthewisestideaifIhavetodriveoutofhere,”hesays.
“True,”Isay.
“Butthiswasfun,”hesays,suddenlyserious.“Imeanit.I’mgladwedidthis.”
“Me,too,”Isay.
“Letmepayyouforhalfthegroceriesandwine,”hesays,reachingforhiswallet.
“Oh,no,no,”Iprotest.“Iwasgoingtomakeallthis,anyway.”
“Avery,it’sfine,Idon’tmind,”hesays.
“No,really,Ican’tletyoupayforthis,”Iinsist.
“Fine,”hesaysheavily.“Butnexttime,I’llwin.”
“Oh,nexttime?”Iretort.“We’llseeaboutthat.”
Ilikethatwecanmatcheachotherincompetitivespirit.
“Andinthemeantime,letmehelpyoucleanthisup,”heoffers.
“Now,that,Icanaccept.”
Wespendafewminutesclearingthetableandloadingthedishwasher.Hetakesthemostannoyingtask,hand-washingthepots,ofhisownvolition.Forasplitsecond,therhythmofcookingandcleaningtogetherremindsmeoflivingwithTyler,andIforgetthatRyanisn’tmyboyfriend.Ifeeladullsenseofloneliness,thinkingaheadtotherestofthenight,oncehe’sgone.Itonlygetsworseoncethekitcheniscleanandhegrabshiscoatfromthehookbythedoor.
“I’llwalkyoutoyourcar?”Ioffer,lingeringbythecouch,suddenlyfeelingshy.
“Oh,youdon’thavetodothat,”hesays.“It’scold.”
“Idon’tmind,”Iinsist.
It’sJanuaryinNewEngland,whichmeansthatgettingreadytoheadoutthedoorrequiresseriouseffort:jacketszipped,scarveswound,glovestuggedon.Outside,it’spitch-black.Thedrivewayisonlypartlylitbythegoldenglowofastreetlamp.BythetimewereachRyan’scar,parkedbehindmine,I’mnotreadyforthenighttoend.There’saneasycomfortbetweenus—atypeofintimacythatonlygrowsbetweentwopeoplewhohavelivedthesamekindoflife.Ryanreachesforhiscardoor.Idon’toverthinkwhatcomesnext;itjusthappens.
IleanforwardandIkisshim.Itfeelslikethemostnaturalthingintheworld.Hekissesmeback,slippinganarmaroundmywaist,andbracingusbothwithahandagainstthecarwindow.Hislipsaresoft,andhisembraceissturdyandstrong.There’sawarmthradiatingfromhim,evenonthisfrigidnight,andIlikethewayIfitinhisarms.Icouldstayherehappilyforever,evenifit’sfreezing,evenifweshouldn’tbedoingthis.
Andthen,suddenly,hepullsback.Hepushesoffthecarandshoveshishandsintohispockets.Evenhiseyesflickerawayfrommine.Withouthimhoveringoverme,Ifeelcoldandexposed.
“Avery,”hesayssoftly.“We’vetalkedaboutthis.Weknowit’snotagoodidea.”
I’mshockedbyhowmuchhisrejectionhurts.It’sembarrassingtohavetoberemindedthatmypastselfmadearesponsibledecisionthatmypresentselfistooemotionalortipsyorlonelytoadhereto.
“I…I’msorry,Ijust…”Istammer.
Theeasybanteroverdinner,thefussoverpayingforgroceries,thecomfortofcleaningupsidebyside—maybethiswasn’ttechnicallysupposedtobeadate,butitsurefeltlikeone.Andwhathappenednextwassimplyanaturalextensionofthenight.Wasn’tit?Isigh,andinthecold,mybreathbecomesavisiblecloud.
“Ijustthoughtthatmaybeyouwantedthis,too,”Isay.
Hegivesmeasadlookthatmakesmyentirebodyfeelweigheddownwithtwo-tonanchors.
“Soyoudon’twantthis,”Iclarify.
It’smortifyingtosaythatoutloud,buthehastounderstandhowhemademefeeltonight.Iwanthimtorecognizethathemademefeelliketherewaspossibilitybloomingbetweenusagain.
“I’vereallythoughtthisthroughsinceNewYear’sEve,andasmuchasIwantedthistoworkbetweenus,youwereright—it’sjustnotasmartideaforustojumpintoanything,”hesays.
Ihatethathe’susingmyownwordsagainstme.I’mafraidifIprotest,myvoicewillcomeoutthinandwhiny,likeI’mbeggingforhisaffection.
“Oh,”Imanagetosqueakout,feelingverysmall.
Hesighs.“Idon’twanttopushyouaway.”
“Right.Iknowwetalkedaboutbeingjustfriends,”Iadmit.“I’msorryifIcrossedaline,then.”
Helooksdownathisfeetanddoesn’tsayanything.Icanfeelwhateversliverofachanceofusbeingtogetherevaporating,anditmakesmefeelfranticwithdesperation.
“Doyoufeellikethere’ssomethingbetweenus?”Iblurtout.“BecauseIdo.I’dbelyingifIpretendedotherwise.”
“I…”Hetrailsoffandrubshisjaw.I’movercomebyadesiretokissthatspot,butIrefrain.“Ido.OfcourseIdo,Avery.Comeon.You’rebeautiful,andsounbelievablystrong,andIfeelsoathometalkingtoyou.Ilikethatwe’recutfromthesamecloth:competitive,hardworking,goal-oriented.It’sraretofindsomeonelikethatwhoalsohasroomintheirlifeforsomeoneelse.”
Againstmybetterjudgment,athrillrunsthroughmybody.Mybrainfeelslikeajumbleofconfettiandtrumpetsandparades.AndthenInoticethewayhisvoiceliltsdownwardattheend,likethere’sa“but”coming.Myheartracesandthenskidstoastop.
Sureenough,hestartswith,“But—”
Ihavetocuthimoff.“Here’sthething,Ryan.Whetherornotit’sconvenient,orwhetherornotit’sagoodidea,Ican’tjustwalkawayfromthefactthatbeingaroundyoumakesmehappierthanI’vefeltinalongtime.”
IsoundtentimesbraverthanIfeel.It’sterrifyingtobesohonestwithhim,butI’mintoodeepnowtoturnaround.Ihavetokeepgoing—IoweittomyselftoatleasttrytowinRyanover.Itakeadeepbreathandbarrelon.
“Andthisisn’tjustaboutme.Youhaveagreatjobandagreatlife,butIknowyouwantmore.Ibetyou’vebeenlonely.That’swhyyoujumpedintoarelationshiprightafterretiringfromgymnastics.That’swhyyouflirtwithme,evenwhenyousayyouknowbetter.Iknowwhatit’sliketowantarealconnectionandnotfindit,andit’sawful.”
Ryanisstilljustinchesaway.Itakeinthesoft,darkdepthsofhiseyes,thefaintscaroverhiseyebrow,thesmatteringofstubblealonghisjaw,histensed,broadshoulders.Heswallows.
“You’reright,”hesaysquietly,notbreakingmygaze.“Aboutallofit.”
“Okay…”Isay,feelinghopeful,thoughnotsecureenoughtorelaxjustyet
“I’mjustnotsurethat’senough,”hesays.“Notwhenthere’ssomuchatstake.Aslongaswe’reresponsibleforHallie,shecomesfirst.Therecan’tbeanydistractions.”
Distractions.Thewordreverberatesuncomfortablyandsettlesintothepitofmystomach.That’swhatI’dbe:adistraction.Ican’tlookathim.I’mnotamonster—Idon’twantmylovelifetostandinthewayofHallie’sshotatOlympicglory.ButIdon’tthinkit’squitethatsimple.Shewouldneverneedtoknow.Ifiddlewiththezipperofmyjacket.
“Look,I’mnotsayingnotothis.Tous,”hesays,reachingouttotuckastraypieceofhairbehindmyear.“I’mjustsayingweneedtothinkcarefullyhere,becausetheOlympicsarerightaroundthecorner.Andyou,morethananyone,canunderstandhowdevastatedHalliewouldbeifshedoesn’tmakeit.”
I’msureRyandidn’tmeantodoit,butlinkingmyfeelingsforhimnowtothedepressionIfeltyearsagojustcrushesme.It’scruel.
“Ihavetogo,”Imutter,blinkingbacktears.
Ryandoesn’tprotestasIheadbackinside.
FEBRUARY2020
?CHAPTER13?
“Doyouhaveaboyfriend?”Hallieasksatpracticeaweeklater.
Iholdherfeetasshedanglesherupperbodyoffthebackofthevault,thenmusclesherwayupintoasittingposition.Herabsswellinsizebythesecond
“What?”Ispitout,caughtoffguard.
I’mverycarefultoresisttheurgetopeekacrossthegymatRyan.Infact,I’vespentthemajorityofthepastweekavoidinghim,becauseit’spainfulenoughtoreplayourawfullastconversationinmyheadeverynightbeforeIfallasleep.Idon’twanttohavetoreliveitinhispresence,too.
“Iaskedifyouhadaboyfriend,”sherepeats,finishinganotherrepofcrunches.
Sherarely,ifever,asksaboutmylifeoutsidethegym.Idon’tshare,either.DidsheGoogleme?Ifso,there’sahandfuloftabloidstoriesaboutmeandTyler—Ihopeshedidn’tuncoverthose.
Ilaughnervously.“No.Why?”
Herfaceturnsbeetred,andit’snotfromthephysicalexertion.Shecandothisworkoutinhersleep.
“Iwasjustwonderingbecauseyou’veseemedkindofsadallweek,andIwonderedifyougotintoafightwithyourboyfriend,”shemumbles,rushingtoadd,“Ijustwantedtoseeifyouwereokay,butnevermind.”
“Ohmygod,”Imutter,moretomyselfthantoher.
ThelastthingIwanttodoistomakeascene,becausethenRyanwillcomeoverandaskwhatwe’relaughingabout.
“Hallie,no,that’sverysweetofyou,”Isayquietly,tryingnottoattractattention.“Iappreciateyoucheckinginonme.I’mfine,justalittletired,that’sall.”
“Gotit,gotit,gotit,”shesays.“Uh,sorryforasking.”
Shedipsbackwardintoanothercrunch.“So,you’resingle,then?Iknowmyauntisalwaystryingtosetupmyoldercousin,”shesays,giggling.
“Hallie,focus!”Isay,clampingdownharderonherfeet.“Tenmorerepsinthisset.Let’sgo.”
Wemakeitthroughconditioningwithoutanymoreforaysintomypersonallife.Whenit’stimeforhertomoveontobars,sheskipsofftothechangingroomtograbhergrips.I’mrelievedshedidn’tdiganydeeper.IrememberwhatitwaslikewhenIwasherage.IknewthatthegirlsIhadgrownupwithhadboyfriends,oratleastdatestothewintersemiformal.Ioptedforhomeschoolinginsteadofattendinganactualhighschool,butevenIheardrumorsaboutmyoldclassmateshavingsex,sayingIloveyou,flirtingatbeer-soakedparties.Iwonderedifsomepeoplewerebornhardwiredforit,thewayIwasprimedforathleticexcellence.Icouldn’tfathomhavingthegutstodoanyofthatonmyown.(Butadeath-defyingstuntonasliverofwood?Sure,noproblem.)I’mimpressedthatHalliewasbraveenoughtoaskmeaboutmypersonallife—andIwonderhowmuchofhercuriositystemsfromwonderingwhatit’sliketohaveapersonallifeatall.
Myponytailhasloosenedoverthecourseofthemorning,anditsagstowardthenapeofmyneck.Itakedownmyhairandamintheprocessofredoingmyponytailwhenmyhairelasticsnaps.Idon’thaveanotheroneonme,soIheadtothesupplycloset,tuckedinanalcoveatthebackofthegym.Thedoorisslightlyajar.IpushitopenfartherandnearlybumpstraightintoRyan,who’srunninghisfingersovertheshelves,likehe’sinsearchofsomething.
“Oh!Sorry,”Isay.“Ididn’trealizeanyonewasinhere.”
“Noworries,”hesays,turningaroundtoglanceatme.
Helooksworried,though,asifhe’swaitingformetosayordosomethinginappropriateagain.
“Uh,hi,”Isay.
“Hi,”hesays,turningbackaround.
Irackmybrainforsomewittyjokeoreasybantertobreakthetension,butinstead,Ijustfreezeup.Hetiltshisheadslightly,likehe’swaitingformetosaysomething,anything.
“Ijustcamebackhereforanotherhairelastic,”Iexplain,pointingtomyawkwardlylumpyhair,stillhalf-stuckintheshapeofaponytail.“Minebroke.”
“Iseethat,”hesays,pullingtheboxofhairsuppliesoffoneshelfandofferingittome.
Ifindafreshelastic,flipmyheadover,andsmoothmyhairbackintoahigh,tightpony.Ifeelmorelikemyselfthisway.
“Haveyouseentheblocksofchalk?”Ryanasks.“Iknowwe’rerunninglow,butIthoughttherewasatleastonemorecaseinhere.”
Iscantheshelves,whicharebrimmingwithathletictape,gauze,Advil,cansofhairsprayandbuttgluecoveredinchalkyhandprints,andwaterbottlesbrandedwithSummit’slogo.Acolorfulpileoflatexresistancebandsspoolsinonecornerofthecloset.
“Uhhh,yeah,hereyougo.”
Icrouchdowntothebottomshelf,wherethere’soneremainingblockofchalkhalf-hiddeninawhiteplasticbag.Ourhandsbumpwhenhetakesitfromme.
“Thanks,”hesays,turningtoleanagainsttheshelves.
Crammedintothisnarrowclosetwithhim,ithitsmethatImisstheeasywayourconversationsusedtoflow,beforeIkissedhimandmessedeverythingup.AsidefromstrictlynecessaryconversationsaboutHallie’straining,we’vebarelyexchangedasinglewordsincethen.We’vestoppedeatinglunchtogether,too
“How’veyoubeen?”Iask.
Heexhaleswiththeslightesthintofalaughandlooksdownatthechalkinhishands.
“We’rereallydoingthis?”heasks,mutteringitmoretohimselfthantome.
“Doingwhat?”Iask,suddenlyalarmedthatI’vecrossedaline.
Hegesturesvaguelyatthespacebetweenusandmakesairquotes.“Youknow…‘How’veyoubeen?’Pretendingthingsareallnormal,when,infact,thefirsttimewe’vespokenaboutanythingbutHallieallweekisbecauseweaccidentallystumbledintothesamecloset.”
Ibitemylip,feelingthesensationofembarrassmentfloodmyentirebody.IalwaysthoughtIhadadecentpokerface;it’ssomethingIpickedupfromyearsofcompetinginfrontofjudges,hidinggrimaceswhenIwasinpainorpissedaboutalowscore.It’smortifyingthatRyanhasseenrightthroughmethiswholetime.
“Ryan,”Isay,sighing,doingmybestattempttosoundsupremelycasual.“Iamjustaskinghowyouare.Thisisn’tsomecovertsneakattackattemptatrekindlinganything.Notthatthingswere,uh,kindledinthefirstplace.Trustme,Igotthemessage.”
Icrossmyarms.Ifeellikeafoolfortryingtostrikeupaconversationwithhiminthefirstplace.
Butinsteadoflookingupsetorembarrassed,hisexpressionisapologetic.
“Avery,I’msorry,no,you’reright.Iknowthingshavebeenkindofweirdsincethatdinner,andI’msorryaboutthat.I’mtryingtobeaprofessionalhere—keepmydistance,notmakethingsawkward.Thisisnewterritoryforme,”heexplains.
“Same.”
Heexhalesheavilyandgivesmeahopefullook.“We’renotdoingtoobadly,right?”
“What,atkeepingthisquiet?”Iask.
“Yeah.”
“Well…HalliejustaskedmeifIhadaboyfriend,”Isay,notdaringtomentionthatsheonlywonderedbecauseIseemedsadaboutpotentiallyfightingwithhim.That’sinformationRyansimplyneverneedstoknow.
Helaughs.“Andwhatdidyoutellher?”
“Thetruth,obviously!”
Hetiltshishead,encouragingmetocontinue.
“Itoldherno,Iwasn’tseeinganybody,”Iclarify.
“Gotit,”hemuses.
Heshiftshisweight,andmyviewofthedoorwaybehindhimdisappearscompletely.Nobodycanseemeinherewithhim,noteveniftheytried.I’mcloseenoughtotakejustonestepforwardandkisshim,butIknowIshouldn’t.Iinchbackward,awayfromhim,butmyfootcatchesonthepileofresistancebandsspillingoutonthefloorandItrip.Theshelvesarefreestandingmetalones;I’msureeverythingwouldtoppledownontomeifIgrabbedthemforsupport.Ipitchoff-kilter,andRyanlungesforwardtosteadyme.
Ifindmybalancequickly,butRyandoesn’tletgo.Notatfirst.Hisfingersarewrappedaroundmybicepandmywaist,andI’vebracedmyselfagainsthischest.Helooksdownatme.Ilookupathim.Helooksdownathishandwrappedaroundmytorso,likehe’sjustfullyregisteredthatit’sthere,andcan’tquitebelieveit.Hislips,justinchesawayfromme,curlupinanembarrassedsortofsmile.IhatethatIlikehisstronghandsholdingmeup.
ThenIhearHallie’svoicecallingmyname.ThesoundjoltsmeoutofRyan’sarms.Isqueezepasthim,throughthedoorway,andintothemainpartofthegymsoIcanfindHallie.
“Avery?Avery?”shecalls.
Ifindhernearthebars,clutchingherphone,frozeninplace.
“Didyouseethenews?”sheasks.
Hervoicesoundstimid.
“No,whatnews?”Iask.
SheglancesatRyan,comingupbehindme,thenbacktome.Sheholdsherphonetoherchestandmotionsformetocomecloser.Igetabadfeeling.
“Ryan,couldyougiveusasec?”Iask.
Helooksconfused,butducksaway.
Hallieflopsbelly-downononeoftheplushcrashmatsbythebars.Isitcross-leggednexttoher.Shesighs,handsmeherphone,andthenburiesherfaceinherarms.
“Justreadit,”shesays,voicemuffledanddejected.
MyheartsinkswhenIreadtheNewYorkTimesheadlineonherscreen:“OlympianDeliaCruzAccusesSportsMedicineDr.RonKaminskyofSexualAssault.”OfcourseHallieisn’ttheonlyoneheintimidatedorabused.Ifeelsostupidfornotrealizingsheisn’tanisolatedcase.IknowDelia,sortof.She’shalfwaybetweenmyageandHallie’s,sowebrieflyoverlappedforayearatcompetitions,butwewereneverclose.BackwhenIknewher,shewasthisbubbly,outgoingkidwithamaneofspringy,darkcurlssproutingfromherscrunchie.Sheusedtosneakgummybearsintohergymbagandhandthemoutcovertlyinthelockerroom.
Iskimtherestofthestory,butaftertheendlesswaveofsexualassaultallegationsagainstpoliticians,CEOs,andHollywoodproducersoverthepastfewyears,thedetailsaresickeninglyfamiliar.DeliasaysDr.Kaminskymolestedherwhileallegedlytreatingherforahamstringinjury.Hermom,likeHallie’smom,wasintheroom.TheTimesreportsthatarepresentativeforDr.Kaminskyvehementlydeniestheclaims.
“Ihadnoidea,”Halliesays,voiceshaking.“Delianevertoldme.”
I’matalossforwhattosay.ItrytoimaginewhatIwouldwanttohearifIwereinhershoes,butIcomeupfrustratinglyshort.It’snotlikeIeverhadheart-to-heartswithDimitri.
“Hallie,thisisawful.I’msosorryyouhadtofindoutlikethis,”Imanage.
Shestaresglumlyoffintospaceforalongtime.
“MaybeifIhadsaidsomething…spokenup…thiswouldn’thavehappenedtoDelia?”sheasks.
Shelookstomehopefully,asifIhavetheanswers.It’stoohorribletocomprehend.Butthistime,Iknowwhattosay.
“No,”Iinsist.“Thisisn’tyourfault.Theonlypersonwhocould’vepreventedthisishim.Thisisnotonyou.Pleaserememberthat.”
IrealizethatifDr.KaminskydidthistoDelia,andnearlydidittoHallie,hemusthavedoneittoothergirls,too.It’stooawfultoimaginehowmanyothersthereare,howbigthisis.
Hallieisstillflatonthemat,butnowherchindigsintoherhandsandherlowerlipcurlsinward,likeshe’stryingtopreventitfromtrembling.Idon’tknowwhattodo,butIknowIhavetotrysomething.Istrokecomfortingcirclesonherupperback,andhereyesstarttowater.
“Hallie?”Iasktentatively.
“It’sjust…Idon’t…”shebegins,hastilyrubbingawayhertearsandsniffling.“Thisisnotsupposedtobehappeningrightnow.”
“Iknow.”
“Ihavetofocusrightnow,”sheinsists.
“Well—”Istart,intendingtoremindherthattakingcareofherselfisfarmoreimportantthanmusclingthroughpractice,butshe’stooincensedtoletmespeak.
“Ihatehim,Ihatehim,hemakesmesomad,Ihatehimsomuch!”shesays,voicecurdlingwithanger.
She’sclosetoshoutingnow.Othergymnastsandcoacheshaveturnedtostare.Iwanttosnapatthem.It’slikeaspotlightfollowsHalliearoundthegym;she’stheonlyonehereworthgawkingat.Butrightnow,she’snotperforming.Shejustneedsprivacy.
“Whydon’twetakeabreakfromthisandheadoutsideforabit?”Iask.
Icanpracticallyseethefirstthoughtthatflashesthroughherhead:No.Ineedtowork.Butthensheheavesasigh,wipesundereacheye,andnodssilentlyinagreement.Shestridesacrossthefloorandthevaultrunway—theothergymnastsdefertoherrightofway,lettinghercrossbeforetheyresumetumblingandsprinting—andpushesopenthegym’ssidedoor.Itopensouttotheparkinglot.There’sasetofmetalstairstherethatwecansiton.It’scoldoutside,butshe’sbeenworkinghard;Ibetthechillfeelsgoodonherbarearmsandlegs.
Hallieperchesonthetopstep,huggingherkneestoherchest,andkneadsherchinintoherkneecaps.Sherocksbackandforthsilently,shakingherhead.Itlookslikethere’stoomuchfranticenergytocontaininonetinybody.Sheleapstoherfeetandherarmsflyoutinrage.Sheletsoutananguishedgroanintothefrigidairandstompsherbarefootagainstthepavement.
“It’sjustnotfair!”sheshouts.
Andthensheshrinksdownintoherself.Shecrossesherarmstightacrossherbodyandsteersherselfintomeforahug.Iholdhercloseandstrokeherhair.Iguideustositdownonthesteps,anddotheonethingIwishsomeonehaddoneforme,backwhenIwasinpainandenragedandswimminginsadness:Igiveheraplan.Isuggestthatifshefeelscomfortable,sheshouldconsidertellingherparentsthetruthaboutherappointmentswithDr.Kaminsky.Sheagreestodoit,andIoffertobetherewithherforthatconversation,ifshewants.Andthen,asafamily,theycanallfigureouthowtomoveforward—whetherthatmeansreportingwhathappenedtohertothepolice,orsimplylettingitgo.IremindHalliethatthere’snopressuretocomebacktopracticetoday,ortomorrow,oranyday.
“Themostimportantthingrightnowistotakecareofyourself,”Itellher.“Trustme,evenifitdoesn’tfeellikeitrightnow,thatmattersevenmorethanyourtrainingdoes.”
Shenods.Ihopeshebelievesme.
Thenextweekisawful.DeliaCruzgoesonGoodMorningAmerica,lookingsteelyandpowerfulinasleekwhitesuit,andgivesasearingretellingofthemosthorrificmomentsofherlife.OnTwitter,shereleasesastatementencouragingothersurvivorsofsexualassaulttogethelp.Therepliestohertweetaremostlyfullofloveandsupport,butthere’samountainofrepliesfromhatefultrolls,too.Ican’tevenbegintofathomthementalgymnasticstheyhavetoemploytoconvincethemselvesthatshe’stheoneruiningDr.Kaminsky’slife,nottheotherwayaround.
MaggieFarbercomesforward.SodoesherteammateKikiMcCloud.Andthenthere’sawaveofotherswhospeakup,bothhouseholdnameswhocompetedintheOlympicsandathleteswhoneverquitemadeitintothespotlight:EmilyJenkins,BridgetSweeney,LioraCohen.Bytheendoftheweek,therearesixnamessplashedacrossmostofthemajorTVshowsandpublications,andasickeningsensethatmorewillcome.Ifeelbothshockedandrelieved,likeIdodgedabullet.ItwasonlybysheerluckthatIvisitedotherdoctorsinsteadofhim.
TaraMichaels,theprominentconservativepunditandself-professedloverof“familyvalues”whowearsenoughpearlypinklipglosstosingle-handedlykeepSephorainbusiness,unleashesatiradethatgoesviral.Shesaysit’s“disturbing”thatAmericaswallowsupthestoriesofthesesix“unreliable”teenagerswithoutgivinga“respected”doctorachancetotellhissideofthestory.“Factsareimportant,”sheurges,disregardingthatmostofherownfactshappentobewrong.Halfthegymnastswhohavecomeforwardareintheirtwentiesbynow.Dr.Kaminsky’slawyeralreadyissuedablanketstatementdenyinganywrongdoing.Tara’sspeechispepperedwithracistjabstowardDelia,Kiki,andEmily,whosephotosflashon-screen.Theproducerscouldhavechosenphotosoftheathleteswithmedalsaroundtheirneck;instead,theypickedcrotchshots—straddlejumpsandleaps,takenfrombelow.BythethirdtimeIseethevideoclipcirculatingonline,ithasmorethantenmillionviews.
TheinternetchurnswithimpassionedheadlinesabouthowAmericahasfaileditsgirls;howgymnasticsisjustabeautypageantmasqueradingasasport;howthisiswhathappenswhenparentsdon’tpayenoughattentiontotheirownkids.There’salotofoutragedirectedatthesport,theparents,thegymnaststhemselves—butIdon’tseeenoughofitaimedatDr.Kaminsky.You’dthink,givenhowmanypowerfulmenhavefallenintoscandaloverthepastfewyears,thatcollectively,we’dknowhowtodothisbynow.
Thegymternet—theblogs,podcasts,andTwitteraccountsrunbydie-hardgymnasticsfanswithpassionatelyengagedfollowers—lightsupwithcommentaryandanalysisofthesituation.Itriedlisteningtoonepodcastepisode,butturneditoffhalfwaythrough.Thehostssoundeddefeated.There’snopleasureindissectingthistragedy.
HallietoldherparentsabouthowDr.Kaminskyhadmadeherfeel,andtheyswiftlyconnectedhertothebestchildren’stherapistintheBostonarea.Sheinsistsoncomingtopracticeeachday,thoughtherearedarkcirclesunderhereyesandherusualboundlessenergysags.Sheusedtokeepherphonetuckedawayinthechangingroomwhileshetrained,butnowshekeepsitnearbysoshecanstayupdatedincaseanymoregymnastscomeforward.Shedoesn’tseemtowanttospeakoutpublicly,andgivenwhattheothersixgymnastshavegonethrough,Idon’tblameher.
Whathauntsmethemost,though,isRyan’sreactiontothesituation.HalliehadaskedmetotellhimthetruthaboutherexperiencewithDr.Kaminsky.
“I’dfeelawkwardtalkingtohimaboutit,youknow?”shehadexplained.“Iknowheshouldprobablyknow,butIjustcan’t.”
ThedaytheDeliastorybroke,Halliedecidedtoleavepracticeearly.Shecalledhermomtocomepickherup,andIwaitedwithherinthelockerroomsopeopledidn’tkeepstaringather.Oncesheleft,IfoundRyaninthegymandtoldhimweneededtotalk.Wesatinaquiet,emptycornerofthegym,andIrelayedtheentiredismalstory.HelookedshockedandsadwhenIsummarizedwhathappenedtoDelia,butdownrightgrief-strickenwhenIsharedhowKaminskyhadmadeHalliefeel.Hisfacecrumpled.
“No,”hesaid,shakinghisheadindisbelief.“Issheokay?Howissheholdingup?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isaidhonestly.“She’sangry.Upset.Sad.Whowouldn’tbe?”
Hepunchedastackofcrashmats,andthesolidthumpofhisfistechoedaroundthegym.
“Itoldhertogotothatscumbag,”hespatout.“Thisismyfault.”
“It’snot,”Isaidgently.
Andbecausenothingintheworldwasright,Isteppedforwardtogivehimahug.Iheldhimforalongtime.
“Ijusthadnoidea,”herepeatedoverandover,lookingpained.“Everyonetrustedhim.”
Iwasatalossforwordsagain.
“Maybe,”Isaidfinally,“thatwastheproblem.”
?CHAPTER14?
It’sbeenahellofaweek,soonSaturdaymorning,whenSarainvitesmetoyogaforwhatmustbethefifteenthtime,Isayyes.Anythingisbetterthansittingaround,readinginfuriatingtweetsaboutthescandal.Ifyogacanhelptakemymindoffthat,I’mwillingtotryit.
“Yay,thisisfab!I’msoexcitedtohaveyouinclasstoday,”Sarasays,givingmeaquicksqueezeofahug.“Youdon’thaveayogamat,doyou?”
“Nope.Youknow,I’veneveractuallydoneyogabefore.”
“Notaproblem.Thereareextramatsatthestudio.Youshouldbringawaterbottleandwearsomethingcomfortablethatyoucanmovein—probablynotaleotard,though,justFYI.Like,leggings,tanktops,thatkindofthing.”
“Trustme,it’snotlikeanyofmyoldleotardsevenfitanymore,”Ijoke.“Iwish.”
“Don’tdothat,”Sarasaysgently.
“What?”
“Makecommentslikethataboutyourbody,”sheexplains.“There’snoneedtobeatyourselfup.”
“Idon’t—”Istarttoprotest.
ButIdo.Constantly.Ican’trememberatimebeforeIwasacutelyawareofeveryinchofmybody:everymuscle,curve,andsoftspot.Dimitritaughtusthatourbodieswereourtools,thesamewayanartistwoulduseapaintbrush.That’swhywehadtobesostrictanddisciplinedwiththewayweateandworkedout,heexplained.Andatthetime,itallmadesense:theintensediets,theweeklyweigh-ins,thewayhepunisheduswithhoursofconditioningifweoverateorgainedweight.Everyweek,he’djotdownourheight,weight,andmeasurementsinalittlebluenotebook.Heworeawitheringexpressionwhenwefailedhim,whetherwegainedapoundorconfessedtoeatingasliceofpizza.ThatexpressionstillflashesacrossmymindeverytimethewaistbandofmyjeansdigsintomystomachorIconsiderindulginginadessert.
“I’msorry,you’reright,”Isay.It’sawkwardtorealizethatSaracantellexactlyhowIfeelaboutmybody.“Oldhabitsdiehard,youknow?”
Saragivesmeakindsmile.“Yogatotallytransformsthewayyourmindrelatestoyourphysicalself.You’llsee.Ibetyou’lllikeit.”
Anhourlater,sheleadsmeintoMind&BodyYoga.Thestudiohasshinywoodenfloors,arowofleafygreenplantsatthefrontoftheroom,andsoothingmusicwaftingfromthespeakers.Theotherparticipantsintheclass—mostlytwenty-andthirty-somethingwomen,butafewteenagersandahandfulofmen,too—unrollcolorfulyogamatsfacingthefrontoftheroomandbegintostretch.Sarahandsmeanextramat,alongwithtwofoamblocks.
“Incaseyouneedtopropyourselfuptogetthroughsomeofthemorechallengingposes,”sheexplainsquietly.
Itrynottoscoff,butcomeon.I’maformerelitegymnast.IthinkIcansurviveanhourofyoga.
Sarasetsupherownmathorizontallyatthefrontoftheroom.Whenthestudioismostlyfull,shekicksoffclassbyencouragingustoliedowninacomfortableposition.Iexpectedeveryonetolieflatontheirbacks,butI’msurprisedbythevariations:legssplayedout,kneesbutterfliedouttothesides,headsproppedupbyfoamblocks.Saraleadstheclassthroughabreathingexerciseinamelodic,trance-likevoice.
“Inthroughyournose,”sheintoneswithakindbutseriousexpression.“Outthroughyourmouth.Andthen,whenyou’reready,anotherinhale.”
Afterwhatfeelslikeeonsofbreathing,Saraslowlyleadstheclassintoasittingposition,andencouragesustoemitanomonthecountofthree.
“One,two,three,alltogether,now,om…”shesays.
TheclasseruptsintonoisethatstretchesonforlongerthanIexpected,andIrunoutofbreathbeforetherestoftheclass.Thesecondtimewetryit,Iattempttosustainthesoundlongerthananyoneelse—well,secondlongest,sincebeingtheverylastpersontokeepitupwoulddrawmoreattentionthanIreallywant.I’msurprisedattheeffortittakes.
BythetimeSaraleadsusfromasittingpositiontoastandingone,I’mantsyfortherealworktobegin.Iknowthatyogaisaboutrelaxationandmeditation,butit’sexercise,too,isn’tit?Eventually,wesettleintodownwarddog.Peoplearoundmeemitlittlesighsandgroansastheysinkintotheposition.
“Beautifulbreathsounds,”Saracompliments.“It’sokaytoletgoandvocalizeyourefforts.”
Fromdownwarddog,wemovethroughaseriesofposeswithnameslikewarriorone,warriortwo,halfmoon,andcrescentmoon.Saraencouragesusto“flow”fromonetothenextandbe“intentional”aboutourbreath,whateverthatmeans.Thelanguageofyogafeelsfunnytome,butIsupposegymnasticshasitsownlanguage,too.Theclassmovesslowlyatfirst,butsoon,we’rebreezingfromoneposetothenextinawaythatmakesmesweat.Sarawindsherwaythroughthemazeofmats,correctingpostureswithatouchofherhandandwhisperingwordsofencouragement.Ican’thelpbutfeelcompetitiveaboutit:Iwanttoperformsoflawlesslythatshewon’thavetocorrectmeatall.ItwouldbeonethingifIwereacouchpotatowhostruggledtogettheposesright—butI’mnot.I’maworld-classathlete,oratleast,wasone.Thisshouldbeapieceofcake.Icranemynecktoglimpsethewaymyneighbor,acurvywomaninapinkworkouttankthatreadsHUSTLEFORTHATMUSCLE,sinksintowarriortwo,andtrytoanglemybodytomatchhers.
That’swhenIfeelSara’shandsonmyhips.“Likethis,”shesays,tiltingmyleftsideforwardandmyrightsideback.Shetrailsafingerupthebackofmyneck,causingmetolookramrodstraightaheadinsteadofatthepeoplearoundme.Andthen,asifshe’sreadingmymind,shewhispers,“It’snotacompetition.Justlistentoyourbodyanddowhatyouneedtodo.”
“Okay,butisthisright?”Iwhisperback.
Shepausesandgivesaninfuriatinglyserenewaveofherhand.“There’snosuchthingasrightorwrong,aslongasyou’refocusedonyourbreathandyourflow.”
“But—”Iprotest.
It’stoolate.Sarahasalreadymovedontoanotherstudent.This,Ithink,iswhyIhateyoga.There’salwaysarightwaytodoeverything.
Oncetheclasshasmoreorlessallcaughtuptodownwarddogagain,Saratakesherplaceatthefrontoftheyogastudioanddemonstratesanothersequenceofpostures.Betweenthebentknees,angledhips,andoutstretchedarms,thesearealittlemorecomplicated.Ihavetoconcentratetogettheseriesright.AsImovefromoneposetothenext,Ifeelmymusclesstretchandquiver;thisclassismoretaxingthanIexpected.Whilemythighsquakethroughchairpose,HustleforThatMuscleGirl’squadslookrocksolid.Istaredownatmylegs,willingthemtostaylockedintoplace,buttheonlythingthathappensisafatdropletofsweatdripsoffmynoseandsplashesontomykneecap.Iinhaledeeply,likeSarataughtmeto,andI’msurprisedtofindthatmaybe—justmaybe—itactuallydoeshelp.Thirteentremblingsecondslater(butwho’scounting?),IbreatheasighofreliefwhenSaratellstheclasstostretchupwardintomountainpose,whichisjuststandingupstraight.
“You’restrongerandsofterthanyourmindknows.Butyourbodyknows,”shesays—whateverthatmeans.
Wecyclethroughthesequenceagain,andwhenIendupbackinchairpose,Igritmyteeth.Thistimearound,IknowwhatI’mupagainst.I’mdeterminedtomakeitthroughthefulldurationwithoutbreakingperfectform.
“Ifatanypoint,you’renotfeelingwhattheclassisdoing,takeabreak,”Saraintonesinthatoddlysoothingyogavoice.“Sitinchild’sposeorshavasana.There’srealpowerintuningintoyourbody’struestneeds.”
Realpower.Realpower.Throughtheburningsensationinmythighs,IwanttoscreamatSara:Youknowwhatrealpowerlookslike?StandingatopanOlympicpodiumwithagoldmedaldrapedaroundyourneck,that’swhat.Ortraininghardforthousandsofhoursuntilyouknowyouhaveultimatecontroloveryourbody’severymovement.Nottappingoutwhenitgetsalittlebittough.
“Chairposeischallengingforareason,”shesays,voicefloatingthroughtheroom.“Thekeyistolistentoyourbodyandmakeadjustmentsthathonoryourjourneythroughthepose.”
BeforeIcanregisterwhat’shappening,I’mdroppingtothefloorandstretchingmytorsoandarmsovermykneesintochild’spose.I’m“honoringmyjourney.”It’sembarrassing,butreliefwashesoverme.Mythighsrelax,mybreathingevensout,andthemusclesaroundmyshouldersloosen.I’mfrustratedwithmyselffordroppingoutofthechallenge,butwhenIrollmyheadtothesideandpeekoutatmyclassmatesfromundermyarm,itlookslikenobody’sevennoticedme.HustleforThatMuscleGirlresolutelyblowsoutasteadystreamofairfrompursedlips.Thepairofteengirlsonmyothersidedon’tseemtoblink.Saraonlycomesmywaytopressherpalmsintomylowerback.
Ican’tremembereverdroppingoutofaworkoutlikethisbefore.WhenIwasHallie’sage,ifJasmineorIweretiredorinpain,we’dwaituntilDimitrigotwrappedupinaconversationwithanothercoachorwenttothebathroombeforewedaredtakeabreak.Afewmomentsofrestweren’tworththethreatofhisbacklash.Itwasimpossibletotrulyrelaxwhenyoufearedhe’ddeliveraphysicallytaxingpunishmentoracrueljokeatyourexpense.
Backthen,Dimitri’spressure-cookercoachingstylemadesense:winnersworkhard,andwewantedtowin.EvenifSara’sphilosophyisalittlenewageforme,Ihearwhatshe’ssaying.Listentoyourbody;connecttoyourbody;honoryourbody.Pushyourselfwhenyoucan,andrestwhenyouneedto.ItgoesagainsteverythingIwasraisedwith,butinhindsight,maybeDimitrishouldhavebeensofterwithus.Moreforgiving.Lessintense.Afterall,Iworkedhardallthetime,justlikehewantedmeto,andIstilldidn’twin.Idon’tregretthewaygymnasticsshapedmylife,butIdowonderifthefewfleetingmomentsinthespotlightwereworththelifetimeofpainIknowIhaveaheadofme.
Itakeadeepbreath.Sara’shandshavedriftedawayfromme;she’smovedontoanotherstudent.Iconcentrateondoingamentalscanofmybody.Ifeelthespongysurfaceoftheyogamatundermyfingertipsandthecenterofmyforehead,andIcansensethethinsheenofsweatbetweenmybreasts.Thesoftcurveofmybellyrestsagainstmythighs,andmyhipshingebackwardinacomfortablestretch.Myfeetaretuckedundermybottom,andwhenIwrigglemytoesagainstthemat,Ifeelthesensationflexallthewayupmylegs.Morethananything,Ifeelpresent,andthatmakesasobescapefrommythroat.It’smortifyingtocryhere,butsomehow,Idon’tthinkanyonewillmind.
Foryears,Iignoredphysicalpainandwarpedmydesiresintodiscipline.Icontrolledmybodywiththesheerstrengthofmymind.Maybenowit’stimetoturnallthataround—toletmyminddictatethewaymybodymoves.Onmynextexhale,Itransitionintodownwarddog—mycalvesfeelwarmandloosethistimearound,evenasatearrollsdownmycheekandmixeswithmysweat.Ikneelforamomenttowipemytearswiththehemofmytanktopanddrinkinthecoolwaterthat’sbeenwaitingformeallpractice.Idoasunsalutationtocatchuptotherestofthegroup.Thesimplewaymybreathandmymovementssyncupmakesmefeelairy,light,strong,andyes,powerful.
Imakeitthroughthenexttwentyminuteswithouttakingabreak,butIwouldn’tmindifIneededto.It’sstrange—Ididn’trealizeI’dcomesofar.ImimicSara’smovementsassheleadstheclassfromaone-leggedbalancetocore-strengtheningexercisestohalf-pigeonpose,whichstretchesoutyourhipflexorsliketaffy.Inthefinalfewminutesoftheclass,sheasksustoliedownonourbackswithoureyesclosedinshavasana.Shewalkssoftlyaroundtheroomwithabottleoflavenderessentialoil,droppingadotofitoneachofourshoulders.
“I’mgoingtocloseouttheclasswithafewwordsofwisdomfromthepoetandactivistAudreLorde,andthesongoftheTibetansingingbowl,”Sarasayssoftly.Thelittlenoisesaroundthestudio—coughs,sighs,slurpsfromwaterbottles—growstillinanticipation.“?‘Caringformyselfisnotself-indulgence,itisself-preservation.’?”
ThenthemelodicsoundoftheTibetansingingbowlresonatesandspiralsthroughouttheroom,growingandgrowinguntilSarastrikesthebowlanditclangstoastop.
“Youcanstayinshavasanauntilyou’rereadytoriseagain,”shesayssimply.
Iletmyselfsinkintothemat.Energyswirlsthroughmybody,butmylimbsfeelheavywithrelaxation.Ihadn’twantedtogiveintoSara’swoo-woo,spiritualsortofstretching,butevenIhavetoadmitthatitfeltkindof,well,nice.Thecombinationofexertionandmindfulnessmakesmedriftoffintothoughtsaboutthewaysinwhichgymnasticsshapedmyrelationshiptomybody:mybodyimage,myinsistenceofpushingthroughpain,thedistantwayIregardedmyphysicalselffirstandforemostasatool.Overtheyears,I’vetriednottothinkaboutittoomuch.Buthere,it’simpossibletoavoid.
Suddenly,Saraissquattingnexttome.“How’dyouliketheclass?”sheasks.
Icranemynecktolookattheclockatthebackoftheroom.Fiveminuteshavepassed,andtherestoftheclasshasalreadyrolleduptheiryogamatsandfiledoutofthestudio.
“Itwas…wow.”That’sallIcanmanage.
“Youthinkyou’llcomebackagain?”sheasks.
Sunlightpoursintothestudiothroughthefloor-to-ceilingwindows,andIgetastartlinglyclearvisionofmyselfreturningtothisspotagainandagain.Icoulddothis,couldn’tI?Ifeelpeacefulhere,similarlytothewayIrelaxwhenIcook.ThesteadymovementoftheclassmeantmymindneverwanderedofftoRyan,Hallie,oreventheterriblescandalinthenews.Instead,Ihadnochoicebuttofocusontheflowbetweenposes,mybreath,andthesoundofSara’svoice.It’snotastretchtoseehowIcoulddevelopacravingforthis,unwindinghereatthestudioafteralongdayatSummit.Andifjustonesessionalreadyfeelstransformativeforme,IcanonlyimaginehowitcouldhelpHallie.Maybethisisexactlywhatsheneedstoreinintheanxietyshe’sfeltlately.
“Yeah,I’llbeback.Andnexttime,there’ssomeoneelseI’dliketobring,too.”
?CHAPTER15?
HalliewrinkleshernosewhenItellheraboutmyideaattheendofpracticeonMonday.
“Yoga?Imean,Ialreadydosomuch,”shesays,lookingskeptical.
She’scross-leggedonthefloorofthechangingroom,stretchingthewhitethigh-highsocksshegotatherfriend’sSweetSixteen,embroideredwiththegirl’sinitials,upherlegs.Thethicksocksstrainoverhermuscularcalves,though,andbarelygrazeherknees.Shegivesafinaltugandgivesup.Ibetthepartywasn’tasfunassheexpectedittobe;sheprobablyhadtosaynotothecakeandheadhomeearlytosticktohersleepschedule.
“Butwhatifyoucouldhaveprivateyogalessonshereatthegym?”Icounter.“Barelyanyextraworkonyourpart,andIthinkit’llhelpreducestressoverthenextfewmonths.”
“I’mnotstressed,”shesnaps.
Shelookswild,withacloudoffrizzescapingherponytailatthetemples.Butthenherexpressionsoftens.Shemustunderstand,onsomelevel,howthat’sjustnottrue.
“I’lltryitonce,”sheagrees.“IfRyanthinksit’sagoodidea,too.”
“I’lltalktohim,”Ipromise.
Hallieshovesherfeetintosneakers,standsup,andslingshergymbagoverhershoulder.
Whensheturnstowalkaway,Icatchaglimpseofwhat’sonherscreen.IrecognizeitbecauseIsawit,too,earlierthatday—DeliaCruz’sInstagramencouragingherfollowerstodonatetoRAINN,anonprofitthatsupportssexualassaultsurvivors.Hallie’sbroadshoulderslooksmallandslumpedasshedisappearsaroundthecornerandheadsoutsidetohermom’swaitingcar.
IknowRyan’sstillinside,probablycleaningupalone.Alltheotherclassesandteampracticeshavewrappedupforthenight,andtherestofthecoacheshaveheadedhome.Thelobbyisemptybynow,too;theusualrowsofLululemonmomsplayinggamesontheirphoneshaveclearedoutoftheplasticfoldingchairs.IheadbackintothegymtofindRyanandtalktohimaboutsettingHallieupwithyogalessons.
Sureenough,Ifindhiminthebackcornerofthemainpartofthegym,cleaningchalkdustandsweatoffcrashmatswithaspraybottleandarollofpapertowels.He’schangedthemusicfromitsusualTop40radiostationtowhatmustbehisownclassicrockplaylist.
“Hey,whatareyoudoingbackhere?”hesays,spritzingamatwithsoapywater.
“Iwantedtogetyouropiniononsomething,butwhileI’mhere,canIhelp?”Iask.
Hepausesandlooksatthewaist-highstackofmatshe’syettoclean.They’reeacheightortwelveinchesthick,butstill—that’salotofmats.
“Ifyoureallydon’tmind,sure,takeamat,”hesays.“What’sup?”
Idragthenextmatoffthestackandpullitparalleltotheonehe’scleaning.HehandsmethespraybottleandIgettowork.
“So,Ifinallywenttoyogathisweekend,anditwasamazing,”Iexplain.“Notjusttheworkoutpart—thoughthatactuallywasn’thalf-bad—butthementalpartofit.”
“Nice.”
“AnditmademethinkthatHalliecouldactuallyreallybenefitfromaddingyogatoherroutine,especiallynowandduringthenextfewmonths.”
“Yeah?Why?”
IconsiderhowpersonalandvulnerableIactuallywanttogethere.IwanthimtounderstandhowyogacouldclearHallie’sheadinawaythatgymnasticsnevercould.ButIdon’tknowifI’mreadytosharetherestofmythoughtswithhim.Idon’tdoubtthatRyanhadahellofatimeduringhiscompetitiondays,dietingandpushingthroughpunishingworkouts.ButIalsoknowthat,astoughasitcould’vebeenforhim,itwasn’tthesameaswhatIwentthrough.Whilepubertysignalstheendofagirl’sgymnasticscareer,it’stherealbeginningofaman’s:gainingweightanddevelopingmuscleonlymakeshimbetteratthesport.
AndRyannevertrainedunderDimitri.Heprobablyneverworkedoutonanemptystomach,worryingthathisvisionwouldgofuzzyandblackaroundtheedgesashesprinteddownthevaultrunway.Heprobablynevertriedtoconvincehimselfthequakingpaininhisstomachwasfromtoomanycrunchesinsteadofskippingameal.Hewouldn’tunderstandhowrestorativeitwastobeinaplaceinwhichyousimplyhadtolistenandreacttoyourbody’sneeds.
Gymnasticshaschangedlightning-fast,eveninthedecadesinceIwasHallie’sage.Thetopathletesinthesportthesedaysaren’teighty-five-poundwaifslikesomeoftheonesIlookeduptoasakid—theyhavereal,solidmuscleandpower,likeHalliedoes.She’ssmarterthanIeverwas,andsheknowsshecan’tperformherbestifshe’sstarving.ButshefacesanewsetofpressuresInevercouldhaveimagined:amoredifficultscoringsystem;watchinghercompetitors’skillsratchetupeverydayonInstagram,justliketheirfollowercountsdo;thedisturbingsexualabusescandalanditscoverageoneverynewschannelinAmericarightnow.
“I’mjustsaying,Ithinkshe’sgoingthroughatoughtimerightnow,andwhatIlovedabouttheyogaclassIwenttowastheemphasisonself-care,”Isay.
Icringeathowhokeythatsounds,andItryagain.
“Idon’tthinkit’sabadideaforhertohaveaplacetochillandzoneout,whereshedoesn’thavetoworryaboutbeingthebest,ortrainingforsomegoal,”Iexplain.“Shecanjuststretch,listentomyroommate’scheesybutweirdlyeffectivemantras,andhaveanhourtoherself,awayfromthenews.”
“Shedoesseemprettystressed,”headmits,rippingoffanothersquareofpapertowel.
“Ithinkyogawouldbeagreatwayforhertorelax,”Isay.
“Thensure,let’sdoit,”hesays.“You’rethinkingofhavingyourroommateworkwithher?”
“Sara’sawesome,yeah.”
“Maybeanhourortwoaweek?”
“I’llsetitup!”
Ican’twaittotellSara.
“Cool,thanks,”hesays.“You’rethebest.”
Hefinishescleaningonemat,dragsitbacktoitsregularspotunderthebars,andtakesoffhissweatshirtbeforestartingonanothermat.Underneath,hehasonawhitetanktopthatrevealsthefullscopeoftheOlympicringstattooedonhisbicep.I’veseenthebottomedgesofitpeekoutfromhisT-shirtsbefore,butI’veneverseenthewholething.It’snotquiteasbrightasIimagineditwouldbe—instead,thecolorsareeversoslightlyfaded,asifitweresimplyanaturalpartofhisskin.
“What?”heasks,alittleself-consciously.
Hemusthavecaughtmestaring.
“Oh,nothing,”Isay,embarrassed.“I’vejustneverseenyourtattoobefore,that’sall.”
Iscrubfuriouslyatthematbeneathmeuntilmypapertowelbeginstoshred.
“Oh!Here,look.”
Ryancomesovertokneelnexttomeonthemat.Idon’treallylikemosttattoos—youonlygetonebody,andIdoubtmostthingsinlifeareworthpermanentlyetchingintoyourskin.Butthisonemakesmyheartbeatfaster.IknowtheOlympicGameshavetheirrootsinancientGreece,whenmenheldfootracesandthrewjavelinsinafestivaltohonorthegodZeus.TheathleticchallengeswererevivedinAthensin1896,whenthefirstmodernOlympicGameswereheld.Whenyourememberthehistory,it’shardnottoseeOlympicathleteslikemodern-dayGreekgods.
“CanItouchit?”Iasktimidly.
Helaughs.“Sure.”
Irunmyfingerovertheoutlineoftherings.Heearnedthis.
“IfyouwoundupgoingtotheOlympics,wouldyouhavegottenone?”heasks
“Yeah,ofcourse,”Isay,nodding.“Imean,I’dwantasmallone,somewhereeasytohide,butyeah.”
“Whyhideit?”heasks.Heflexeshisbicep,andtheringsjump.“It’sanhonortojointheclub.”
“Idon’tknow,tattoosaren’treallymything,”Isay.
Theexpressiononhisfacefaltersjustafractionofaninch.
“Butyours,though…Ilikeyoursalot,”Irushtoadd.“That’sprobablytheonlyoneI’deverconsidergettingformyself.”
“Ifyouweretogetone,wherewouldyouputit?”heasks.
“Iusedtothinkaboutthisallthetime,youknow?”Itellhim.“Ithoughtmaybemyankle.”
“Huh.”Hewipeshisfingeroverthebareskinofmyankle,likehe’simagininginkthere.
“OrtheotherplaceIwasconsideringwasthesideofmyribs.”
Ibrushmyfingersalongthespotovermytanktop.Ryan’sgazefollowsmyhand.Hereachesouttogentlyslidehisthumboverthesamestretchofmytorso.Hisknucklesaccidentallygrazethesideofmybreast,andIpretendlikeIdon’tnotice,likemyskindoesn’tbuzzwithanticipation,likeIhaven’talreadyimaginedwhathistouchwouldfeellikethere.
ButthenRyanleanscloser,andhishandisonthenapeofmyneck,andhismouthisonmine.Thekississlowandsweet,butthat’sallitis:onekiss.Isavorthesoftnessofhislipsandthenuzzleofhisstubbleagainstmycheekforalong,lingeringmoment,andthenhepullsaway.AssoonasIregisterthedistancebetweenus,adullpangeruptsinmychest.
“Whydidyoudothat?”Iaskinahushedvoice,eventhoughIknowthere’snobodyelsearound.
“I…I’vewantedtodothatforalongtime,”headmits.
“Butwesaidweshouldn’t,”Iremindhim,hatingmyselfforsayingitoutloud.
“Wesaidwewouldn’t,”hesays.“ButthemoreIthinkaboutit,themoreIwonderifwe’remakingamistake.”
IcanbarelybelievewhatI’mhearing.Igoverystill,almosttoonervoustoswallow,asifIcouldmakethewrongmoveandruinwhateverisabouttohappen.
“Sowhatareyousaying?”Iask.
“I’msayingthatIknowwhat’satstakehere.We’renotwrongtobecautious,”hesaysslowly,asifhe’schoosingeverywordwiththeutmostcare.“But,god,Avery,Ican’tignorehowIfeelaboutyouanymore.IfIdon’ttellyouthisnow,IknowI’llregretitforalongtime.IneedyoutoknowthatIlikeyou—reallylikeyou.”
There’smoreurgencyinhisvoicenow,andheshiftsonthemattositupstraighter.Hetakesmyhandinhis.
“I’vehadacrushonyoufromthedaywemet,youknowthat?”Ryansays,flushingpinkatthememory.“Atsomecompetitionyearsandyearsago?Irecognizedyouinsomearenahallway,andyoutoldmewheretofindthevendingmachines.”
“Istillcan’tbelieveyourememberthat,”Isay,grinning.
Henods.“Ofcourse.Youwerehotandinsanelytalentedandsoentirelyoutofmyleague.”
Ifthiswereanyothermoment,I’dbrushoffthecomplimentandmakeaself-deprecatingjoke,butI’mfrozeninawe.
“Trustme,thecrushisstillthere,”hecontinues,squeezingmyhand.“Butit’smorethanthatnow.Iwantustogivethisashotforreal.”
Ryan’sgazeisbrimmingwithexhilarationandhope,andIknowI’llrememberthewayhelooksrightnowforever.Here’sthisGreekgodofathleticprowessandambition,madesuddenlyandstartlinglyhuman—fullofemotionanddesire.He’sreachedthepinnacleofhumanachievement,wononeofthemostcovetedhonorsintheworld,traveledtheglobe,andyethe’shere.Andhewantsme.
“Whatdoyouthink?”heasks.
There’saslighttremorinhisvoice—he’snervous.Ihaveamillionthoughtsswimmingthroughmyheadrightnow,andit’ssurprisinglydifficulttopickjustonetovoice.Finally,Icollectmyselfenoughtospeak.
“Ifanythingrealhappensbetweenus,Ithinkweshouldkeepitquiet,justsowedon’tdistractHallie,”Isay.
“Absolutely,”hesays,nodding.
“Butifweagreeaboutthat,thenmyanswerisyes,”Isay,scootingclosertokisshimlightly.“Iwantyou.Iwantthis.Iwantus.We’dbeidiotsnottogivethisatry.”
“Yeah?”hesays,likehecan’tquitebelieveIagree.
“Yeah,”Isay,feelingsohappymyheartcouldburst.
Thistime,whenhekissesme,Icanfeelhimsmiling.Hecupsmycheekwithonetenderhand,andIgetlostinthehypnoticwayhislipsmoveagainstmine.It’slikeourbodiesinstinctuallyknowthatthisis—finally—right.Thekissfeelslikeacelebration.
Heguidesusdownsowe’relyingonthemat,whichisnow,thankfully,clean.Somehow,theathleticequipmentandfluorescentlightoverheadfadeaway,soallthatmattersishiminfrontofme.We’relyingsidebyside,facingeachother,withtherestoftheworldandallitsdistractionsblockedout.AsdeliciouslythrillingandtenderasourkissonNewYear’sEvewas,thisisevenbetter.Hishandsroamfrommyhairtomyhipstothespotonmyribcagehegrazedbeforeeverythingchanged.Hisfingersslipacrossthehemofmytanktop,andIpressintohim,encouraginghimtoslidehishandunderneaththefabric,againstmybareskin.
Afterkeepingapolitedistancefromhimforsolong,it’salmostunfathomabletomethatthisisreal.Idon’tcareifthisistherightplacetodothis—Idon’twanttothinkatall.Ikissthesharpedgeofhisjaw,thenthesoftcurveofhisearlobe,andthenatraildownhisthroat.Hegroanssoftlyandrollsontopofme,proppinghimselfuponhiselbows,withhislegsintertwinedwithmine.Ilikethesolidsensationofhisweightontopofme.Iletmyhandswanderacrossthetaut,powerfulmusclesinhisshouldersanddownhisback;theyfeelevenbetterthanIhaddaredtoletmyselfimagine.
“Takethisoff,”Isay,tuggingathisshirt.
Ryanobeys,revealinganexquisitesetofabs.Ican’thelpbutreachoutandtouchthem,justtomakesureI’mnotdreaming.They’reperfectlysolid—thisisreal.
Ipullmyowntopovermyhead,notbotheringtomakeadisclaimeraboutmylackofabs.Hewouldn’thavesaidallthosethingsifhedidn’tthinkIwasbeautiful,ifhedidn’twantmeexactlyhowIam.Andanyway,there’saglintofdesireinhisappreciativegazethatmakesitclearhelikeswhathesees.It’sintoxicating.
HeliesbackandpullsmeontopofhimsoI’mstraddlinghim.NowIcanfeelthatthere’snoquestionofwhetherhe’sattractedtome.Ileanforwardandkisshimdeeply;myhairfallslikeacurtainaroundus.Heunhooksmybraandtossesittotheside.Histouchiselectrifying.It’sbeenalongtimesinceI’vedonethiswithanyone,butthat’shardlythereasonthisfeelssogood.It’sbecausethisisRyan,andthatfeelslikeavictory.Iwantmoreofthis—Iwantallofhim.
Itrailonefingerunderthewaistbandofhisgreentrackpants,thenanother.Hegrindshishipsupintomine,likehewantsmore,too.Istarttotughispantsdown,buthestopsme.
“Isthattoomuch?”Iask.
Heshakeshisheadandbiteshislip.“No,butwait.”
Hestandsupandextendshishandtome,pullingmeup,too.Hetoyswiththewaistbandofmyblackyogapants.
“CanItaketheseoff?”heaskssoftly.
“Yeah,”Isay.
Heslidesthemoffmyhipsanddownmylegs.Istepoutofthemandkickthemtotheside.BeforeIrealizewhat’shappening,he’sliftedmeupsomylegswraparoundhiswaist.IfRyanwereanyoneelseintheworld,I’dprobablybeself-consciousaboutmyweightinhisarms,butthere’snoreasontoworry.Iknowhe’sstrongenoughtohandleme.Hecarriesmetoatallblockbythemetalhighbar,usuallyusedfortraining,thoughobviouslynottonight,andsetsmedownsoI’msittingattheedgeofit.Hemaneuverssmoothlysomylegsarehookedoverhisshoulders.Helooksatme,gaugingmyreaction,thenplantsasoftkissonmyinnerthigh.
“Isthisokay?”heasks.
“Mm-hmm.”Inod.
Morethanokay,Ithink.
Hekissesmeagain,fartherupmythigh,andthenagain,rightattheedgeofmyunderwear.Heskimshishandsoverme,landingwithhisfingerscurledaroundthelacyfabricatmyhips.
“Andwhataboutthis?”heasks.
Ileanbackonmyelbowsandtiltmyhipsupsohecanfullyundressme.Whenhismouthisonmeagain,Icouldmelt.Atfirst,Iwanttowatchhim.Butbeforelong,Irelaxfully,flatonmybackontheblock.I’mnotsurprisedwhen,minuteslater,Ryanprovesthathistalentsdon’tsolelyextendtoathletics.
Islideofftheblock,not100percentsurethatmylegswon’tturntojellywhentheyhitthefloor,andsteadymyselfwithahandagainsthischest.
“You.Wow,”Ibreathe.
Ipullhimtowardmeforakiss,wrappingmyarmaroundhisneck.
“You’repretty‘wow’yourself,”hesays.
Myinstinctistoreturnthefavor,butwewindupbackonthemat.Hispantsandblackboxerbriefsareoffnow,andhekissesmyhair.Ireachforhim,butthenIrealizewehaveaproblem.
“Doyouhaveacondom?”Iask.
Hisfacegoesslack.“No,Iwasn’tplanningforthisatall.There…might?beoneinmybackpack,andI’llcheck,butit’sintheoffice.”
Hekissesmeandgetsuptoputhisunderwearandpantsbackon.Helookslikehe’sabouttomovetowardtheoffice,butthinksbetterofit.Hegrabshisshirtandtugsitonoverhishead.
“Justincaseanyone’soutthere,”hesays,winking.
“Therebetternotbe!”Iyelp.
Ipullmykneesuptomychestandwatchhimjogacrossthegym.Hedisappearsaroundthecorner,andonceIhearthedoorswingingshutbehindhim,Ican’thelpbutletoutalaugh.It’sridiculousthatanyofthisishappeningatall,muchlessatSummit.But,ofcourse,itwouldhappenhere.Thisiswhereeverythinginmylifehasalwaystakenplace.
Aminutelater,Ryan’sback,withalookoftriumphonhisface.“Ifoundone,”hesays,shakingthefoilpacket.
Anotherminutelater,andwe’rebothnakedagain—sweaty,breathless,andhappy.There’sacertainstereotypeaboutsexwithgymnasts,andIheardenoughjokesaboutitinmyearlytwentiesfromgrossguysatclubstolastalifetime.Thetruthisthat,yes,whilewemaybestrongerandmoreflexiblethantheaverageperson,we’restilljustregularhumanbeingswholikeregularsex.Puttingyourfeetbehindyourheadisn’tallthatexcitingwhenthat’sjustyourtypicalTuesdaymorning.Thatsaid,there’snothingregularaboutsexwithRyan.Helooksatmewithawe,likehewantstomemorizethismoment.Hisfingerslingeroverthetenderspotsbymywaist,theedgeofmyhip,thenapeofmyneck.
Later,oncewe’reexhausted,heputshisarmaroundmeandIlaymyheadonhischest.It’squiet,exceptforthelowhumoftheradioanduscatchingourbreath.Hekissesmytempleandpullsmeclosertohim,somythighrollsoverhislegs.Ikisshiscollarboneanddriftmyfingersovertheoutlineofhistattoo.
“JustincaseIdidn’tmakethisclearearlier,I,um,likeyou,”Isayintohischest.
“Igotthat,yeah,”hesays.“I’mreallygladthishappened.”
Igrin.Aneasysilencepassesbetweenus.Hestrokesmyhairabsentmindedly.
“Sorrytoderailcleaningthemats,”Isay.
Helaughsandlooksaround.“Nowwehavealotmorecleaningtodo.”
“Butwecandoittogether.”
?CHAPTER16?
Iusedtocounttimeindays:thirtydaystillthestartoffootballseason;fourteendaystilltherentisdue;threedaystillIrunoutofcleanunderwearandhavetodolaundry.Butnowitdragsoutinminutes,tickingbyslowlyinmyhead:Iknowhowmanyminutesit’sbeensinceRyan’slastsweetgoodmorningtext,orthelastkisswestoleinthesupplycloset,orthelasttimehecamehomewithmeafterpracticeandwestayedupuntil2a.m.,tradingstoriesoverabottleofredwine.Ihadforgottenhowsweetitistoletyourselffallforsomeone.Ican’thelpbutreplayourhookupwhenI’mwashingmyhairintheshower,andIsnaptoattentionwhenIhearhisnameinthegym.Ifeelgiddywheneverhistextspopuponmyphone.OnTuesdaynight,IwassodistractedthatIforgotIhadbrusselssproutsintheovenuntilthesmokedetectorjarredmeoutofmydaydreams.
It’snearlysixthousandminuteslater—fourdays—whenSaracomestoSummittogiveHallieaprivateyogalesson.BetweenSara’sworkscheduleandHallie’strainingplans,Fridayisthebestday;italsohappenstobeValentine’sDay,althoughIdon’tdarefixateonthat.It’stoosoonintowhateverthisthingwithRyanistocelebratetheholidayinanyrealway.
SarawasthrilledwhenIaskedifshewouldworkwithHallie.WithoutbreakingHallie’strustinme,ItoldSaraasmuchasIcould—thatHallieishavingatoughtimeinthemonthsleadinguptotheOlympicTrials,andnowmorethanever,sheneedstoreduceherstressandbuildherconfidence.Sarasaiditwouldbeanhonortohelpher.AndonceItoldheraboutwhathappenedwithmeandRyanonMondaynight,shewasdoublyexcitedtocometothegym.Imadeherpromisetoplayitcoolinfrontofhim,especiallywhenHallieisaround.
“Sincewe’renottellingheraboutus,”IexplainedtoSara.“Because,youknow,thewholepointistoreducestress,notaddtoit.”
“Gotit,”Sarasaid.“Ipromisenottogawk.”
Ofcourse,themomentshesawRyanatSummitonFridayafternoon,shegawked.
“He’ssocute,”shemoutheddramaticallythefirstmomenthisbackwasturned.
ItakeSara,Hallie,andRyanupstairs,wherethere’sadancestudioandapartyroomforchildren’sbirthdays.Iflickonthelights,illuminatingthewoodenfloorsandballetbarresinstalledagainstamirroredwall.Sarasetsoutthetwoyogamatsandapileoffoamblocks.Halliestandswithherbacktothemirrorandonehipjuttingout,herarmscrossedskepticallyoverherchest.
“SaraandIareroommates,andshe’sagreatteacher,”ItellHallie,tryingtowarmheruptotheidea.
WhenIsuggestedyogatoHallie,shehadbalkedattheidea.Evenafterrelentingtooneprivatelesson,shestillwasn’tthrilledtotryit.
“Haveyoueverdoneyogabefore?”SaraasksHallie.
Hervoicehasanextradropofhoneyinit.It’sclearthatSararecognizesthisisnotexactlyHallie’sidea.
“Yeah,once,backinmiddleschoolgymclass,beforeIgotatutor,”Halliesaysflatly.
Icanpracticallyreadhermind:Thisisexercise?
“Ididn’treallylikeit,”Hallieadds,asifshecanmakethislessondisappearjustwiththesheerforceofhersurliestteenageattitude.
“Well,thiswillbetotallydifferent,”Sarasayscheerfully.“Look,I’mnotsomeweirdooldgymteacherwhowearsbasketballshortswithtubesocks.”
It’sagoodpoint:Sara’swearingmatchingleggingsandacroppedtanktopinapink,orange,andpurpleombréthatremindsmeofthesunset.Shelooksvisibly,recognizablystrong,andthisseemstosoftenHallietoherslightly.
“Iguess,”Halliesays,tiltingherhead.
“Here,whydon’tyoudothehonorsofpickingtoday’splaylist?”Saraoffers,handingHallieherphone.
“Cool,”Halliesaysswiftly,nodding.
ShestartstoscrollthroughSara’sSpotify.
Saragivesmeabemusedglance,asiftosay,Look.We’llbefine.
“Um,guys?Thisisaprivatelesson,”SarasaystomeandRyan,pointingtothetwomatsonthefloor.“IpromiseI’llreturnherinonepieceoncethehour’sup.”
“Right,right,we’llbegoing,”Ryansays.
“Yeah,we’llgo…somewhere,”Isay,scramblingtotempermyvoicesoIdon’tsoundtoothrilledbytheprospectofafreehourwithRyaninfrontofHallie.
“Seeyousoon…andhavefun,”Sarasays.
IfollowRyandownthestairstothefirstfloor,butwhenwereachthelobby,neitherofushasanywheretobe.Helooksblanklytowardthegym,thentheoffice.
Hestealsaglancetowardtheparkinglot.“Wecouldgetoutofhere.”
“Wecan’t!”
Heshoveshishandsintohispocketsandgivesmeanirresistiblyflirtygrin.“Who’dnotice?”
“WhatifHallieneedsus?”Ipointout.
Thedimpleinhischeekwinksatme,whichIfindmakesitsomehowhardertofocusonmakinggooddecisions.“Ibetyou’veneverbrokentheruleshereinyourlife,”hesays.
He’sright.Thepressureofthesefourwallssomehowmakesmefeellikeahardworkingkidagain,terrifiedtobreakarule,lestDimitriseeme.
“Okay,let’sgetoutofhere,”Iagree,pushingopenthebuilding’sfrontdoor,notbotheringtoevengrabmycoat.
Ibouncedownthestepstotheparkinglot.Thegymisonamostlyisolatedstretchofroad,neighboredbyanondescriptofficebuildingononesideandthicketsofpinetreesonallothers.Evenifwewantedtowalkintothetowncenter,itwouldtakelongerthanthejourneywouldbeworth.Ryancatchesuptome,janglinghiscarkeys.
“Ididn’tthinkyou’dactuallysayyes,”hesays.
“Icanbreakaruleortwo,”Iinsist.
“RelivingyourLAwild-childdays?”heteases.
Ryanunlockshiscar,andIgetinside.
“Whereto?”heasks,flippingonmyseatheater,thenturningtheradiotohisfavoriteclassicrockstation.
“Um…”
Greenwoodissmallandboring.Growinguphere,ifIwasn’tatschoolorinthegym,myonlyrealhobbywastrawlingCVSforBonneBellLipSmackersandissuesofSeventeen
“Comeon,yougrewuphere,youmustknowsomewhere,”heprods.
“Let’sgotoLolly’s,”Idecide.
“Idon’tknowit,”hesays.
“Youdon’tknowLolly’s?Bestchailatteintheworld?”
Heshakeshishead.“Intheworld?Imean,that’saprettyhighbar.Idon’tknowifyouwanttosetmyexpectationsthere—”
“Oh,shutup.”
Igivehimdirections,andtenminuteslater,we’reinsidethetinycafé.Ihaven’tbeenhereinadecade,butthepeelingfloralwallpaper,chintzyarmchairsbythebrickfireplace,chalkboardmenu,andgentlypiped-insoftrocksongsfromtheeasy-listeningstationareexactlyhowIrememberthem.Lollyherselfisstillbehindthecounter,thoughheronce-darkhairisnowmostlystreakedwithgray.She’swearingafloralapronanddoesadoubletakewhensheseesme.
“Avery,isthatyou?”sheyelps,comingaroundthecountertogivemeahug
“Hi!”Igreether,suddenlyfeelingsqueezedbythesurprisingstrengthofherembrace.
“Ihaven’tseenyouin,gosh,what,amillionyears?Where’sJasmine?”sheasks.
Ryancockshishead.
“ThisusedtobemyspotwithJasmineoncheatdays,”Iexplain.“We’daskforextrawhippedcreamonthechailattesandsithereforhoursinfrontofthefireplace.”
“Thebestkidshoggedthebestseatsinthehouse,”LollytellsRyan.“NotthatIminded,ofcourse.”
“Ididn’tknowyouwerethatclosewithJasmine,”hesaystome.
“Thosetwo?Mygod.Matchingorders,matchingoutfits,allthewaydowntothematchingscrunchies.”Sheturnstome.“Howisshethesedays?Idon’tseemuchofher,either.”
“Oh,Jasmine?”Iask,stallingfortime.Somehow,tellingLollythatIdon’tseemuchofhereitherfeelslikeI’dbelettingherdown.Igiveherabig,plastered-onsmile.“She’sgreat.Hasabigjob.Married.Thewholenineyards,allgreat.”
“Andyoutwo?”Lollysays,gesturingbetweenmeandRyan.
Itrynottolooktooalarmed.“Oh,no,we’renotmarried!”Isay,maybeahairtooloudly.“We,uh,worktogether.”
“Isee,”Lollysayscoyly.“Well,youtwolookverynicetogether.WhatcanIgetyou?”
Ryanfollowsmyleadandordersachailattewithextrawhippedcream.WhilehepaysLollyforthedrinks,Iexaminetheframednewspaperclippingshungbythedoor.They’reslightlyyellowedwithage,butIrememberthethrillIgotthedaythefirstonewashung.LollysavedtheBostonGlobeclippingsannouncingthattwolocalgirlswereontheirwaytotheOlympicTrials.JasmineandIskippedthesugarydrinksthatdayandaskedforplaintea;Lolly,whohadtheround,softbodyyou’dexpectfromawomanwhomadebakedgoodsforaliving,hadrolledhereyesandtoldustolivealittle.“Thisisusliving,”Iremembertellingher,pointingtothenewspaperclipping.
Thestoryisn’tlong,butitfeaturesablack-and-whitephotoofmeandJasmine,frozenatnineteenyearsold,withourarmsslungaroundeachother’sshoulders.Thedateontheframedarticlefeelssofaraway—alifetimeago.Nexttoit,there’sabiggerframedarticle,thepaper’sfront-pagestoryfromthedayJasminereturnedhomefromLondon.There’salarger,colorphotoofherbyherselfwithapileofOlympicmedalssplayedoutacrossherchest.Iwonderwhattheyoungerversionofmyselfwouldsayifshesawmeherenow,lyingtoLollyaboutJasmine,Ryantrailingbehindme,outonafurtivebreakfromSummit.Idon’tthinkshe’dunderstandhowIgotintothissituationatall.
Ryansetsdownthechailattesonthetablebetweenthearmchairs,thencomesupbehindme.He’squietforamoment,readingthetwoframedclippings.
“Ah,Isee,”hesays.“YoutookmeherejustsoIdon’tforgetyou’reahometownhero.”
“IbroughtyoutoaplaceIloved,”Icorrecthim.Sassfloodsmyvoice.“And,uh,wasahometownhero.Onceuponatime.Notsomuchanymore.”
Jasmine’sphotofloatsinmyperipheralvision,andItrytoblockitout.
“Yourhometownmustbethesameway,no?”Iask.
Heshakeshishead.“Men’sgymnasticsisn’tsomuchofabigthing.PeopleathomethoughtitwascoolImadetheOlympics,buttheydidn’t…Idon’tknow,‘crown’me,thewaytheycrownedthewomen’sgymnasticsteam.”
Hemakesairquotesaroundtheword,andIunderstandexactlywhathemeans.Iwonderifhefeltbitteraboutit,too.
“Soit’snotjustme?”Isay,almostembarrassedthatIwanthimtoagreeandconfirmhowIfeel.
TherearetimesI’vewonderedifJasmine’ssuccessonlyloomssolargeformebecauseofhowtightwewereandhowcloseIcametohavingit,too.Ican’tseeherclearlybecauseofwhosheis,whoweweretogether.I’mfairlysureshe’sstillahouseholdname.Buttimemakesfameevaporate;maybeherstarhascooledlongenoughthatnowshe’sjustaregularpersonagain,thekindofformerathletewhocanmakeitthroughherhometown’sgrocerystorewithoutbeingstoppedinaislesfourandsevenforautographs.ButsomehowIdoubtthat.
“Look,”Ryansighs,kissingmyforehead.“ForgetaboutJasminefornow.Let’sdrinktheselattesyoulovesomuch.”
Wesinkintothearmchairsbythefireplace.There’ssomethingdifferentaboutthesteamingbeveragesintheceramicmugs,butittakesmeamomenttofigureitout.Aheavysprinkleofcinnamonformsapristineheartontopofthewhippedcream,andthere’saheart-shapedchocolatebonbononthesideofmysaucer.Ispinaround;Lollyiswatchingus.
“Imayhavewhippedupalittlesomething,”shesays.
“HappyValentine’sDay?”hesayshopefully,likehe’swaitingformyapproval.
I’vefeltlikethemostgooey,starry-eyedversionofmyselfallweek,butthispushesmeevenfurtherovertheedge.Thegestureisjustsweetenoughwithoutfeelingtooserious.
“HappyValentine’sDay!”Isay,beaming.
Heexhales,relieved,andleansacrossthetabletogivemeakiss.Ifeelwarmandgolden,andIknowthathasnothingtodowiththeglowofthefireplace.
“IknowthisisprobablythetiniestValentine’sDaygestureever,butIdidn’twanttogotoooverboard,”heexplains.
“No,no,anythingelsewould’vebeentoomuch,”Iagree.“Thisisperfect.”
“Okay,cool.AlotoftheguysIknowcomplainaboutValentine’sDay,likeit’ssuchahassletodosomethingniceforthepersonyou’rewith,orlikeit’ssomehowlessspecialtodoflowersordinneronaholiday.Butthatseemssobackwardtome.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iask.
“Ifsomeonemakesyouhappy,whynotcelebratethat?”heasks,blushinglikehe’sjustrealizedhowvulnerablehesounds.Heclearshisthroatandlooksawayfromme.“Anyway,thisisjustatinywayformetosaythatthisweekhasbeenamazing.That’sall.”
Itrynottofixateonhiswords:Happy.Amazing.Theymakemystomachflutterinthebestway.
“Justsoyouknow,Ididn’tgetyouanything,”Isayapologetically.“AndnowIfeelbad.”
“Comeon,don’tfeelbad,”hesays,takingmyhandinhis.“Icameupwiththisonthespot,andittooktwoseconds.Andanyway,yourgifttomeisintroducingmetothisplace.”
Hesipsslowlyfromhislatte,consideringit.Itasteminecarefully,lettingthebeveragedribbleoutfromunderthecloudofwhippedcreamsoasnottodisturbthecinnamonheart.It’sfragrantandflavorful.
“Yeah,it’sofficial,”hesays.“You’reright.Thisisdelicious.”
“Itoldyou!Iwouldn’tsteeryouwrong.”
“NowIfinallytrustyou.”
“What,likemonthsofworkingtogetherdidn’tearnthat?”
“Thissealedthedeal.”
Chattinginfrontofthecracklingfireplace,nestledintothecoziestspotintown,IfeelathomeinawayIneverdidinLA.It’snothardtoimagineendlesswinterafternoonscurledupinthesearmchairswithRyan.Itwouldbesoeasy,sosatisfying,socomfortable.I’velearnedmylessonalready:Iknowit’snotsmarttogetlostingiddyfeelings,daydreamingaboutafuturewithamanwhomightsomedaybreakmyheart.Idon’twanttorepeatthatmistake.Butforwhateverreason,thingswithRyanfeeldifferent.Idon’tworryaboutlosingmysparkaroundhim.
Ryanglancesattheclockhangingabovethecashregister.Hisfacefalls.
“Weprobablyhavetogetgoing,”hesays.
Wedrainthelastofthelattes,andIsavorthesweet,spicydregsatthebottomofthemug.IhugLollygoodbye,andshemakesuspromisetocomebackbeforeanothertenyearsslipby.
“Becauselet’sfaceit,honey,I’mnotgettinganyyounger,”shesays,sighing.“Andanyway,Ilikehim.Keephimaround.”
RyanlaughslightlyandreassuresLollyhe’llcomebyforanotherlattesoon
OntheridebacktoSummit,Ipointoutlandmarks—notGreenwood’smostnotablespots,necessarily,buttheplacesthatmarkedmychildhoodhere:myelementaryschool,thesushispotmyfamilylikestogoforbirthdaysandanniversaries,thehousewhereIattendedmyfirstandlastboy-girlpartygrowingup.Thetownlooksextrasleepyinthewinter.WhiteandgrayColonialhomesmatchthepaleskyanddingysnowbanks;thetreesarebareandskeletal.Insidethecar,though,itfeelslikesummer.Ryandrivesone-handedwithhisfingerslacedthroughmineinmylapasaBruceSpringsteensongblaresfromtheradio.
Weslipintothegymwiththreeminutestospare.Ryanheadsintotheoffice,whileIsitatthebottomofthestairs,waitingforSaratofinishHallie’slesson.IheartheTibetansingingbowl,thensilence,andfinally,afewmurmuredwords.Ican’tmakeoutwhatHallieandSaraaresaying,butwhentheyappearinthestaircaseaminutelater,Halliehasapleasantlydazedlookonherface
“How’ditgo?”Iask.
Shepassesmeonthestaircase,andInoticethathertypicallyexcellentposturehasaneweasetoit,likeshe’sgliding.
“Thatwasactuallyprettychill,”shesays.
“Huh,imaginethat,”Isay,resistingtheurgetogloatfurther.
“Thanksforhavingmein,”Sarasays,moretomethantoHallie.
“Maybeyou’llcomebackagainnextweek?”Hallieasks.
SaraandIexchangeglances.
“Ithinkthat’sagreatidea,”Isay.
?CHAPTER17?
IdodumbthingswhenI’mfallinginlove.That’swhatIthinkfortheentiretyoftheforty-fiveminutesIspendinthefrontseatofRyan’scaronSaturdaynight,nearlynauseouswithnerves,ashedrivesustoDimitriandJasmine’shouseforacocktailpartyinhonorofmyformercoach’sfiftiethbirthday.WhenRyanaskedmeearlierthatweekifI’dbehisdateforthenight,hetoldmethatifitwastooawkwardgivenmystrainedrelationshipwithJasmine,Icouldskipit.Butoh,no.Itoldhimit’dbefine.IthinkImighthaveevensaidit’dbefun.Itwaslikemybrainhadentirelyevacuatedmybody:IwantedtospendanightoutwithRyan,soIsaidyes.Itwasthatsimple.EventhoughIhaven’tseenJasminesincehertwentiethbirthdayorDimitrisincethe2012OlympicTrials.
Theirhouseisinatonysuburb,tuckedawayfromthestreetattheendofalongdrivewaythatwindsthroughloomingclustersofpinetrees.Weparkattheendofarowofcarsadornedwithbumperstickersofgymnastsperforminghandstandsandsplits.IsmoothdownthefrontofthedressIborrowedfromMomlastnightwhenIrealizedthatnothinginmyclosetcouldmagicallymakemelookthreesizessmallerandeighttimesmoreconfidentthanIcurrentlyam.Thedressisrichpurple,withanoff-the-shouldernecklineandaskirtthatskimseasilyovermyhipsandthighs.Ifitwereanyothernight,I’dfeelprettyinit.
Myheartracesaswemakeourwaytothefrontdoor.IwonderifDimitriandJasmineknowthatI’mRyan’sdate.Iwonderiftheythinkaboutmeatallanymore.ImentallyreviewwhatI’mgoingtosaytothem,whichboilsdowntopolitebutnotoverlyenthusiasticcomplimentsabouttheirhomeandafewcasualcommentsabouthowmylifeisamazing,myjobisfantastic,I’mthehappiestI’veeverbeen,andeverythingisactuallyperfect,thankyouverymuch.Mypalmsareslickandclammy.IpullmyhandawayfromRyan’stowipeitonmydress.
Ryanheavesthegoldenknocker—ofcourseit’sgold—againstthedoor.Jasmineopensthedoorandtrillsaneager“Hello!”ShebeamsatRyanfirst.WhensheregisterswhoIam,herfacefreezes.Foraterrifyingmoment,shefallssilent.Butthen,justasshewastrainedtodo,shesnapsbackintoaction.
“Avery?!”shesqueals.“Comehere,ohmygod.It’sbeen,what,howmanyyears?”
Shedeliversanenthusiasticair-kissandhalfahugwhilebalancingaprecariouslyfullcocktail.
“Hi,”Imanage.“It’ssogoodtoseeyouagain.”
Shestepsback,usheringusintoherhome.“Ican’tbelieveyou’rehere,”shesays,anditsoundslikethetruth.“Thisisamazing.”
Thehouseremindsmeofmyparents’place.It’snotdecoratedinthesamestyle—JasmineandDimitri’stastesseemmoremodernandeclectic—butit’sfullofthekindsofoddsandendsthatolderpeopleaccumulateoveralifetime.There’sanexpensive-lookingcredenzainthefoyerthatholdsasingleorchidinahand-thrownpotandanunusual,abstractpaintingilluminatedbyapairofmatchingsilversconces.
Jasmineshutsthedoorbehindher.Cladinafigure-huggingblacksheath,snakeskinstilettos,andtheperfecthairandmakeupshewearsonTV,shelooksforeigntome,likemyoldbestfriendisactingoutaroleinaplay.Shetakesourcoatsandleadsusintothekitchen,whereaclusterofDimitri’sfriendscongregatearoundthemarbleislandsetupasabar.IcanhearJasmineexplainingthethreecustomcocktailsthey’reservingthatnight,butIcan’tfocusonlisteningtotheiringredientsatall,becausethecrowdofguestsshifts,andthat’swhenIseeDimitri.
It’sunnervingtoseehimdressedupinacharcoal-graysportsjacketandtie.Helooksolder,too,withmorepronouncedlinessettlingintohisforeheadandacleanlyshavenhead.Hisdark,beadyeyesandbristlingmustacheareexactlythesameasIremember.He’stalkingandlaughingwithamanabouthisownagewhilemeasuringashotofvodkahepoursintoashinysilvermartinishaker.Hisvoiceboomsabovethechatteroftheparty,ormaybemyearisstilltunedtolistenforit,evenalltheseyearslater.
“Dimitri,”Jasminecallsacrossthekitchen.
Hedoesn’thearher.
Sheriseseversoslightlyonhertoesandliftsherchin,asiftorepeatherself,butthinksbetterofitandsettlesbackdown.It’salmostasifshe’snervous—likehe’sstillthecoachandwe’rehisathletes.Shewindsherwayaroundthekitchen,stilettosclickingagainstthehardwoodfloor,andtoucheshimsoftlyonthearm.
“Lookwho’shere,babe,”shesays,gesturingatus.
Helooksup,andthenIseeit:agrimace,aglintofdisgust.Hepresseshislipsintoatightline,andthat’salmostscarier.I’masplitsecondawayfromgrabbingRyan’shandandwhisperingthatthiswasallamistake,thatweshouldjustgohome,whenRyanwavesenthusiastically.
“Hey,happybirthday!”hesays,leavingmysidetogoshakeDimitri’shand.“Thanksforhavingus.Ireallyappreciatetheinvitation.”
Dimitrisetsdownthemartinishaker,wipeshishandsonadishtowel,andsmoothlymeetsRyanhalfway.Heshakeshishandslowly.
“Thisisyourdate?”hesays.
HisRussianaccenthasfadedslightly.
Ryannodsandlookspleased,likehe’sproudtohavebroughtme.“Yes,sir.”
“Iknowherwell,”Dimitrisays.Heturnstomeandholdsouthishand.“Come.”
Mybody’sfirstresponseistostartmoving,andIloathehowverydeeplyhistraininghasbeeningrainedinme.Idomybesttostandtallandnotbreakeyecontact.Idon’twanttolooklikealittlegirlthathecanorderaroundanymore.IliftmychinandgiveDimitrimyfirmesthandshake.
“Happybirthday.It’sgreattoseeyouagain,”Isay,strainingtoofferhimapolitesmile.
Hestepsbackandliftsmyhand,asifheexpectsmetotwirl,andlooksmeupanddown.
“Greattoseeyou,”heechoes.“There’ssomuchmoreofyoutoseenow.”
HeshootsRyanamockingwink,asifheexpectsRyantocommentonmyweight.IdropDimitri’shand,butresisttheurgetoshrinkfromhim.Idon’tdareglancebackatRyanforsupport.Icanstandupformyself.
“Iseeyouhaven’tlostyoursenseofhumor,”Isay.
Ipullmyselfuptomyfullestheight.Inheeledleatherboots,I’maninchtallerthanheis,andIwanthimtorememberit.
“Andyouhaven’tlostyoursass,”heretorts.HeturnstoRyanandadds,“Youmusthaveyourhandsfullwithher,no?”
“Avery’sanamazingcoach,”Ryansays.
“Wait,youworktogether?”Jasmineinterjects,glancingfrommetoRyan.“IthoughtAverywasyourdate?”
“Uh…”Ryanstallsandturnstomeforguidance.
“We,um,yes,”Ifumble.“I’mRyan’sassistantcoachatSummit,andI’malsohereashisdate.”
JasminewrapsherarmaroundDimitri’smidsectionandleansherheadonhisshoulder.“Aw,anothergymnasticspowercouple,justlikemeandmybabe,”shecoos.
Shelooksathimadoringlyandpressesakisstohischeek.Ilookaway;tome,thatrelationshipwillalwaysseemwrong.
“Power?Howmanygoldmedalsbetweenthetwoofyou?”Dimitriasks.Hegesturestothelivingroom,andwhenIturn,Iseeawallstuddedwithmedalsandtrophies.“Let’scountthemupandcompare,andthenwecantalk.”
He’snotjoking.He’skeepingscore.
Thedoorbellrings,cuttingthroughthetensionintheroom.
“I’llgetit,”Dimitrisaysquietly.“Jasmine,makesureourguestshavedrinks.”
Ashepassesus,heignoresmeandgivesRyanarespectfulnod.
Jasminetakesadeepbreathandputsherhandsonherhips.“Drinks?”sheasks.
“Please,”Isay.
Iglanceatthecocktailmenushemusthaveprintedup.Thenamescouldnotbemorepainstakinglychosen:there’sawhiskey-baseddrinknamedtheOlympia,awinespritzergarnishedwithasprigofjasminecalledtheJasmineFizz,andatwistontheMoscowMuledubbedtheMoscowMan.IchoosetheJasmineFizzbyprocessofelimination—it’stheleasthumiliatingoptiontoorder.RyanoptsfortheMoscowMan,andIwonderifhechoseitoutofdeferencetoourhost.Jasminestepsbacktothekitchenislandtomixourdrinks,leavingusalone.
“Thatwasintense,”Ryanmutterstome.
“That’sDimitriforyou,”Irespond.
Heraiseshiseyebrowsandnodsheavily.“Ican’tbelieveI’mactuallyhereathishouse.”
“Theirhouse,”Icorrect,glancingatJasmine.
I’veknownabouttheirrelationshipforsixyearsnow,eversincetheystarteddating,butthathasn’tmadeseeingthemtogetheranylessjarring.
“Arethings…weird?BetweenyouandDimitri?”Ryanasksquietly.
Idon’trespondrightaway.IlookcarefullyatRyan,takinginhishopefulexpression,hisserious,darkeyes,andthetensewayhisshouldersareset.DespiteDimitri’sbehavior,IknowRyanidolizeshim.Icouldspoilhisimpressionofhiminjustafewwords,butitseemscruel.
“Hewasdisappointedinme,”Isayfinally.“HewantedmetobeanOlympicchampion,andwhenIdidn’tmakeit…”
Thememorycomesfloodingback.Ibitetheinsideofmycheekandshakemyhead,asifIcandislodgethereminderofthatpainfulsummer.
“Hewasdonewithme,”Isay.“Hedidn’tcheckinonme.HetookJasminetotheOlympicsandneverturnedbacktoseeifIwasokay.”
Ican’tbringmyselftotellRyanabouthisabusivecoachingstyle,orthewayIstillhearhistauntsaboutmybodyeverytimeIlookinthemirror,orthefearIfeltjustnow,tryingnottoflinchinfrontofthismanwhousedtomakemequiver.Nothere.Notnow.
ButRyangrimacesanyway.ThewayDimitridismissedmeisenoughtocausehimtofurrowhisbrowandsympatheticallysqueezemyshoulder.Heknowshowcloseagymnastandcoachcanbe;I’msurehecanimaginehowawfulthatrejectionfelt.
Jasminesidlesuptouswiththetwodrinks.
“Cheers!”shedeclares,clinkingherownJasmineFizztomine.
Ryanjoinsinthetoast,andshepeppershimwithquestionsabouthiswork,gushesabouthowmuchshemissesSummit,andjoyfullyacceptshisinvitationtocomebysometime.Ilingerbyhisside,feelingsuddenlylikethethirdwheel.Itrytosnapoutofthistense,darkmoodandmatchherlevelofenthusiasm,butitseemsimpossible.Jasminewearsherpeppypersonalikeasecondskin.Iknowshe’snotreallylikethis.Themegawattsmile,therelentlesslyupbeatenergy—backwhenwewereclose,sheturneditonforthejudges;now,shedoesitonTV.I’mcuriousifshelivesfullylikethisnow,hidinghersensitivesoul,hernervousside,andherdarklyfunnyjokesfromDimitri,smoothingoutherquirksuntilshe’saflatreflectionofwhateverhewantshertobe.Shealwaysdidknowhowtoperform.
“Idon’tmeantokeepyou,Ryan,”shesays,touchinghimlightlyonthearm.“Iknowyou’reheretosocializewiththeothercoaches.Whydon’tyougooffandenjoy?AveryandIcancatchup.”
Mystomachdrops.Ryanglancesatmeinquisitively,andIhavenochoicebuttogrinbackathim.
“Go,”Isay.
Helooksuncertain,butleavesmysidetojoininonanearbyconversationwiththreestockymen.JasmineandIeachtakealongsipofourdrinks.Idon’tthinkeitheroneofusknowswhattosay.
“So,”shesays.
“So,”Irespond,searchingfortherightwords.
IhavesevenyearsofburningquestionsforJasmine,andnoneofthemareappropriatecocktailpartyfodder.DoyourealizethatyougoteverythingIeverwanted?Howdidyouendupmarriedtothatmonster?Areyouevenhappy?
“Idon’tmeantostare,I’msorry,”shesays,blinking,embarrassed.“It’sjust,wow.It’sstillsosurrealthatyou’rehere.”
“Ionlymovedbackafewmonthsago,”Iexplain.
“FromLA,right?”sheasks.
“Yeah,LA,”Iconfirm.“Icamebackforthiscoachingopportunity.Itwasjusttoogoodtopassup.”
Sheneverhastoknowthetruth.
“So,areyoutwo,like,athingnow?”Hereyesdartinhisdirection.
IwishIhadthoughttohammeroutajointanswertothisquestionwithRyanbeforewewalkedinthedoor.Idon’twanttosayyes,onlytohavehimfindoutandthinkI’moverestimatinghisfeelingsforme.It’snotlikewe’vehadtheWhatarewe?talkyet.ButdownplayingmysituationwithRyandoesn’tfeelright,either.Isettleforapurposefullycoysipofmydrink.
“Ohmygod,”shesays,droppinghervoicedowntoawhisperedsquealandclutchingmyarm.“Thisisnuts,isn’tit?Afteralltheseyears?Wealwaysthoughthewassocute.”
Forasplitsecond,Iforgeteverything,andwe’rejustteenagersagain,bestfriends,teammates.Weweresoclose,wewereeachother’sdesignatedButtGlueGirl—we’dtaketurnsapplyingtheroll-onadhesivejustundertheedgesofourleotardsbeforecompetitionssowewouldn’tgetuncomfortablydistractingwedgiesinthemiddleofroutines.I’veneverreallyunderstoodflashbacksbefore,butthisonecomesroaringbackwithfullclarity.Andthenthemomentisover,andIgettheice-coldsensationthatDimitriiswatchingme,andIduckmyheaddown.Iremembertospeakquietlyandcontrolmyself.
“It’sverysweethowthishasallcomefullcircle,”Imanagetosay.“Andyou?YouandDimitri?Istillcan’tbelieveit.”
Theenthusiasmonherfaceflickersbeforeshecatchesherself.“Iknow.Isn’titfunnyhowlifeworksout?”
“Ihadnoideayouwereevenintohimbackthen,”Iadmit.
Ifeelboldsayingit,daringhertoacknowledgehowbizarreherrelationshipappearstobe.
“Oh,”shesays,blushing.“Well,nothinghappeneduntilIwasalittlebitolder,obviously.Youhadalreadymovedbythen.Anditjust…”
Hergazedriftsovermyshouldertowardherhusband,andshelosesfocus.
“Madesense,”shesaysfinally.
There’sanotherflickerofemotiononherface,butthenitdisappearswithoutatrace.IthinkaboutthewayweusedtoplayFuck,Marry,Killwhilestretchingatpractice,andhowDimitriwastoooldandweirdtobeputonthelist,evenasajoke.WeseriouslyweighedtheprosandconsofKevinFederline,andTom,thegym’sjanitor,andevenAlexei,agymnastwithagrossrattailwesawatcompetitions.ButDimitri?Notevenonce.IcannotfathomonesinglethingaboutDimitriandJasminethatmakessense.
Shelooksatmebrightlyagain.“Doyouwantatourofthehouse?”
AssheleadsmethroughthehomesheshareswithamanoldenoughtoregisterforanAARPcard,themanwhoonce—whenshewastwelveyearsold—pokedthesideofherbottomleftexposedbyherleotard,observeditjiggling,andtoldherto“watchitwiththecookies,”Ifeelincreasinglydisturbed.Sheshowsoffthenewvelvetthrowpillowsmeticulouslyarrangedonthewhitebedinthemasterbedroom,andthemonogrammedtowelshangingintheensuitebathroom.Shechirpsaboutthegorgeousnaturalsunlightinthehomeoffice,thoughIrealizeneitherofthemworksfromhome,andtossesawinkwhenweentertheguestroom,orasshecallsit,“someday,ababy’sroom.”Shedoesthisallwhiletraipsingthreeorfourstepsinfrontofme,farenoughawaythatweneverhavetofaceeachother.Thetourissotightlypackedwithminusculedetailsaboutwhereshepurchasedthisrug,orwhyshedeliberatedoverthatpaintcolor,thatthereissimplynoroomformetointerjectandaskwhatthefuckisgoingon.
Whenthetourconcludesonthefirstfloor,Jasmineofferstorefreshmydrink,whichIaccept.Theminutetheglassisfull,IfindRyanonthecouchinthelivingroom.Helightsupwhenheseesme,scootingtotheleftandpattingthespacenexttohimsothatI’lltakeaseat.Hedropsawayfromtheconversationwiththeothertwomeninthelivingroom.
“You’llneverguesswhatDimitrisaidtomewhileyouwerewithJasmine,”hesays,excitementstrainingthroughhishushedtone.
Irackmybrainandfeelaslowsinkingfeelinginmygut;nothinggoodcouldcomeofthisconversation.
“Heofferedmeajob,”hesays,beaming.
“AtPowerhouse?”Iask.
“Itwouldstartthisfall,aftertheOlympics.IcouldbringHallie—she’syoungenoughthatshecouldtrainfor2024,andDimitriandIcouldtrainhertogether,”heexplains.“Imean,thinkaboutit:moreresources,betterfacilities,workingwithDimitriFederov.”
“Yeah,Igotthatpart,”Isay.
Ryan’sfacefallsslightly.
“Imean,wow.That’salot,”Icontinue,rushingtoswitchtoamorecongratulatorytone.
“I’mreallyexcited,”hesays.“Ican’tbelievehewantstoworkwithme.”
“WhatwouldHallie’sparentsthink?”Iask,tryingtofindaholetopokeinthisplan.
“Idon’tknowexactly,I’dhavetotalktothem,”hesays.Theliltinhisvoicemakesmerealizehehasn’tthoughtthroughthispartyetatall.“Ican’tseewhythey’dturndownDimitri.True,PowerhouseisslightlymoreexpensivethanSummit,butnotbymuch,andit’sliterallythebesttrainingcenterintheworld.So.”
Hesmilesasiftosay,That’sthat
“IfyouleaveSummit,whoelsewouldtrainher?”Iwonderoutloud.
Heshrugs.“Well,you’dstillbeatSummit,wouldn’tyou?”
Trainingheronfloorisalreadyintense—I’mnotsureifI’dbeconfidentenoughtotackonbeam,bars,andvault,too.Andanyway,theConwaysprobablywouldn’ttrustmetopullthatoff.SoifRyanleavesandHalliereallydoeswanttotrainfor2024,theConwayswouldprobablyfollowhim.AndthatmeansI’dbeleftbehind.
Ryansipsfromhisdrinkandstaresoffintothedistance.It’sclearthatmentally,he’snolongerhereatthisparty—he’sinTokyo,watchingHallieclimbthepodium;he’satPowerhouse,workingashisidol’sright-handman;he’sfast-forwardingdecadesaheadtowhenhe’sthemostrespectedcoachintheentiresport,justlikeDimitriisnow.
Ihavetotellhimthetruth.
“Ijust…”Isay,loweringmyvoicetoanotchaboveawhisper.“Ithinkyoushouldreallyconsiderthisbeforeyousayyes.Idon’tthinkworkingwithDimitriistherightmove—notforyou,anddefinitelynotforHallie.”
Iwishhewouldunderstandwithoutmakingmesayit.
“Let’sheadout?”Isuggest.
Hekissesmytempleandrisestostand.“We’vebarelybeenhereanhour.Let’sstayforalittlewhilelonger,cool?”
Ihesitate.Idon’tknowwhatelsetosay.“Cool.”
Wemillaround.AnoldercoupleasksifI“usedtobeDimitri’sgirl,”andIhavenochoicebuttonod—Yep,that’sme.Dimitri’sgirl.Igetathirddrink,justtohavesomethingtodoinsteadofwatchRyanlaughatDimitri’sjokes.Finally,hecomestofindmeinthekitchen.
“Youwannagetgoing?”heasks,touchingmyarm.
“Yeah,”Isay,tampingdowntheinstincttoadd,Let’sgetoutofhere
IrustleupfakewarmthtosaygoodbyetoJasmineandDimitri.Jasmineinsiststhatwemustgettogetherfordrinkssoon.Dimitrinodssilentlyandstoicallyatme,thenshakesRyan’shand.
“We’lltalk,”Dimitrisayssmoothly.
Ryanlooksbeatific.
InthecarridebacktoGreenwood,Ryaninvitesmetostayoverathisplace,butIaskhimtodropmeoffatmyapartmentinstead.Iturnontheradio,butheturnsitoffafewsecondslater.It’squiet,withjustthehumoftheenginetokeepuscompany.
“Youdon’tseemallthathappyaboutDimitri’sjoboffer,”heobserves.
“It’sflatteringthatheaskedyou,”Isayevenly.
“Butyoudon’tthinkIshouldtakeit,”hecounters.
“I…”Istareoutthewindowashousesandtreeswhizbyusinthedarkness.“IamincrediblygratefulforDimitri.Hechangedmylife.Hecould’vemademeanOlympicchampion,ifthingshadgonedifferently.Buthe’snotaniceperson,oragoodperson,orapersonwhowouldtreatHalliefairly.”
“He’stoughandold-school,”Ryansays,shrugging.“That’swhatmakeshimlegendary.Coachesaren’tmadelikethatanymore.”
“He’stough,yeah,buthe’s…”
Itrailoffandbitemylip.Iwanttosayabusive,butthat’snotawordyouthrowaroundlightly.
“Didyouhearwhathesaidaboutme?Basicallycallingmefat?”Iask,changingtactics.
“What?”heasks,soundingdisgusted.“Ididn’tnotice.”
“Yeah.‘There’ssomuchmoreofyoutoseenow,’?”Irecite.
Ryansighsheavily.“That’snotcool.”
“Exactly,it’snot.Imaginehearingthat,butworse,allday,everyday,whenyou’rethirteenyearsold,”Isay.
Ryanflicksonhisblinkerandmakesaturn,soittakesawhileforhimtorespond.Igetthesensethathe’sgratefulfortheextratimetoformulatearesponse.
“I’msurehe’snotasaint,butthisistheopportunityofalifetime,”hesaysfinally.“Igetoneshotatajoblikethis,andthere’snobettercoachintheentiresport.Everybosshastheirshortcomings—there’sno‘perfect’job.”
Ihatethathemakesairquotesaroundtheword.ItmakesmefeelasifhethinksI’moverreacting.Istudyhisprofileinthemoonlight.IwonderwhatwouldhappenifIdescribedtohiminunflinchingdetailwhatitwasreallyliketospendthemostimpressionableyearsofmychildhoodwithDimitri.Ican’tmusteruptheenergytoexplainwhathe’sreallylikeifRyanwillonlydefendhim.
Isighandslumpbackinmyseat.
“It’slate,”Isay.“Wedon’thavetotalkaboutthisnow.Ifyou’rehappy,I’mhappyforyou.”
Hereachesacrossthegearshifttoholdmyhand.Hiswarmfingersweavethroughmineandrestinmylap.
“Thanksforcomingwithmetonight,”hesays,squeezingmyhand.
Idon’tsqueezehisback.
MARCH2020
?CHAPTER18?
Nationalsareaweekaway,andHallieisstillstruggling.Shecan’tcontrolherpoweronherforwardtumblingpass—thefronthandspring,frontfull-twistinglayout,frontdouble-twistinglayout—soIsuggestedsheaddastagjumpontheend.Thatway,anyenergythatcomesboundingoffthetumblinggoesdirectlyintoareal,choreographedmove.She’llgetpointsforajump,ratherthanadeductionfornotstickingthelanding.Astagjumpshouldbepretty:onekneebentataninety-degreeangleinfrontofyourbody,withyourotherlegtrailingoutlongandstraightbehindyou,andyourarmsthrowntriumphantlyintheair.ButHallie’sistenseandtight,anditthrowsoffhertiminggoingintothenextsegmentofherroutine.Oncesheloseshercool,it’shardtorecover.Therestoftheroutinegetsrushed.
“Okay,let’smovetothetramp,”Isuggest.“Wecanworkonyourformthere.”
We’vebeenfinessingthisonesecondofherroutineforfifteenminutesnow,andIcantellthatHallieisrunninglowonbothenergyandpatience.It’struethatthetrampolineisalessphysicallytaxingplacetojumprepeatedlythantheflooris—theelasticpowermeshbouncesyourightbackup,obviously—butalso,nomatterhowoldorsophisticatedagymnastgets,there’sstillnothingquiteasjoy-inducingasplayingaroundonatrampoline.Andmorethanperfectform,morethanexcellenttechnique,whatHalliereallyneedsrightnowistofeelgood.Goingintoacompetition,anathlete’smentalheadspaceisjustasimportantasherphysicalwell-being,ifnotmoreso.
Shetrudgesovertothetrampoline,andafterafewlazybounces,shegetsserious.
“Stagjumps?”sheasks,confirminghertask.
“Oneverybounce,”Isay.“Focusongettingthatbacklegniceandstraight.”
Sheswingsherarmstogetsomemomentum,thenbouncesintoshape.Witheachjump,shethrustsherrightlegalittleharderbehindher.
“Thatlegneedstocomeupfaster,”Iobserve.“That’llkeepthejumpshortandsweet,whichiswhatwewant.”
Shenodslikealittlesoldierandjumpsagain.
“Faster,”Iinsist.“Thelegcomesupquickandhigh,thensnapsback.”
“Snapsback,”sherepeats,continuingtobounce.
Attheheightofeachjump,herchintiltsupandherfingersflickoutwithstyle.Shelookslikeastarupthere.It’sgratifyingtoseeherimproveaftermonthsofworkingtogether.
AndafterseeingDimitrilastweek,that’swhatIneed:IhavetoknowthatI’mhelpingHallie,nothurtingher.IfIpassdownwhathedid,Iwouldneverforgivemyself.Halliescrewsuphermouthinconcentrationasshetracksthedistancebetweenherandthetrampoline.Herfullbodyweightplungesdownontheblackmeshandshereboundsbrightlyintotheaironcemore.Herlimbssoarjubilantlyintoshape;atthepeakofherjump,shebeams.Sheknowsshenailedit.
Ihaven’tseenRyanoutsideofpracticesinceDimitriandJasmine’scocktailparty.I’vegonetoyogaafterworktwice,andonthenightsI’vebeenfree,he’shadplanswithfriends.Allweek,I’vefeltstarvedforattention;Ihadforgottenwhatit’sliketocravesomebodylikethis.IcouldphysicallyfeelthewayIyearnedforqualitytimewithhim—sometimes,lowinmygut;othertimes,likeanactualpanginmychest.WhenhetextedmeyesterdayeveningtoaskifI’dbefreeforadatenighttonight,Irepliedyespracticallywhilemyphonestillbuzzedwiththeincomingmessage.
Hetextedconfusinginstructions:Ihaveasecretplanforus.Wearsomethingwarm,andmakesureyouhavesocks.
Socks?What’stheplan?Iwroteback.
Hereplied,LikeIsaid—it’sasecret??
IknewIwasn’tgoingtoweaselthetruthoutofhim,soinstead,Itriedtopuzzleoutwhatwecouldpossiblybedoing—hiking?skiing?—andtookgreatcaretofindamatchingpairofsockswithoutanyholes.Tonight,afterdrillingstagjumpswithHallieonthetrampoline,RyanandIwaiteduntilHalliehadleftthegym’spremisesinherdad’scarbeforewebothclimbedintohiscar.WedecidedearlierthatI’dstayoverathisplaceandhe’ddrivemebacktothegymthenextmorning.Theplanmademefeelasifwewereseriousandcommitted,oratleastonthewaytowardit.
“So,nowyoucantellmewherewe’regoing,”Isayoncehe’spulledoutoftheparkinglot.
“Nope,”hesays.
“Notevenahint?”Iask.
He’sresolute.“You’lljusthavetowaitandsee.”
Hetalksabouthowmuchfunhehaddreamingthisup,andhowit’llbetheperfectwaytochilloutinthemidstofNationalsprep,butIjustcan’tfocus.Mymindping-pongsfromsleuthingoutwherehe’stakingmetoourlastin-personconversationaboutDimitri’sjoboffer.Wehaven’thadachancetodiscussit.There’ssomuchIcouldsaytohim—andasmuchasIwanttoaskhowhe’sfeelingaboutwhatDimitrisaid,Idon’twanttoruintheromanticmood.
HedrivesthroughthetowncenterandpullsintoOsakaSushi.Thefamiliarwoodensigngivesmeaburstofnostalgia,butittakesmeamomenttopiecetogetherwhyhe’ssoexcited.
“Itoldyouaboutthisplace,didn’tI?”Isay,suddenlyrecalling.“WhenweweredrivingthroughGreenwoodafterLolly’s.”
“Yourfamilylikestocomehereforspecialoccasions,”hesays.
“Ryan!Youremembered.”ItakeoffmyseatbeltsoIcanproperlyleanacrossthecartogivehimahugandakiss.“Butwait,thesocks?Warmclothes?Wasthatjusttothrowmeoff?”
I’moverheatinginathickturtleneckandknitscarf.Thereareglovesstashedawayinthepocketsofmyparka.
“That’sforafterdinner,”hesays,winkingashegetsoutofthecar.
Ninetyminuteslater,whenwe’rehappilyfilleduponasashimiplatterandasakeflight,Istilldon’tknowwherewe’regoingnext.ButRyandidinsistonheadingoutoftherestaurantassoonasthebillwaspaid,ratherthanlingeringatthetable.Igetthesensewe’reonadeadline.Inthecaronceagain,Ifeelwarmedbythesakefromtheinsideout,touchedbytheromanticgestureofbringingmebacktoOsakaSushi,andhighontheanticipationofdiscoveringwherethisadventureallleads.WhateverdesireIhadearliertonighttoaskRyanaboutDimitrihasfadedaway.It’snotthatIdon’tcare—it’sthatmomentslikethisdon’tcomearoundoften.It’snoteverydaythatagorgeousmanthrowstogetherasurprisedatepackedwithpersonaltouchesataseriesofsecretlocations.IslidemyhandintoRyan’sandsqueezeasilentthanks.
Finally,thejigisup:hepullsoffamainroaddownanarrowstreetthatwindsintothetownforest.Hedrivesslowlythroughtheheavythicketofpinetreesuntilwereachaclearing.There’sacul-de-sacfullofcarsstreakedwithwintergrimeparkednearanoutdoorice-skatingrink.Althoughit’sadarknight,therinkitselfisbright,thankstowhitefloodlightsandgoldenChristmaslightswrappedaroundaluminumpoles.I’vebeentothisrinkafewtimesformyelementaryschoolclassmates’birthdayparties,butit’sonlynow,asanadult,thatIseehowcharmingthisspotreallyis.
“Thisissosweet!”Iexclaim,gettingoutofthecar.
“Doyouskate?”heasks.
Helookshopefulbuthesitant,thewaypeopledowhentheyhandyoupresentswiththetagsstillattachedincaseyouwanttoreturnthem.
“Ihaven’tskatedinyears,butIalwayslikeditasakid,”Isay.
“Me,too,”hesays.
Arinkattendantinaredclapboardshedasksforourshoesizesandhandsusclunkyskates.Welacethemupandtottertotheedgeoftherink.Hestepsoverthethresholdfirst,thenextendshishandsoIcansteadymyselfasIstepontotheice.ItakeafewtentativeglideswithmyhandhoveringovertherailingincaseIlosemybalance.
Wemakeaslowfirstlapsidebyside,gettingusedtobeingontheice.Therearen’tmanyotherpeoplehere—threecouplesincasualclothesandasingleskaterinathleticgearwhomakessharpturnsandelegantspins—soit’scalmenoughtogoatourownpace.
“Sofar,sogood,butIbetI’llfallflatonmyassatleastoncetonight,”Isay.
“I’llcatchyou,”hesays.
“Don’tyoudare.I’llprobablypullyoudownwithme,”Iwarn.
“You’renotgonnafall,”hepredicts.“Irememberyouonbeambackintheday—yourbalanceisabsurd.”
“Don’tjinxit,”Isay.
He’sright,though;byoursecondlap,Ifeelsturdier,andbyourthird,I’veregainedmyconfidence.Islipmyhandintohisandtrustmybalanceenoughtoplantakissonhischeekasweglide.Ican’thelpbutseeflashesofthefuture—maybewe’llhikethisspring,canoethissummer,trainforahalfmarathontogetherthisfall.We’rebothusedtosolitarysports,butthere’ssomethingappealingabouttacklingnewadventuresasapair.
Aswecontinuetoskatecirclesaroundtherink,wewhispertheoriesabouttheothercouples—whichonesseemhappilyinlove,whichseemmorelikeoldroommateswhocouldn’tgiveadamnabouteachother—andresolvetoneverfallintothelattercategory.Wetradestoriesaboutice-skatingexperiencesaskids,andtheOlympicskaterswe’vemetovertheyears.Onsomelaps,wedon’ttalkatall,contenttoenjoythetwinklinglightsnestledintotheforestandtheblurofourhazyreflectionsgleamingontheslickice.WithRyan,silencedoesn’tfeellikepressure.
Butthere’sonequestionIcan’tgetoutofmyhead.
“What’sallthisfor?”Iaskfinally.
“Aguycan’ttakeagirlout?”hereplies.
“Ofcourse,ofcourse.But,Imean,thisisspectacular.”
Hischeeksgopink,andIdon’tthinkit’sjustfromthethirty-five-degreeweather.
“Don’tgetmewrong,Iloveseeingyouinthegym,”hesaysslowly.“Andatyourplace,andatmine.ButI’veneverreallytreatedyoutoarealdatenight,andyoudeservethat.”
“Oh!”Isay,touched.
“Incaseyouhaven’tnoticed,I’mnot,uh,thefanciestguy,”hesayssheepishly.
“You?”Ijokeback.“Huh,neverwould’veguessed.”
Hesmirks.“AndIthoughtaboutagourmetdinnersomewhere,butIknowyoulovetocook.Iknowyou’drathercookthanbewaitedon.”
“True,”Iadmit.
“SoIthoughtyouroldfavoritesushiplacewouldbeatreat,andthiswouldcapthenightoffperfectly.Ihopeyoulikeit?”hefinishes.
“Iloveit,”Isay.“Thankyouforplanningsuchafabulousdate.”
Idon’tmeanto,butIflashbacktoa“datenight”withTyler.Or,rather,itwassupposedtobeadatenight.Instead,wewatchedFast&Furious6insilencewhileweateEasyMac.Hehadtoldmenottobotherwithcookingaspecialmealfordatenight.Hedidn’tgetthatcookingforhimfeltlikeanotherwaytoshowmylove.Hefellasleepbeforethemoviewasover.Butthisfeelsentirelydifferent—it’sthoughtfulandpersonal.HeputcareintochoosingsomethingI’dlike.
“Soyou’llkeepme?”hesays.
Icanhearanoteofrestrainedlaughterinhisvoice.
“Eh,”Ijoke,pretendinglikeI’mattemptingtomakeupmymind.“I’llkeepyou.”
Iskatetoastopandpullhimgentlytowardtherailing.Isteadymyselfagainstitandkisshimdeeply,slippingmyfingersunderhisscarftoholdhimclose.It’struethatthere’sacertainthrillaboutkissingsomeoneforthefirsttime,whenyoucanonlyguesswhatit’llfeellike,howyourbodieswillrespondtoeachother’s,andiftherewillbesparks.Butthisisthrillinginadifferentway:comfortable,familiar,easy.Icananticipatethewayhislipswillmoveagainstmine.Iknowtherewillbesparks.Ican’tbelievehowluckyIam.
Therinkisquieternow;we’reamongthelastpeopleleft.It’sapicturesquemoment,butIknowthere’sabiggerreasontonightmakesmesohappy.Beinghereinhisarmsfeelsexactlyright.
“Whatanincrediblenight,”Isay.
Ihavetostopmyselffromutteringthethreelittlewordsthatalmostrolloffmytonguenext.
“Youareincredible,”Isay,swallowingthetoo-soonwordsandchoosingthesaferonesinstead.
Henuzzlescloserandkissesmeagain.Whenhepullsback,hehesitates,likehe’stryingtodetermineexactlywhattosaynext.Iwonderifthesamewordsarerunningthroughhishead,too.
“I…”hesays.
Mystomachdoesabackflip.
Hegazesatmeforamomentthatfeelslikeaneternity.
“I’mreallygladyou’reherewithme,”hesays,pullingmecloserforakiss.
Everythingaboutit—thesteadypressureofhishandonthecurveofmyhip;thescentofpine;theslipperysurfaceoftheicebeneathourfeet—Icommittomemory.Iwanttoremembereverydetail,becausethisisthenightIknowforsurethatIamfallinginlovewithRyanNicholson,andthere’snothingIcandoaboutit.
?CHAPTER19?
AchillrunsupmyspinewhenIentertheNationalChampionshipsarenainMiami.Thenervousenergyhangingintheairfeelsjustasrealasthemingledscentofchalkdustandsweat.IfollowHallieandRyanaroundtheperimetertofindaspottosettledown,andIcan’thelpbutdrinkitallin:thecrunchoferrantbobbypinsunderfoot;thesparecansofhairsprayandbottlesofbuttgluerollingoutfromunzippedgymbags;theritualgesturesofgymnastswarmingup;thesatisfyingscrchhhofgripsbeingVelcroedonandoffwrists;theanxiousparentssnappingguminthebleachers.Isavoreverybitofit.IfeelasifI’vecomehomeagain.ThemomentIwalkedthroughthedoor,Istraightenedup,liftedmychinonenotchhigher,andtightenedmyponytail.Thistimearound,though,nobody’swatchingme.Thisisn’taboutme.
We’rehereforHallie.It’sherday.Shefindsabenchonthefarsideofthearena,closesttothebeam,thathasyettobeclaimedbyanyoneelseanddropsherduffelonit.
We’reallcladinmatchingnavytracksuitsembroideredwithSummit’slogooverourhearts.Hallieremovesherjacket,revealingagleaming,emerald-green,long-sleevedleotard.It’sspangledwithSwarovskicrystalsacrosshercollarboneanddownthecenterofherchest,likeaglitteringnecklaceorapieceofarmor.IfshegoestotheOlympics,hercompetitionleotardswillbechosenbytheAmericanGymnasticsFederation,andshe’llprobablybecladinred,white,blue,orallthree.Butfornow,shecanwearwhatevershelikes.Iknowthisleotardisoneofherfavoritesbecauseitbringsoutthegreenflecksinherhazeleyes.
Therearearmiesofgymnast-coachteamsjustlikeusscatteredacrossthevenue.IspotDeliaCruzrollingherwristsinsupplecirclestowarmupforbars.MaggieFarberandKikiMcCloudsitwithhandsovertheirfaceswhiletheircoachtamesdowntheirponytailswithhairspray.Acrossthearena,DimitrireclinesonabenchwhilehisgroupofPowerhousegymnastsstretchsilently.Irecognizetheirfacesandnames,thoughIdon’tknowthempersonally.HisstarstudentisEmmaPerry,afiercelytalentedcompetitorwho’sprobablythefront-runneroftheentiresport.HehasSkylarHayashiandBritAlmeda,too—theformerisavaultspecialistwhobeganperformingflawlessAmanarsatfourteenyearsoldandhasonlygottenmoreintimidatingsincethen;thelatterisadecentiflessmemorableathletewhobringsinreliablyfinescoresbutdoesn’tquitehavethatXfactor.Idon’tthinkRyanhasbroachedthesubjectofDimitriorPowerhousewithHallieorherparentsyet.Inthefrenziedlead-uptoNationals,therehasn’tbeentime.
Eachgymnast’scompetitionrosterisassignedrandomly.Whenthescheduleflashesonthebigscreenthatloomsabovethearena,Hallie’sfacehardens.She’supfirstonbars,whichmeansshe’llspendtherestofthedayrotatingthroughvault,beam,andthenfloor.Shedoesn’tcomplain,though;sheknowsNBC’scamerashavelikelyalreadybegunswirling,andshe’ssmartenoughtounderstandthatherreactiontothenewsshouldn’tbeadismalone.
“Ijustwanttogetflooroverwith,”shewhisperstome.
“Iknow.I’msorry.Let’sstretch,”Isuggest,steppingforwardtoplacemyselfprotectivelybetweenherandanycameramenwhomightbeapproachingwithalonglens.
Shedutifullynods,slipsoffhertrackpants,andstandstobeginherwarm-up.Sherunsthroughthesamebasicsetofmovesshe’scompleteddailysincechildhood—bendingoverherkneesinapike,rollingoutherwrists,straddlingherlegswide—butthistime,everymovementispackedwithintention:pointedtoes,straightspine,sucked-incore.Shewavesatapairoflittlegirlsinthebleachersholdingupasignwithhernameprintedonitincolorfulmarker.
Anannouncementcutsthroughthenoiseofthestadium:fifteenminutesuntilthecompetitionbegins,whichmeansit’stimeforHallietowarmuponbars.She’sonthesamerotationasDeliaandBrit,andthethreegymnaststaketurnschalkingupandpracticingelementsoftheirroutines.There’sanunintentionalhierarchy:BritdeferstoHalliebecauseshe’sthestrongerathlete,andbothgirlsdefertoDelia,becauseshe’sbecomesomethingofalegend,amotherhen,aspokespersonforthehorrorsofthesporteversincetheaccusationsbroke.Today,Delia’sleotardisteal.IheardJasminediscussingitduringherTVsegment;tealisthecolorofsexualassaultawareness.
Attheone-minutemark,Halliesignalstousthatshe’sallset.
“Last-minutepeptalk,”Ryansays.“Huddleup.”
RyanwrapsaprotectivearmaroundHallie’sshouldersandslidesanonchalantarmaroundmywaist.Hallie’sbreathisshallow.Thisisn’therfirstrodeo;it’sclearthatsheknowsasnervousassheis,shehastofakeittillshemakesit.Otherwise,she’llpsychherselfout.
“IjustwanttotellyouonemoretimehowproudIamofyou,”Ryansays,lockingeyeswithHallie.“You’restrong,you’retough,andyouhavetrainedsohardforthisforsolong.”
Sheblushes.“Thanks.”
“Anddon’tlettheprospectoffloorrattleyouallday,”hesays.“Youhavenothingtoworryabout.”
“Idon’t?”sheasks,surprised.
“Thenewchoreography?Fantastic.Theupdatedtumblingpasses?Genius.I’veknownyoualongtime,andI’veneverseenyouaspoisedoraselegantasyou’vebeenperforminglately.”
Hallieexhales.Hershouldersvisiblyrelax.
“Oh,”shesays,almostlaughingtoherself.“Right.”
“Avery?”Ryanprompts.
Ididn’tprepareanythingtosay.WhenIwascompeting,it’snotlikeDimitrievergaveanysortofwarm,touchy-feelypeptalklikethisone.Agruffrequesttostopwhiningandkeepmychinup,maybe,butnothinglikethis.Iswallow
“Youhavenoideahowgoodyouhaveit,”Isay.“Howeasythiswillbe.Howpreparedyouare.Youareanaturalsuperstar,andyouhaveRyan,who’samazing,andyouhaveanincrediblysupportivefamilycheeringyouon.”
Thewordscomeeasilybecausethey’rethetruth.
“Everysingleday,Iamsoproudtoworkwithyou,becauseyounevergiveupandyouneverlosewhatmakesyouyou,”Icontinue,ignoringthelumpforminginmythroat.“I’mluckytobeonyourteam.AndIcan’twaittoseeyourockthiscompetition.”
Isqueezemyhandaroundhershoulder.Ididn’texpecttobesoemotional,butseeingHalliehere,justinchesawayfromacompetitionthatcouldmakeherafront-runneratOlympicTrials,I’moverwhelmed.Ibreakthehuddletogiveheratighthug.
“Thankyou,guys,”Halliesays,herwordsmuffledintomyhair.“Seriously.Thankyou.”
AneventcoordinatortapsHallieontheshoulder.“It’stime,”shesays.
Hallieglancesateachofus.“Bye.”
“Yougotthis!”Icallout.
Ryangoeswithher.He’stheretohoverbythehighbarthroughoutthedurationofherroutine,readytolungeforwardduringherriskiestreleasemoveswhenshe’smostlikelytofall,incaseheneedstocatchher.Idon’twanttobeadistraction,soI’llwatchfromthesidelines.
Halliereachesintothechalkbowltoaddonemorelayerofdusttohergrips,andnodstoRyanthatshe’sready.Momentslater,anannouncer’svoiceboomsovertheloudspeaker.Ahushfallsoverthecrowdinthebleachers.
“FirstuponbarsisHallieConway,”thevoicebooms.
Theaudienceroarsacheer.“Let’sgo,Hallie,let’sgo!”Icallout,clapping.
Halliestridestothecenterofthelowbar,totallytransformed.Shestandstall,suddenlylookingfiveyearsolderandtwiceassereneasshereallyis.Sheraisesbotharmstothetableofjudgesandbeams,performingthecustomarysaluteofrespectthateverygymnastdoesatthebeginningandendofeachroutine.Iseeajudgeflicktoanewsheetinhernotebookandpeeroverthetopsofherthick-rimmedglasses.
Hallietakesadeepbreath,thenjumpsonthelowbarandswingsupintoaperfecthandstandwithsucheasygracethatIforgettobenervousforher.Shetransitionssmoothlytothehighbar,thenpirouettesinahandstand,andexecutesacleanTkatchev–PakSaltocombo,flingingherselfbackwardandsoaringsmoothlydowntothelowbar.Everythingistight,asitshouldbe:verticalhandstands,straightknees,pointedtoes,rock-hardcore.Theroutineconcludeswithamesmerizingseriesofgiants—swinging,360-degreecirclesaroundthehighbar—andthenshe’sslicingthroughtheairintoadouble-twistingdoublebacktuck.Themomentshehitsthemat,she’ssturdyandsureofherself—shesticksthelanding.Theaudienceeruptsintoacheerasshearchesbackward.
Halliewavestothecrowd,turningtofaceeachcornerofthearenatoblowgratefulkisses.
Giddy,shecrashessidewaysintoRyanforaone-armedhug.
“Amazingjob,”Isay,high-fivingherinaburstofchalkdustwhenshemakesitbacktothebench.“Younailedit.”
“Thatfeltgreat,”shesays.
“Becauseitwasgreat,”Ryansays.
Thirtysecondslater,thejudgesconfirmwhateveryoneknows:Itwasabeautifulperformance.Theyawardhera15.025—andanythinginthefourteenrangeoraboveisincredible.Bytheendofthefirstrotation,she’sinfourthplace—Emma,Delia,andKikihavejustbarelyedgedheroutforthetopspots.Hallie’sfacefallsslightly.
“Don’tworry,youhavethreemorerotationstogo,”Ryanpointsout.“Therankingswillchange.”
“Yeah,butIjustfinishedbars,”sheprotests.
Nobodyhastosayoutloudwhatshereallymeans:herbesteventisnowover,soitcouldallgodownhillfromhere.
“Vault’snext,”Isaybrightly.“Justfocusonnice,solidlandings,andyou’llbejustfine.”
Pertherulesofthecompetition,shecompetestwiceonvault.Judgesscorebothefforts,thentaketheaverageasherfinalscore.Herfirstrun,anAmanar,isimpressive.Butanysuccessthereiscanceledoutbythedeductionsshereceivesforthetwoextrastepsshetakesuponlandinghersecondvault,aMustafina.
Iknowtherulesofthesportwellenoughtoknowbetter,butitstillseemsincrediblyunfairthatHalliegetspointsdockedforherdynamiteenergy.She’slikeahighjumperinaballerina’sbody—ifshewereatrack-and-fieldstarinsteadofagymnast,herexplosivepowerwouldmakeheranOlympicchampion.Butnothere.MynervesfeelfrayedasIwatchthejudgesgrimlyturnoverthefinalscore:13.250.Hallieslipstofifthplace.Themoodonthebenchistense.
Herthirdrotationisbeam,andifthere’soneeventthatdemandsconfidenceandprecisionaboveallelse,it’sthisone.WhenIwasagymnast,beamwasalwaysintimidating,butatleastIfeltincontroloftheexperience.IfIshookorbobbledorfell,itwasmyownfault.Butnow,asHalliecompetes,thatsenseofcontrolcrumbles.MymusclesspasmasIwatchhermove.Whenshepirouettes,Icranemyneck,asifIcanmanipulatethespeedofherspin.Asshewobblesonthelandingofafrontaerial,mystomachandglutesandthighsclenchhard,asifIcankeephercenteredonthebeamthroughsheerforceofwill.Hertumblingpass—abackhandspring,whipback,backlayoutthat’susuallyjustpurefuntowatch—tiltsslightlyoffcenter.Onefootcurlsdesperatelyaroundthebeam,whiletheotherlegricochetssidewaysinalast-ditchattempttoregainbalance.Shestayson,butjustbarely.Afterherdismount,shesaluteslimplytothepanelofjudgesandtrudgesintoRyan’sarms.
Halliemakesitbacktothebenchjustasthestony-facedjudgesrevealherscore:aflat12.850.Thatmeansshe’sofficiallyslippeddowntoninthplace.Ifeelsick.Aslongasshedoesn’tcompletelybombfloor,sheshouldqualifytocompeteatOlympicTrials.(ThetopfourteencompetitorswillgotoTrials.)Butthere’snoguaranteeofthat—anythingcouldhappenatacompetition,especiallywithherconfidenceatanall-timelowrightnow—andninthplaceisabrutal,embarrassingspottobein,evenoutofseventeentotalspots.Ideally,she’dbeinthetopfiveorsix,ifnotfullyinthetopthreeformedalcontention.IhatetoimagineJasmine’scommentaryrightnow.Itcan’tbegood.
RyanspotsHallie’semptywaterbottleandgoestorefillit.
“I’llbebackinaminute,”hepromises.
Halliescowlsandslumpsdownfurtherinherseat.There’sabeatofsilencebetweenus.
“I’mcompletelyfailing,”shesaysmorosely.“I’mmessingupoverandoveragainonliveTV,lookinglikeatotalidiot.”
“Hey,scoot,”Isay,movingtositnexttoher.“You’renotanidiot.Atall.Ipromise.”
Sheslidesoverafewinchesbutdoesn’tlookatme.She’sstaringatthebigscreen,transfixedasEmmasticksapowerfuldouble-doubleonfloorandmakesitlookeasy.
“I’minninthplace,”shespitsout.“Ninthplace.That’sforidiots.”
“Youhavetostopcallingyourselfanidiot,”Isay.
Shegivesmealookfullofskepticalcontemptthatremindsmesheisstillasurlyteenager.Shemighthavetradedinthetypicaltrappingsofateengirl’slifeforthediscipline,demands,andpressuresofafullygrownadultathlete’s,butthisisonethingshecan’tchange.She’sasixteen-year-oldgirl,behavingthewayanysixteen-year-oldwould.
Shescrunchesupherface.“Ididn’tworkthishardtobeallthewaydownthescoreboard.”
“Iknow,”Isaycarefully.Itrytofigureoutwhattosaytoliftherspirits.“Butmaybethere’smoretoitthanthat.Whatifyoucanjustappreciatethefactthatyou’veworkedsohardtobehere?Iknowyougetsomuchjoyoutofperforming.Justgooutthereandhavefunshowingoffwhatyoucando,youknow?”
Shetiltsherheadandstaresatme.
“You’renuts,”shesays.“You’velostit.”
“I’mjusttryingtoshowyouthesilverlining,”Iinsist.“Becausethereisone.”
“Ifyoukindofsquint,”sheadds.
“Squintreallycarefully,yeah,”Isay.“You’rehere.Youdeservetobehere.”
Shetakesalongsipofherwaterandshakesherheadslowly.
“Yousoundextremelyyogarightnow,”shesays.
“I’mjustjealousthatyougettogooutthereanddeliverthehelloutofyournextroutine,”Isay.“You’relivingmydream.”
Shesighsdramatically.
“I’llgoslayonfloorifyoupromisetostoptalkinglikeacornyOprahknockoff,”shesays.
“Deal,”Isay,extendingmyhand.
Sheshakesit.“Deal.”
AneventcoordinatorwavesHallieovertostartwarmingupforfloor.Ishoutridiculouslysupportivecommentsasshewalksaway.Butonceshe’sgone,thepitinmystomachreturns.
Floorwarm-upsflyby.Britdeliversasurprisinglylovelyperformancetoadelicatepieceofclassicalmusic,andHalliewhisperstomethatshemusthavegottennewchoreography.Upnext,Deliastridescalmlyontothefloortoperformaknockoutroutinethatinspirestheaudiencetogiveherastandingovation.Onthebigscreen,youcanseetearsglitteringinhereyesasshewavestoherfansandhugshercoach.Themomentispowerfulandheartbreaking.Whenthejudgesawardherthebreathtakinglyhighmarkof15.275,it’sclearshe’searnedeverybitofit.
Meanwhile,Hallieistrembling.Sherisesfromthebenchandshakesouteachlegsoherkneesdon’tbucklebeneathher.Morethananyothermomentinherlife,thepressureison.
“Let’sgo,Hallie!”Icallout.
“Comeon,Hal,yougotthis,”Ryansaysloudly.
“Wehadagoodtalkwhileyouweregone,”Isay.“Ithinkshe’llbeokay.”
“Ifshe’snot,Ithinkherparentswillskinusalive,”Ryanmutters.
Hallie’snameringsoutovertheloudspeaker,andthejudgesflicktonewsheetsofpaperintheirnotebooks.Shesalutesattheedgeofthebluemat,thenstrutsintoposition.There’sahigh,clearbeeptosignalthatsheshouldprepareherself,andthentheopeningnotesofhernewfloormusic.ThisisherfirsttimeperformingtheroutineIcraftedincompetition,andI’manxioustoseehowit’sreceived.
Halliethrowsherselfintothefirstfewfiercestepsofherchoreography,justlikewepracticed,andIamsoproud.She’saswirloflimbsandpiercinggazesasshepivots,backsupintothecorner,andlungesintoherfirsttumblingpass.ShewhipsacrossthefloorwithenoughenergytopowerafleetofMaseratis,rocketingskywardattheendintothestagjumpwedrilledonthetrampoline.Herlegleversupelegantlybehindher,andshelandsonbeat.
Shebeamsandsurgesonwardthroughafrenziedattemptatherleapseries.She’llgetasmalldeductionforfailingtohitthefull180-degreesplit,butit’samarkedimprovementfromthefirsttimeshetriedthatcombination.Whensheslidesdowntosetupherwolfturn,IcringeandgrabRyan’shand.Hispalmglistenswithsweat.Hallie’sbrowsknittogetherasshesteelsherselftospin.Ican’tbreatheasIwatchherrotatecleanly.It’sthebestwolfturnI’veeverseenherdo.
Onhersecondtumblingpass,sheflieshighabovethefloorandsticksthelanding.Assheprancesthroughherchoreography,Iwhisperaprayer.Pleasekeepthisup.Pleaseletthisbeokay.Hallieattacksherthirdandfourthtumblingpasseswithpuregrit.Shespiralsthroughtheairanddigsinherheelswhenshelands.Asthemusichitsitsfinalnote,shethrowsherheadbackintothedramaticposewepracticedsomanytimesintheSummitmirror.Herchestheavesasshetriestocatchherbreath.There’sasecondofsilence,andthenHallieclimbstoherfeet,salutingthejudgeswithalltheenergyshehasleft.Thecrowdclapsasthejudgescontinuetoscribbledownnotes.
RyanandIinterceptheralongthesideofthefloorforhighfivesandhugs,andwewalkbacktoourspottogether.Herbreathingisragged.
“Hallie,thatwasunbelievable,”Itellherexcitedly.“ThebestI’veeverseenyouperform.”
“Youwereawesome,”Ryanconfirms.
Shepantsandgivesahalf-heartedthumbs-up.“Don’tcongratulatemeuntilthescoreisready,”shewarns.
“Don’tworryaboutthescore;thatwasphenomenal,”Iinsist.
Ihope,ofcourse,thatthejudgesrewardherforoneofthebestfloorroutinesshe’sprobablyeverdoneinherentirelife.ButI’malsonervous—theydon’tawardmedalsforpersonalimprovement.Herscorewillbecomparedtotheothergymnasts’.
Thejudgesdelivertheirscore:13.475.ItmovesHallieuptoseventhplace.
Hallieletsoutalowmoan.“That’snotgoodenough,”shewails.
“That’safullpointhigherthanyougotatWorlds!”Ryancrows.“That’sarealimprovement,Hal.Youshouldbeveryproudofyourself.”
Afullpoint!Selfishly,Iglowwithexcitement.
“IfthiswereOlympicTrials,seventhplacewouldn’tbeenoughtomaketheOlympicTeam,”Halliesays,soundingpanicked.
Ryankneelsdowninfrontofherandtakesherhands.“Butthisisn’tTrials,”hepointsout.“Youhavemonthstogo.Somuchcanchangebetweennowandthen.”
Hallielookssuspiciouslyaroundthearena.“Yeah,buteveryoneelsewillbetrainingtoimprove,too.”
Iwanttosaysomethingreassuringorencouraging,buteverythingIcomeupwithsoundsholloworworthless.Seventhplaceisacomplicatedplacetobe:she’snotknockedoutofOlympiccontentionbyanymeans,butshe’snotashoo-in,either.ItwouldbeexcitingtolandhereifthiswereHallie’sfirstelitecompetition,butit’snot.Shedidn’tcomethisfartoonlymakeseventhplace.It’sanuncomfortablemiddleground,achinglymediocrewhengymnastsareusedtoflashywinsorspectacularfailures.Halliecouldgoeitherwayfromhere…orshecouldfloatintoobscurity,neverquitemakinganameforherselfinthissport.
“Iknowtodaywasn’twhatwehopedfor,butI’mstillproudofyou,”Isayfinally.
Halliezipsuphertracksuitandpullsthehoodiedownlow.
“Barswasbeautiful,”Ryanadds.“Vaultwasprettysolid,too.Nexttime,we’llworkon—”
“Ican’tthinkaboutthatnow,allright?”Halliesnaps.
SheshovesherfeetintoherUggsandslingshergymbagoverhershoulder.
“Ican’tstayhereanymore.Bye.”
Shemakesabeelineforthenearestexit.
“Wait!”Ryancallsouttoher.
“I’llcatchupwithyoulater,okay?”hetellsme,dartingafterHallie.
Myfirstinstinctistofollowthem,butIknowHalliedoesn’twantafullaudiencerightnow.Ifshewantedmewithher,shewould’vetoldme.Instead,shewantstogrievetoday’sresultsalone.Idon’tblameher.SoIsinkdownontothebenchandwatchglumlyasothergymnastsgleefullycelebratetheirwins.Myhearthurts.
?CHAPTER20?
I’mstillaloneanhourlater.Idon’twanttobe.RyanandHallieneverreturnedtothearena,andmytexttohimwentunanswered.Iheadbacktothehotel.IhadoriginallyassumedthatRyanandIwouldsharearoom—wespendtwoorthreenightsaweekateachother’splaces,anyway,andIwasevenlookingforwardtoourfirsttriptogetherasacouple.ButRyanhadpointedoutthatit’dlooksuspiciousforustoshare,especiallysinceSummithadalreadypaidforustosleepseparately.Ourroomsareatoppositeendsoftheseventhfloor;Hallieandherparentshavealargersuiteontheeighth.
Whentheelevatordoorsslideopenontheseventhfloor,Istepoutinthecool,blandlycarpetedlobby.There’sanarrayofkitschybeach-inspireddecorhangingonthewall—shinypinkseashells,dried-outcoralandstarfish—alongsideblack-and-whitephotosoftheMiamiskyline.Ishouldturnleftandheaddownthehalltomyroom,butinstead,IturntowardRyan’s.Iknock,buthedoesn’tcometothedoor.
Iwalkthelongstretchofhallwaybacktomyownhotelroom.Themaidhasbeenhere:thebedisfreshlymadeandmyjumbleofclothesandextrashoesandphonechargerarestackedneatlyontopofmyluggage.Ikickoffmyshoes,flopdiagonallyacrossthebed,andtrytoresisttheurgetocheckmyphone.Instead,Istareatthewhitestuccoceilingforafewmoments,ruminatingonHallie’sdisastrousperformancetodayandwonderingifshesimplyhadanoffdayorifIhadfailedtoproperlyprepareher.Toodepressing
ImissRyan.Ifeelsillyadmittingittomyself,becauseIjustspenttheentiredaywithhim,butIdo.Whenwe’reworking,itdoesn’treallyfeellikewe’respendingtimetogether—Ican’tfullyrelaxaroundhimwhenIknowotherpeoplearewatchingus.IfIhadtoguess,he’sprobablystillwithher,comfortingher,andthatmakesmefeelevenworse:heartbrokenforHallie,ashamedoverhowIfailedasacoach,depressedbywhatthismeansformycareer,andself-indulgentforwishingRyancouldbeherewithmeinstead.Idon’twanthimtocomeoverandanalyzewhatwentwrongtoday.Ijustwanthimhereasmyboyfriend
Igetuptoshowerofftheday,ifonlybecausethere’snothingelseIreallywanttodo(andeveryonecouldbenefitfrombathingafterspendingtimeinanarenathatsmellslikefeet).Thehotelroom’sbathroomisoutfittedincream-coloredtilewithvanitylightsoverthemirrorthatfeelliketheheightofglamourcomparedtomyapartmentinGreenwood.IlingerlongerthanIneedtointheshower.WhenIgetout,wrappedinafluffywhitehotelbathrobethatfeelswonderfullythickandheavyovermyshoulders,I’mrelievedtoseeatextfromRyan—untilIreadit.
Hey,sorry,I’mactuallynotfreetohangoutrightnow,hewrote.Let’stalklater?
Hiswordsmakemefeellonelier.IspentcountlesshoursinLAwaitingforTylertotextmeback,tocomehome,towanttoseeme.Eagerlywaitingforscrapsofattentionisthemostpatheticfeelingintheworld.
Sure,Itype.
Iconsiderdelayingmyresponsebyseveralminutestogivehimatasteofhisownmedicine,butthat’stoojuveniletofeelrewarding.Ishouldknowbetterthantobehavelikeachild.Ipresssend.
I’mtoorestlesstositaroundthisroom,soIgetdressedandheaddownstairstothehotel’srestaurant.Vendingmachinesnacksaside,I’vebarelyeatenallday,andit’dbegoodformetogetsomerealfood.Ididn’trealizeituntilnow,butI’mhungry.Therestaurant’svibemimicsthebeachydecorfromupstairs:theupholsteryonthechairslooksspeckledlikesand,andnauticalbitsandbobslikebuoysandfishingnethangfromthedriftwoodbar.
“Justone?”thehostessasks.
“Justme,”Isay,pretendingtobecheeryandfineaboutthat.
Shescansthecrowdedroom.
“So,it’llbeaboutfifteenortwentyminutesforatableforone,butIcouldseatyounowatthebar,ifyou’dlike,”sheoffers.
“Thebar’sfine,”Isay.
Therearen’tmanyfreebarstools,either,thoughIseeonecrammedbetweentwolargermen,andanother…Oh.NexttoJasmine.Imovetowardtheseatbetweenthetwomen,butsheseesmebeforeIcansitdown.Forasplitsecond,neitherofussaysanything.
“Hey!”shesays,wavingmeover.
“Willthatseatwork?”thehostessasks.
Jasmineiswatchingexpectantly.
“It’sfine,thankyou,”Itellthehostess.
IwedgemyselfintotheseatonJasmine’sright.She’sdressedforTV:gleaminglipstick,sleekblowout,lemon-yellowshiftdress.There’saglassofwhitewineandaleafygreensaladinfrontofher.
“IwonderedifI’dbumpintoyou,”shesays,givingmeanair-kissbymycheek.
“Goodtoseeyou,”Isay,eventhoughtheprospectofaconversationwithhermakesmeanxious.
Thebartenderslidesamenumyway,andIorderaglassofwineasquicklyasIcan.
“Plus,uh,whateversaladshe’shaving,”Iadd.
“It’sdelicious,”Jasminegushes.
Shewouldgrowuptobethekindofwomanwhoravesaboutlettuce.
“ItwassointerestingtowatchHalliecompetetoday,”shesays.“Youknow,knowingyoucoachhernow.”
“?‘Interesting’?”Iecho.
Thatsoundslikeaeuphemismforbad
“Ilovedhernewfloorroutine,”Jasmineinsists.“Imadeanoteofiton-air,even—Iwastalkingabouthowyouchoreographedityourself,andhowexcitedIwastoseeHalliecompeteitforthefirsttimetoday.”
“Oh,”Isay,surprised.“That’sactuallyveryniceofyou.Thankyou.”
“I’msureshewould’velikedtodoalittlebitbetterintherankingstoday,”Jasminesays.“But,hey,youknowIalwayslovetorootfortheunderdog.”
Shewinks,asifthere’sacamerawaitingsomewheretocatchherreaction.There’snot.
“She’sagood,hardworker.Ithinkshe’llbouncebackjustfine,”Isay.
“She’snottoughtodiscipline?”Jasmineasks.
Thequestioncatchesmeoffguard.“Wedon’treallyneedtodisciplineher.”
“Sure,”shesaysskeptically.
“No,really.It’sactuallybeenreallyinteresting,figuringoutacoachingstylethat’sdifferentfromtheonewegrewupwith,”Icontinue.“Youremember,Dimitrialwayssaidhewashardonusbecausethatwouldbebestforus.ButwithHallie,Idon’tknow,shejustworkshard.”
Jasminedoesn’trespondrightaway.Instead,shesipsquietlyfromherwineglass.IregretspeakingsocandidlyaboutDimitriinfrontofher.
“I’msorry,Idon’tmeantoimplyanythingaboutthewayhecoached.Iknow,obviously,thingsaredifferentnowthathe’syour…husband.”
Thewordstillleavesabadtasteinmymouth.
“No,it’sallright,youdon’tneedtoapologize,”shesays,twistingherdiamondengagementringandstaringdownathersalad,likeshe’stryingtofindtherightwords.“Iknowhe…Imean,hewas…”Shetrailsoffandsighsheavily.
“Ishestilllikethat?Imean,whenit’sjustyoutwo?”Iasktentatively
IknowI’mprying,butitoccurstomethatJasminemightnothaveanyoneelseshecantalktolikethis.Weusedtoconfideineachotherallthetime—moreoftenthannotaboutthemanwho’snowherhusband—butIwouldn’tbesurprisedifshestaystight-lippedaboutwhathe’sreallylikeamonghernewsetoffriends.
Mysaladarrives.Jasminepauses,politelywatchingthebusboysetitdowninfrontofme.Shelooksgratefulfortheopportunitytocollectherthoughtsbeforeshespeaks.
“He’sagoodman,”shefinallysaysinanevenvoice.“Heprovidesabeautifullifeforus,andheissorespectedinthecommunity,andhemakesmehappy.”
IknowwhatJasminelookslikewhenshe’snotbeingtotallyhonest.I’veseenitbefore,backwhenwewerekids.Itwaseasytolieaboutdoingtwosetsofrepsofcrunchesinsteadofthree,ortopretendwedidn’teattheextrawhippedcreamonourchailattesatLolly’s.I’mnotmarried,soIcan’tjudgefirsthandwhat’snormalandwhat’snotinherrelationship.Butshedoesn’tsoundlikeawomaninlove.Shesoundslikeadefenseattorney.
“Right,”Isay.
Discomfortclingstomelikeanitchy,too-smallsweater.There’smoreIwanttoknow.
“Butwhat’sit…like?Beingmarriedtohim?Imean,Ican’timagine,”Isay.
ItsoundslikeI’mopenlygawking,andIguessIam.I’vespentyearswonderingwhattheirrelationshipcouldpossiblybelike,andaftergettingaglimpseofitattheirparty,mycuriosityhasonlyintensified.
Shegesturestothebartenderforanotherglassofwine.
“Imean,youknowhim,”shesays,shrugging.“Sometimes,hehashis…moods,”sheadmits.“Yourememberthose.”
“Yeah,Ido.”
“Andhe…he’sparticular,youknow?Helikesthingstobeacertainway.Sometimes,hegetsupsetwhenthingsaren’tright.”
“Heusedtotakeitoutonus,”Isaybitterly.
Maybethat’sasteptoofar,butJasminedoesn’tdisagreewithme.
“Hemeantwell,butitwasn’tright,”shesays.
“Ittookmealongtimetoclearlyseehowthataffectedme,becauseatthetime,itallfeltsonormal,”Isay.Thewordscomemoreeasilynow,sinceIknowJasminewillagreewithmeonthispoint.“Or,atleast,ifnotnormal,likeeverythingwasinserviceofagreatergoal.”
“Glory,”weintoneatthesametime,likewe’veheardthousandsoftimesbefore.
Inthebackofmyhead,IhearthewordinagutturalRussianaccent,andIbetshedoes,too.Foramoment,thepastsevenyearscollapse,andIfeellikewe’rejustkidsagain—gigglingfriendswhofinisheachother’ssentences.Itmakesmemisshowweusedtobe.Nobodyhaseverreplacedher.
“ButIthinkthat’schanging,no?”shesays.“Dimitri’sold-school,buthe’sprettymuchtheonlyoneleft.”
“Imean,RyanandIdoourbest,”Iconcede.“Hallie’smostlyprettyeasy,butevenso,wedon’tpushheranyharderthanshe’dpushherself.Imean,god,theworldisnotagoodplaceforgymnastsrightnow.YouknowwhatImean.”
“Ido,”shesaysheavily.
Wedon’tevenneedtosayitoutloud.
“Butashorribleasthatis,thisisn’tthefirsttimethere’sbeenascandallikethat—awfulthingslikethathavehappenedbefore,”Ipointout.
“Indark,shadyfuckingcorners,yeah,”shesaysgrimly.
“Therestofthesport,though?Ithinkit’sgettingalittlebetter,”Isay.
“IthinkIseethat,too,”shesays.“Atcompetitions,it’slike…whoa.Thegirlsallhavemusclesandthighsanddon’thidethefactthattheyeat.”
Webothlooklimplydownattheremainingsaladonourplates.
“Idon’tknowaboutthegirlsDimitriworkswith,butHalliehaspersonality.Sass.Or,ashemightcallit,attitude,”Isay.
“Nothingwewereallowedtohave,”Jasmineadds,shakingherhead.
“Ha.No.ButHallie’sgood.Happy.”
“She’sokaywithfood?”Jasmineasks.
“Sheeats,shedoesyoga,she’sconfident…”Isay.
Jasmineletsoutalowwhistle,understandingtheimplication:Hallie’snotlikewewere.“Goodforher.”
“Shehasatutor,butshehasawholeplan:Olympicsfirst,thencollege.Shetalksaboutgoingtolawschoolsomeday.Forher,there’sawholeworldoutthere,”Iexplain.
Idon’thavetospellitoutforJasmine.Forus,therewasnootherworld.We’rehere,afterall,aren’twe?Istabapieceoflettucewithmyfork.
“Iwantedtobeafashiondesigner,”Jasminesayssuddenly.Hereyesarespacey,vacant,likeshe’sdreamingaboutsomefar-offmemory.Sheturnssharplytowardme.“Didyouknowthat?”
“Maybe?”
Ivaguelyrecallhersketchingeveninggownsandspindlyhighheelsonalongcarridetoacompetition.Wemusthavebeentwelve.Sheerasedandredrewanderasedandredreweachlineonamodel’sbodyuntilitmatchedthevisionsheheldinhermind.
“Butthen,youknow,everythingjusthappened.Londonandthenthepost-OlympicstourandthenallthesemotivationalspeechesatgymsandthenDimitriandNBC,andhereweare,”shesays,shrugginglikesheblinkedanditalljustfellintoplace,likeonedominoafteranother.Shegivesashortlaugh.“WhatwasIsupposedtodo,duckoutandlearntosew?”
MyquestioncomestumblingoutbeforeIhavetimetorealizethatit’sarudeone.“Areyouhappy?”Iblurt.
Thewordshangintheair.Jasmineuncrossesandcrossesherlegs,catchingonestilettoalongtherungofthebarstoolandtakingalongsipofwine.
“OfcourseI’mhappy,”shesaysfinally.“Ijustwonder,sometimes,whatelsecould’vehappened—would’vehappened—ifwe’dgrownupdifferently.”
“WithoutDimitri,youmean,”Iclarify.
“Withadifferentcoach,moreoptions,anotherlife,”shesays,gesturingvaguelyaroundtherestaurant.
Thewineisgettingtohernow;there’saloosenesstoherenergy,sounlikethesensitive,tightlywoundgirlIusedtoknow.
“Whichiswhy,”shecontinues,“youcan’tletRyantakethejob.”
“Whatjob?”Iask.
“Theonethey’retalkingaboutrightnow,”shesays,pointingaboveus,likeit’sobvious.“Upstairs.Inoursuite.Nomatterwhothey’llcoachtogetherfor2024—Hallieorsomeoneelse—thatgirldeservesbetter.”
“Ryan’swithDimitri?”Iaskblankly.
Ihavethesickeningsensationofbeingthelastpersontoknowwhat’sgoingon,andIhateit.Idon’twanttohavetoplaycatch-upwithmyownboyfriend’swhereaboutsandcareer.
“Where’dyouthinktheywere?”sheasks,alarmed,asifshesuddenlyrealizesthatI’vebeeninthedark.“Oh,honey.”
Igroan.
“Youcan’tletRyantakethejob,”Jasminesays,hertonegrowingurgentnow.Sheclutchesmyarm.“Ishouldn’tsaythis,andifyoutellanyoneIdid,I’lldenyit,butkeepHallieawayfromDimitri.Letherbegoodandsafeandhealthy.Letherhaveafutureoutsideofthisworld.”
“What’syourroomnumber?”Iask.
“Roomtwotwenty,”shesays,rollinghereyes.“Like2020—forgoodluck.”
“Ofcoursehewouldrequestthat.”
“I’llcoveryourmealifyoucoverforme,”shesays,holdingafingertoherlips.“Go.”
Iracetotheelevators.
?CHAPTER21?
ThemomentbeforeIknockonDimitri’sdoor,mystomachtightensandmymindspiralsintotightfocus.It’sthesamesensationIusedtogetrightbeforeIsalutedthejudgesandstrodeforwardtoperformaroutine.Iknock.
Dimitriopensthedoor.Surpriseflitsacrosshisface.
“Hi,”Isay.
Hedoesn’tgreetme.
“Yourgirlfriend’shere,”hecallsoverhisshoulder.
Hecockshisheadandclickshistongue,signalingformetoenter.Somehow,that’smorehumiliatingthanhimshuttingthedoorinmyface.TherewasatimeIspentmoreofmydaywithhimthanwithmyownparents.Nowhewon’tevenusemyname.
ThesuiteisfarlargerandnicerthantheroomI’mstayingin.Thebedroomisidenticaltomine,butthere’salsoaloungewithapairofupholsteredarmchairsandaloveseatarrangedaroundacoffeetable.There’sacrystaldecanterofwhiskeywithtwomatching,half-filledglasses.Ryanrisesfromoneofthearmchairs,confused.
“Avery?Whatareyoudoinghere?”heasks.
“I’dliketotalktoyou,”Isay,hopingmyvoicecomesoutsteadyandstrong.
“I’minthemiddleofsomething,”hesayshelplessly.“Itextedyouearlier,remember?Isaidwe’dcatchuplater?”
“Iknow,”Isay.
“Iseverythingokay?”heasks.
There’srealconcerninhisvoice.
“Well,yeah,I’mfine,but…”IwishIhadpreparedsomethingmoreconvincingtosayaheadoftime.“Ijust…Ireallywouldliketospeakwithyou.Now.”
“Whereareyourmanners,girl?”Dimitrisays,lookingamused.“We’reworkingoutbusinesshere.”
Thewayhecallsmegirl,it’slikehe’shurledmemorethanadecadeintothepast.Hehasaknackformakingmefeelsosmall.Itmakesmeburnwithrage,especiallybecauseIknowhe’sright—Ibargedinherewithoutaninvitation—butIcan’tapologize.Ican’tbowdowninfrontofhimandpretendtobesorry.I’mnot.
RyanlooksfrommetoDimitriandbackagain.
“Go,”Dimitrisays,wavinghishandtodismissusboth.“Ryan,we’lltalkagaintomorrow.”
“No,Dimitri,it’sfine…”Ryanstartstoprotest.
ButDimitri’salreadyhalfwaytothebedroom.We’vebeendismissed.
“Allright,bye,thankyouforeverything,”Ryanrushestosay.
IhatehowfuriousandflusteredandthrownoffcourseIfeel,justfromspendingonesingleminuteinDimitri’spresence.Butmaybeit’sforthebest—maybethisisexactlytheraw,hatefulenergyIneedtofullyconvinceRyanhecanneverworkwiththatman.
Ryanfollowsmeoutofthesuite.Iturntofacehimtheminutethedoorclosesbehindus,butheshakeshishead,pressingafingertohislips,andushersusfartherdownthenarrowhall,towardtheelevator.Ijabtheupbutton.
“Whatwasthat?”hesaysfinally.“Areyoureallyokay?IsHallieokay?”
“I’mfine,she’sfine,”Iinsist.
Weentertheemptyelevator,andthetightquartersmakeitfeelimpossibletokeepmythoughtstomyself.We’resoclose,hecanprobablyhearwhatI’mthinking.
“Whatwereyoutalkingabout?”Idemand.
Theedgeofmyvoicesoundshard.Angry.Ugly.
“I’vemadeupmymind.IwanttoworkwithDimitriatPowerhouse,”headmits.
Foramoment,Ifeeltoobittertospeak.
“Butyouknowhe’snotagoodguy,”Isay.
Theelevatordoorsdingopenontheseventhfloor,andIfollowhimtohisroom.
“Iknowyou’vesaidthat,”hesayscarefully.
Igrabhisarmandstopwalking.“That’snotfair.”
Hesighsandpullshisarmaway.“Okay.It’snot,you’reright.I’msorry.”
Now,inhishotelroom,Istareathimexpectantly,waitingforhimtoproduceanyexplanationthatmakessense.Hesitsontheedgeofthebed,andIjoinhimreluctantly.Myheartpounds.Ijustwantthisconversationtobeoverwith.
“Ithinkthisisamistake,”Itellhimplainly.“DimitriwouldcrushHallie.Youseehowrudelyhetreatsme,don’tyou?He’llbetentimesworsetoher,dayin,dayout.He’llyellatherifshedoesn’tperformuptohisinsanelyhighstandardsofperfection,andthenhe’llscreamatherifshedarestocryorfightback.He’llcallhercruelnames.He’llmakeherkeepadiaryofeverythingsheeatsandhe’llreviewitonceaweekwhileshestandsonascaleinaleotard.He’llpunishherforgaininghalfapound.He’llisolateherfromherfriends.Ryan,Iknowyouthinkhe’salegend,buthe’sanightmare.”
Ryanbiteshislipandshakeshishead.Ican’ttellifit’sindisbeliefordisagreement.
“I’msorrythatyougrewuplikethat,”hesaysinastrainedvoice.“Ireally,reallyam.Pleasedon’tgetmewrong.Hemusthavechanged—he’snotlikethatanymore.”
“Idon’tbelievethat,”Isayfirmly.“Andanyway,it’snotworththerisk.Girlswhotrainwithhimdon’tgrowuptohavehealthy,normallives.”
“Well,lookatyou,”Ryansays,shrugging.“Youturnedoutfine.”
“Exactly!Lookatme,”Isay.“It’sbeenalongroadtofeelingremotelyokay.”
It’sincreasinglyimpossiblenottoshout.Itfeelslikeamatchjustcaughtfireinmychest.Iignitewithanger.I’veseethedsilentlyaboutthisinthepast,butI’veneverletitalloutbefore.
“SinceImovedbacktoGreenwood,I’vefinally,slowly,justbarelystartedtocobbletogetherareal,adultlifethatI’mproudof,”Iexplain.“Alotofthathastodowithworkingwithyou.ButIamtwenty-sevenyearsold.Twenty-seven!Ittookmethebetterpartofadecadetogethere.Iwasreeling.Ihadnoeducation,noambition,nogoals,nofull-timejob.That’snotme.That’snotwhoIwassupposedtobe.Foryears,mylifejust…stalled.AndIcouldn’tgetbackontrack.”
“Youcan’tblamethatallonDimitri,”Ryansayssoftly.
“He’scertainlynotinnocent.Hepushespeopledownsotheycan’tgetup,”Ifireback.“AndlookatJasmine.Hebrokeherdownsohard,sheneverleft.He’sdespicable.”
“Kaminsky’sdespicable.Dimitri’sjusttough,”Ryansays.
“I’mtellingyou,whatyou’redoingisjustplainwrong,”Iargue.“Nodecentpersonwoulddothis.”
“I’mnotfeedingHallietothewolves,Avery,”Ryansays.“I’llbetherewithher.I’llprotecther.”
“DoesHallieknowyou’redoingthis?Doherparents?”Iask.
Hesighs.Hisfacecontorts,butIcan’ttellifit’swithguiltorexasperation.
“We’vebeentalkingaboutitforweeks,”headmits.“Ididn’tincludeyouinthediscussionsbecauseIknewyouwouldneverworkwithDimitri.”
Myangerbloomsintorage,thenbetrayal.
“Andwhendidyouthinkyou’dtellme?”Iask.Myvoicebreaks.“I’mnotjustyourcoworker.Thisisn’taboutyouditchingyourjob.I’myourgirlfriend,Ryan.You’resupposedtotellmethings,notgobehindmyback.”
Hesighs.“I’msorryfornottellingyouaboutmyplanssooner.”
Ishakemyhead.I’mtoooverwhelmedtospeak.Whatistheretosay?Idon’trecognizethepersonI’marguingwith.
“Ifeelsostupid,”Isayfinally.
“Why?”heasks.
IshudderandthewordsslipoutbeforeIcanregisterwhatI’msaying.
“BecausethiswholetimethatI’vebeenfallinginlovewithyou,you’vebeenkeepingsecretsfromme.”
Ryanbiteshislip.Hiseyessearchmineforalongtime.
“I…Ididn’tknow,”hesays.“Thatyoufeltthatway,”heclarifies.
Ilookaway,cheeksburninghot.There’sapainful,stretched-outsilence.Iwaitforhimtosaythosewordsbacktome.Ifhelovesmeback,hewon’ttakethejob.He’llmakethingsright.Buthedoesn’tsayaword.Ifeeltearsthreateningtowellupandapainfullumpbuildinginmythroat,butIknowIwon’tcry.It’saskillIlearnedlongago,honedsoDimitriwouldneverseememorevulnerablethanIcouldhandle.Theironyofitallfeelsbitter.Iclearmythroat.
“Pleasedon’ttakethejob,”Isay.“That’sallIcansay.That’stheonlythinglefttosay.”
Irisefromthebed.Ican’tstandbeingclosetohimrightnow.
“Avery,I’msorry,”hesays.“Iwouldn’tdothisifIdidn’treallybelieveDimitri’schanged.He’salegend.He’sgoingtomakeHallieastar.”
“Doyouwanthertobestar?Ordoyouwanthimtomakeyouastarcoach?You’llleavemeandSummitbehindinthedust.”
“I’dtakeyouwithme,ifyouwantedtocome,”heoffers.
“Right,sure,becausethat’sideal:workingalongsideanemotionallyabusiveassholeandtheguywhodoesn’tloveme,”Isnap.“Soundsgreat.”
Heleapsupfromthebed.“Ididn’tsayIdidn’tloveyou,”hesays.
Itakeadeepbreath.“Doyou?”Iask.“Doyouloveme?”
Hewaversforamoment,likehe’sgoingtosaysomething.Buthedoesn’t.
“We’redone,”Isay,walkingquicklytothedoorsohecan’tseethetearsspringingtomyeyesforrealthistime.“We’reover.”
Iturnthedoorhandlehardandstormout,hurryingtowardmyroomattheoppositeend.Iwaitforthesoundofhimchasingafterme,beggingmetochangemymind.Butthere’snothingexceptthecoolhissofRyan’sdoorasiteasesshutbehindme.
?CHAPTER22?
ThedayafterIgethomefromtheNationalChampionships,needingadistraction,ItextSaraandenticehertobehomeatsevenforoneofthemostexquisitemealsIhaveundermybelt:searedscallopsonabedoffreshcornandroastedhazelnuts,swirledinacreamy,paprika-infusedbrownbuttersauce.Scallopscostabreathtakingtwenty-fourdollarsperpoundatthegrocerystore,andtheirsoft,delicatewhitebelliesmakethemtrickytocookwithoutcharringtheskinandleavingtheinsidesraw.Inotherwords,don’tbotherattemptingtomakethemunlessyouknowwhatyou’redoingandhaveareasontosplurge.I’mmakingapoundandahalfofthemtonightbecauseIwanttofeeltalentedandproductiveandlikemyselfagainasIrecountthestoryofmybreakuptoSara.IlostsightofwhoIamoverthecourseofmyrelationshipwithTyler;IneedtoprovetomyselfthatIhaven’tforgottenthatagainwhiledatingRyan.
I’veunloadedthegroceriesandpreheatedtheovenwhenSarawalksinanddropsheryogamatbythedoor.Shetaughtaclasstonight,sowispsofblondhairfrizzupfromhertopknot,andhercheeksglowpink.It’struethatteachingyogaisn’tasphysicallytaxingasdoingit,orsoshetellsme,butshe’sstilloneofthosegirlswhoneversweats.Asapersonwhospentagoodchunkofherteenageyearssweatingonnationaltelevision,I’mjealous.
“You’reofficiallymyfavoriteperson,doyouknowthat?”shesays,takinginthepaper-wrappedscallopsandtheearsofcorn.“Thislooksamazing.”
“Thanks,butsaveyourcomplimentsforwhenyoutasteit,”Isay.“Hey,domeafavor?Willyoushuckthecorn?”
“Surething.Looksfancy.What’stheoccasion?”sheasks.
IlookupcarefullyfromthepaprikaI’mmeasuring.“RyanandIbrokeup,”Isay.
Saragaspsandgivesmeasympatheticlook.“I’msosorry,”shesays,huggingme.
“Well,technically,Ibrokeupwithhim,”Iadd.“Wehadafight,and…”
Ipressmylipstogetherintoatightsmilesotheydon’ttremble.Ican’tletmyselfcryagain—notnow,notafterI’vespentthebetterpartofthelasttwonightscryingmyselftosleep.ItfeelsimportanttoaddthetechnicalitythatIwastheonetobreakofftherelationship.Ican’tstomachbeingthegirlwhogetsdumpedtwiceinsixmonths.
Sarasinksintothekitchenchairnexttomine,andwhileIslidethechoppedhazelnutsintotheovenandpateachscallopdrywithapapertowel,Irecountwhathappened.Idon’thavetolitigateDimitri’swrongdoingsforher;Isayhewasemotionallyandverballyabusive,andsheunderstands.
“Themostembarrassingpartisthatwhenwewerearguing,IaccidentallytoldRyanIwasfallinginlovewithhim,”Isay.
Asmortifyingasthatwasinthemoment,Idiscoverthehumiliationfeelsjustasfreshrecountingitthenextday.Saravisiblycringes.
“Didhesayitback?”sheasks.
“Nope,”Ireply.“Ifhehad,maybethingswould’vegoneprettydifferently.”
“Doyoureallylovehim?”sheasks.
Isigh.Thequestionsoundsdeceptivelysimple—yesorno.Buttherearetoomanyotheremotionsswirlingthroughmyheadrightnowtomakesenseofthesituation:sadness,anger,embarrassment,shame,regret.
“IguessI’mjustconfused,”Isay,puzzlingthroughthethoughtsoutloud.“IthoughtIlovedhim.Butthewayhe’sacting?Goingbehindmyback,takingthatjob,notlisteningtowhatI’msayingaboutit?Thatmakesmequestionwhohereallyis.”
Therealizationstings.
“I’mreallysorryheletyoudown,”Sarasayssoftly.“Heshould’vebelievedyou.”
“That’swhat’ssoweirdaboutit,though!HewasdevastatedoverwhatHalliewentthrough.HebelievesalltheothergymnastswhohavecomeforwardaboutKaminsky—it’snotthathe’soneofthosemen’srightsactivistswho’sallaboutguysbeinginnocentuntilprovenguilty.He’salwayscared.Justnotnow.”
“Maybebecausenow,thisissueispersonalforhim?It’sabouthiscareer,whichmeanshe’snotthinkingasclearlyasheshould?”Saraguesses.
Igroanathowinfuriatingthesituationisanddrizzleoliveoilintoahotskillet.Igentlyplacethescallopsonebyone,listeningtothesizzleastheybatheinoil.Cookingscallopslooksintimidating,butitreallyallcomesdowntoprecisetimingandskill—justlikegymnastics.NotthatIeverreallywanttothinkaboutgymnasticseveragain,especiallynotrightnow.
“Andthen,ugh,thenextday,wehadtoflybackfromMiamitogether,”Isay.“Me,Ryan,andHallie,allinonerow.”
“Thatreallyblows.”
“Yeah,sittingbetweenmysecretexandakidwho’smourningthepotentialendofherathleticcareerforthreehourswasarealtreat.”
“How’sHalliedoing?”Saraasks.
Ishrugandflipthescallops.“Notgreat,”Isay.“Herconfidenceisshot,she’sstressedbeyondbelief,she’sfranticthatshe’llfailatTrials.”
“Yikes,”Sarasays.
Ifinishtherecipe,mixingbrightyellowkernelsofcornwiththerich,slipperysauce,andplatingitcarefullyalltogethersoitlookslikearealgourmettreat.IturnaroundandI’mjustabouttosetSara’splateinfrontofher,whenshemakesasourface.
“What?”Iask.
Shebitesherlipandslidesherphoneacrossthetabletowardme.
“Ihatetoshowyouthis,butthisjustpoppeduponmyfeed,andIthinkyoushouldseeit,”shesays,wincing.
ThescreenisfilledwithRyan’smostrecentInstagram,aphotoofhimImusthavemissed.HisarmsareslungaroundDimitriandJasmine’sshoulders,andhissatisfiedsmilegivesmegoosebumps.Dimitrilooksthesameasalways—gruff,likehe’sonlyposingtohumorthem.IsearchJasmine’sfaceforclues,butshe’swearingthatblanklybeautifulnewscasterlookagain.It’simpossibletotellwhatthoughtsarerunningthroughherhead.Thebackgroundofthephotolooksfamiliar,butIcan’tquiteplaceituntilIspottheglintofmedalsagainstthewallbehindthem—it’sDimitriandJasmine’shouse.They’recozyenoughtododinnerathometogethernow,Iguess.
“Ican’tbelieveIhavetoworkwithhimformonths,”Isay,groaning.
It’slateMarch;TrialsareatthetailendofJune,withtheOlympicsstretchingfromlateJulythroughearlyAugust.
“YougottafocusonHallie?Forgetabouthim?”Sarasays.Ithinkshemeansitlikeastatement,buttheabsurdityofworkingonathree-personteamwithyourexformonthsistoomuch,evenforher.“Channelyourenergyintotherightplaces,blockoutthedistractions,allthatkindofstuff.”
Itrynottogrimace,butrightnow,Ineedsomethingalittlestrongerthanyoga.There’shalfabottleofredwineleftcorkedonthecounter,althoughitfeelslikeabadomentopouraglassfromit:RyanandIopenedittogetherlastweek.ButtheonlyotherdrinkwithabuzztoitisSara’shome-brewedkombucha,sowineitis.Fittingly,theflavorhasturnedbitter.Idrinkitanyway.
“It’sjustnotfair,”Isay,pushingawaymyplateofscallops.
Tearsprickatmyeyes.Iinhaledeeplytocalmmyselfdown,butitdoesn’treallywork.
“Iwanttobestrongaboutthis,”Isay.“Idon’twanttoletthisdramawithRyangettome.Ih-h-hatethatI’mthekindofpersonwhogetssothrownoffcoursebystupid,dumbfeelings.”
Myshouldersstarttoshakewithgentlesobs,andIwishIcoulddisappearintoablackhole.Idon’twantSaratoseemelikethis.It’sembarrassingtoloseyourshitoveraguyyou’veonlydatedforahandfulofmonths,especiallywhenSarametmeshortlyafterabreakupwithadifferentguy.Ifitwalkslikeaduckandtalkslikeaduck,it’saduck,right?AndifIlooklikeaboy-crazymess,well…
“Avery,you’vegottogiveyourselfabreak,”Sarasays,interruptingmyspiralingthoughts.“It’sokaytofeelsad.Breakupsaresad!Thatdoesn’tmakeyouweak.”
“Ryan’snotsad.He’s‘networking,’?”Isay,makingviciousairquotes.
“Hepostedonepicture,”Sarasaysgently.“Thatdoesn’ttellyouwhathe’sreallyfeelingontheinside.”
Inudgeascallopwithmyfork.IwishIcouldknowwhathewasthinking:ifhebelieveswhatIsaidaboutDimitri;ifheregretsnotchasingafterme;ifhe’swonderinghowI’mdoingrightnow,thesamewayI’mwonderingabouthim.Imisshim,eventhoughIknowIshouldn’t.Hecrossedaline,andhewaswrong—Ifeelthisonacellularlevel—buttheonlycomfortIcraveisahuginhissturdyarms.Itstrikesmeasheartbreakinglyunfairthattheonepersonwhowouldliftmyspiritsbestisalsothepersonwhocrushedthem.
IwantRyantostrokemyhairandwhisperapologiesintomyearandpromisemehe’lltakemywordmoreseriouslynexttime.IneedhimtotellmehecaresasdeeplyforHallieasIdo,andthathewantstoprotectherandgirlslikeher,nomatterwhatthecost,evenifitmeanshiscareerdoesn’tzoomuptheladderasquicklyashe’dhope.ItookitforgrantedthatIcouldtrusthim.NowIrealizeIshouldn’thave.
“Sweetie,it’sgoingtobeokay,”Sarapromises.
Shetriestocatchmygaze,andbecauseIdon’twanttoruinhernight,too,Ilether.
Imusterupenoughenergytopretendlikeheradviceishelpful.“Right,”Isay.
“Let’seat,”shesuggests.“Dinnerlooksincredible.”
ButI’velostmyappetite.
APRIL2020
?CHAPTER23?
I’minaterriblemood.I’mfifteenminuteslatetopracticebecauseIcouldn’tovercometheoverwhelmingdreadofgettingoutofbed.ThesightofRyan’ssparebluetoothbrushinmybathroommademecrumple.Idon’twanttofacehim,butcallinginsickwouldbeworse.
Istrideacrossthelobby,pastthelife-sizedcutoutofHallie,beyondtheposterwithmyfacehangingdustilyfromaforgottenspotontherafters,ontothefloor.Ryanischattingwithanothercoach.Hisshouldersarehunched,andheleanshischinontohisfistashetalks;fromtheawkwardlyself-consciouswayhespeaks,I’dbetanythingthathe’sdiscussingNationals,eventhoughI’moutofearshot.Oncehenoticesmeapproaching,heshiftseversosubtly.Hestraightensupandclearshisthroat.Hegivesasmallnodofrecognitioninmydirectionbutdoesn’tpausetosayhello.Thewayhebrushesmeofflookssosubtletoanoutsider,butitstingsbecauseit’slight-yearsawayfromhisattitudetowardmeevenjustafewdaysago.Ican’tbelieveIsaidthatIwasfallinginlovewithhimandwasmetwithsilence.
Hallie’snothereyet.Icruisetothewaterfountainjusttohavesomethingtodo.Ileanagainstalowpracticebarandlookatmyphonetokilltime,butIcan’tfullyrelax.Theenergyinthegymisallwrong.IcanfeelRyannotevenhalfwayacrosstheroom.MostofthekidgymnastsaretooyoungortoocasualaboutthesporttohaveunderstoodthefullramificationsofHallie’sperformanceatNationals—ifthey’reevenawareacompetitiontookplace,theyprobablythinkit’scoolthatshewentatall—buttheolder,elite-trackgirlsunderstand.Sodotheirparents.Especiallytheirparents,theoneswhowatchHallieasifshe’saweathervanethatcanevaluatethegym’sworthinessandpredicttheirowndaughters’success.
Hallieslinksintothegymtenminuteslaterwithhertracksuithoodshieldinghalfherfaceandquietlysettlesdowninanemptycornerofthefloortowarmup.Iheadovertogreether,butshebarelylooksatme.Ryanjoinsus,squattingdowntoHallie’slevelonthefloorandgivingmearespectableamountofspace.Luckily,HallieissocaughtupinherownmoroseworldthatIdoubtshe’llevennoticethetensionbetweenmeandhim.
“Actually,I’mjustgonnawarmupbymyself,ifyoudon’tmind,”Halliesays,slippingherAirPodsintoherearsandshuttingusout.
Thisisn’tlikeher.Shehasn’tbeenhertypicallyenergetic,goofy,fun-lovingselfsincebeforeNationals.Thisisn’tgood.
“Okay,”Isayuncertainly.
“Justletmeknowwhenyou’rereadyforconditioning,okay?”Ryanasks.
Shegivesacurtnod,slidesintoawidestraddle,andslumpsforwardsohercheekrestsagainstthefloor.Sometimes,coacheswillsitbehindagymnastinastraddleandpressherdownflatterintothefloorforabetterstretch;allIwanttodoisgiveherahug.Ihateseeinghersosadlikethis.
Normally,ifHalliewereworkingonherown,RyanandIwouldhangout.ButIhavenothingtosaytohim—notanythingappropriatethatIcouldsayhere,anyway.Fromthewayheavoidsme,Idon’tgetthesensehe’sinterestedinspeakingtome,either.So,instead,IdoalittleabworkuntilIpanicthatitmakesmelooklikeI’mpeacockingforhim.Igetupandstraightenupthesupplycloset,eventhoughnothingisreallyoutofplace.Ibouncelazilyonthetrampoline,turningbacktuckafterbacktuckjustbecausethey’resimpleandfun.IgotothebathroomandrunmyhandsunderthefaucetforthreetimesaslongasIneedto,justbecauseIfeellonelyandoutofplaceintheonespotthat’salwaysfeltlikehome.Iloatheeverythingabouttoday.Nothingaboutthisentiredisastroussituationfeelsright—nothing.
Eventually,IwanderbackintothegymandperchononeofthebeamstowatchHallieconditionwithRyanfromasafedistance.AfterhershakyperformanceatWorldslastfall,Halliereturnedtothegymwithapowerfulvengeance.Shethrewherselfintoherpracticewithdynamiteenergy,readytoshapeherselfintoabetterathlete.Butthistime,returningfromNationals,herspiritcouldn’tbeanydifferent.Acrossthegym,she’ssupposedtobedrillingsetsofrepsonbars:chin-ups,pull-ups,andleglifts.Shedangleslooselyfromthehighbarandworkswithsloppyform.Ifshecaredabouttheoutcome,she’dworkbetter.Workharder.She’sthrowingtoday’spracticeaway.
Idon’tknowthespecificsoftheupsanddownsofHallie’sathleticcareeraswellas,say,Ryanwould,butIknowenough:shewasasupernaturallytalentedkid,andwhenhercoachessaidshehadarealshotatanelitegymnasticscareerifshetooktrainingseriously,herparentsmadesureshehadeveryadvantage:aprivatecoachatSummit,summersattrainingcamps,atutorsoschoolwouldbemoreflexible.Shealwaysperformedwellenoughincompetitionstonabmedalsandlevelup.ForHallie,theOlympicsprobablyneverfeltlikealongshot.Andnow,tocomesocloseandstillworryyou’renotquitegoodenough?Thatcan’tbeeasy.
Ifeelforher.Iwishcircumstancesweredifferent—it’sonlyhumantoneedsometimetorebound,recharge,andreturnwithabetterattitude.Buttimeisn’tonherside,andifshewastesthenextfewweeksormonthsbysulking,she’slettingalifetimeofhardworkandsacrificewitheranddie.Itsoundsdramaticandunfair,butsoisthissport.
Hallietrudgesmyway,clutchinghersideandbreathinghardfromtheworkoutRyanjustgaveher.
“Ryansaysweshouldstartwithfloortoday,”shesays.
So,apparently,hewon’tevenspeaktomeunlessit’sthroughher.
“Sure,let’sgo,”Isaybrightly,tryingtolifthermood.
“Youwantmetowarmuptumblingfirst?”sheasks.
That’sourusualroutine,buttoday,Iwanttotrysomethingdifferent.
“Actually,let’sholdoffonthatfornow,”Isay.“IwanttogooverthevideoofyourNationalsroutinetogether.”
Shegroans.“Dowehaveto?”
“Yes,wedo,becausethat’showwe’llknowwhattotargetoverthenextfewweeks,”Iinsist,usingmymostauthoritativevoice.
It’softenalltooeasytofeeltransportedbackintimeatSummit,andtolosesightofthefactthatI’mactuallyadecadeolderthanHallie,butitservesmewelltorememberI’minchargesometimes.
“Let’sgo,Ihaveitonmyphone,”Isay.
“Ihatethis,”shemutters.“You’retheworst.”
“You’llthankmewhenyouwinamedalonfloorattheOlympics,okay?”Isay.
Sherollshereyes.“Yeah,right.”
Wesitwithourbackstothecoolconcretewallandwatchtheroutineonmyphonescreen.Ifit’scringeworthyformetowatchherstumblesandmistakesagain,thistimewithJasmineandBarry’ssharpcommentaryplayinginthebackground,Icanonlyimaginehowshefeels.
“Ignorethecommentary,”Isay,turningmyphoneonsilent.
Toacasualviewer,Hallie’sroutinegleams.Shelookslikeasuperstardream.Buttome,themistakesareobvious:herleapseriesdoesn’thittherequisite180-degreesplits;there’sjustahairtoomuchpowerononetumblingpass;herpoisedropsasshelosesenergytowardtheendofherroutine.Thesecondthevideoisover,Halliepushesawaythescreen.
“Igetit,”shesaysdarkly.“Isuck.”
“Youdon’tsuck,”Iretort.
Shepullsherkneesuptoherchestandrestsherchinontop,lookingvery,verysmall.
“I’mnotgoingtosugarcoatthisforyou,”Iwarnher.“YougaveanamazingperformanceatNationals,butyouneedtodeliveranevenstrongerperformanceatTrialsifyouwantyourathleticcareertocontinue.Ifyoudon’tusethismomenttolearnfromyourmistakesandgrow,youmightaswelljustquitnow.”
Thatcatchesherattention.Shestaresatme,dumbstruckandhorrified.
“Quitnow?”Hallierepeats.
“Igetthatyou’resad,Igetthatyou’rejealousofgirlslikeDeliaandEmma,Igetthatnoneofthiswentthewayyouhoped.Butyou’restillhere,infightingshape,andyouhavetheopportunityofalifetimecomingupinjustafewshortweeks,”Iremindher.
Shesighsanddoesn’tlookatmeforalongtime.“I’mjustafraidthatitwon’tmatterwhatIdotoprep,”sheadmits.“Like,whatifI’mnotgoodenough?Whatifthat’sjustit?Somepeoplehavewhatittakes,andsomepeopledon’t.”
“Youcan’tthinklikethat,”Isay.
“Butwhatifit’strue?”sheasks.“Imean,howmanymillionsoflittlekidstakegymnasticsclasses?Andthen,what,onlyfourpeopleactuallymaketheOlympicteameveryfouryears?Comeon.”
She’sright,butIdon’twanthertothinkthatway.AfailedOlympichopefulprobablyisn’tthemostconvincingpersontodeliverapeptalkrightnow,butI’mthepersonshe’sgot.Ifumblefortherightwords;IthinkbacktothegirlIwasmomentsbeforecompetingonflooratOlympicTrialsin2012,andwhatI’vesodesperatelywishedIcouldhavesaidtoher.WhatIwishedIhadknown.
“Therearenoguaranteesatall,”Isayfinally.“Notingymnastics.Notinlife.Butyouhavetogivethisthebestgoddamnshotyouhave,Isweartoyou,becauseit’stheonechanceyouhave.”
Herlowerliptrembles,andsheburiesherfaceinherknees.
“Nowgetup,”Icommand.
Istand,handsonmyhips.Foramoment,IworrythatI’vegonetoofar.Shedoesn’tmove.Butthenshepushesherselfoffthegroundtostandup.Hercheeksglistenwithtears,andherchestrisesandfallswithemotion,butshe’shere.Standing.Readytowork.
MAY2020
?CHAPTER24?
ThecalendarslipsintoMaybeforeIknowit.EachdayatSummitistightlypacked:Hallie’sscheduleisdominatedbyheavy-dutypracticeandpunctuatedbyappointmentswitharevolvingdoorofprofessionals:yogaandmeditationsessionsledbySara,acupunctureandmassagebyateamofsportsmedicinedoctorsIfoundatChildren’sHospitalinBoston,visitsfromanutritionisttomapoutherpre-Olympicmeals.Igivesomanypeptalks,IspendmylunchbreaksGooglinginspirationalquotes.Mynightsarebusy,too:IhangoutathomewithSara,gooutfordrinkswithJasminemoreregularlynow,andvisitMomandDadfordinnerwhentheycomplainit’sbeentoolongsincethey’veseenme.
I’mgladI’mmostlybusy,becauseevenwiththelittlefreetimeIhave,it’stooeasytodwellonwhathappenedwithRyan.ThesadnesscreepsinduringidlemomentswhenIleastexpectit:I’llbewashingmyhairintheshowerwhenIrealizehowbadlyImisskissinghim.OrI’llbewaitingbythestoveforwatertoboilwhenIgettheurgetotexthim—andIcan’tanymore.WhenI’mlyinginshavasanaattheendofyogaclass,Ishouldberelaxed.Butinstead,IrakeovereverymemoryIhaveofRyanfromFebruaryandMarch,tryingtospotthemomentImissedhimbetrayingme.ThelastthingIwanttodoislettheweightofthebreakupcrushme.Ihavetokeepmovinginordertoeventuallymoveon.
WhenpracticewrapsuponMondaynight,I’mheadingoutofthelobbywhenIseeamissedcallandatextfromJasmine.Ipauseinthedoorwayofthebuildingtoreadthemessage.
Doyouhappentobefreetonight?Wouldlovetotalktoyou.It’simportant.
I’mabouttotextherbackwhenIhearanoisebehindme—someoneclearinghisthroat.
“Oh,sorry,”Isay,steppingoutsideintothewarmspringnight.It’sfinallyniceenoughthatyoucangetawaywithoutajacket,andblipsofmusicfloatbyascarsdrivepastwiththeirwindowsdown.“Didn’tmeantoblockthedoor.”
Iturnandflinch.There’sRyan,awkwardlyrufflingahandthroughhishair.
“Ididn’tmeantoscareyou,”hesays.
We’veworkedalongsideeachotherjustfine,butthat’sthekeyword:“alongside.”Notwitheachother.OutsideofcommunicatingtheessentiallogisticsofHallie’strainingschedule,we’vebarelyspokentwowordstoeachothersincereturningfromNationals.I’mafraidthatifIstart,Iwon’tbeabletostop,andI’llblurtsomethingembarrassingandemotional.
“It’sokay,”Isay.
Thatmuch,atleast,Icanmanage.
Hemovespastmetowardtheparkinglot,thenstopsandturns.
“Everythingallright?”heasks.
“Yeah,Ijustgotaweirdtext,that’sall,”Isay.
Idon’ttellhimit’sfromJasmine.Fromwhatshe’stoldme,heandDimitriarespendingmoreandmoretimetogether.Idon’twantwhateverIsaytoRyantogetbacktoDimitri.
“Ihopeshe’sokay,”hesays.
Helooksconcerned,buthedoesn’tmovefromhisspotonthepavement.Ifourrelationshiphadunfoldeddifferently,I’dbeabletotellhimeverything.He’dreassuremethingswouldbeokay.Butnow,tenfeetsitsbetweenus,anditfeelsliketenmiles.Iknowthatneitheroneofuswillclosethedistance.
“Yeah,it’llallbefine,”Isay.
Icrossmyarmsandleanbackagainstthedoorframe.Heseemstogetthemessage—Ihavenothingmoretosaytohim.Hewavesgoodnightandgetsintohiscar.IwaituntilhedrivesawaytotextJasmineback.
I’llcomeovernow,Itellher.
I’mnervouspullingintoJasmine’sdriveway.We’veseeneachotherplentyoftimessinceNationals,butalwaysinpublic—neverathome.Together,we’vesplitoystersandsauvignonblancataFrenchbistro,sharedabigveggiepizzaatStonehearthinthetowncenter,andevenmetuponaSaturdayafternoontogetmanicurestogether(Irarelyindulgeinthem,butshepromiseditwouldbefun,andIhavetoadmit,itwasprettynice).There’sanunspokenagreement:wedon’thangoutaroundDimitri.Idon’tknowifhe’llbehometonight.
Iheavethegoldknockeragainstthedoorandhearthepitter-patterofbarefeetinside.JasmineopensthedoorlookingunlikeI’veseenherinyears.Herfaceisfreeofmakeup,socompletelysothatIcanseethedarkcirclesbeneathhereyesandablemishformingonhercheek.Herhairisunceremoniouslypulledbackintoalowponytail,andshe’swearingsaggygraysweatpantsandanoversizedT-shirt.Shelooksbothembarrassedandrelievedtoseeme.
“I’msogladyoucame,”shesays,pullingmeintoahug.“Thankyousomuch.”
Istepcautiouslyinside.Thehouseisquiet.“Ofcourse.”
“He’snothome,”shesays,asifshecanreadmythoughts.“It’spokernight.He’llbeoutforhours.”
“Oh,okay.”
ImeanOh,good,butIdidn’twanttosoundtooenthusiastic.
Sheleadsusthroughthekitchen,whereshepoursmeaglassofrosétomatchtheoneshe’salreadydrinking,andthenintothelivingroom,wherewesettleontotheivory-coloredsectionalbeneaththewallofmedals.Shepullsherfeetupunderher.Ontheglasscoffeetablebesideus,afragrantcandleburnsbrightly.
“Iknowwedon’treallydothis,”shesays,gesturingatthecouchbetweenus.“Oratleast,notforalongtime.”
Adecadeago,therewasnothingunusualaboutusspendinghoursineachother’sbedrooms,sneakingsnacksandtalkingaboutthemoviestarswethoughtwerecute.ButthatwasbeforeLondon,beforeshegotmarried,beforewegrewapartandgrewup.
“Wecandothis,”Isay.“We’refriends.”
Shegivesasmallsmileattheword“friends”andsipsherwine.“Yeah.”
“So…”Isay,tryingtoprompther.
Idon’twanttopushher,butIknowshedidn’tcallmeoverherejusttochitchat.
“Ihavenews,”sheannounces.
“Okay,”Isaygently.
Ican’thelpbutracethroughtheoptions:she’snotpregnant—she’sdrinkingwine—butmaybeit’ssomethingaboutDimitriandRyan,orhercareer,orworse,ahealthscareofsomekind,orsomethingterriblewithherfamily.
Shegivesmeanervouslookandtakesadeepbreath,asifshe’spsychingherselfuptosaywhateveritisoutloud.
“I’mgoingtoleaveDimitri,”shesays.
Hervoiceislowandquiet,asifshecan’tquitetrustthatwe’rereallyalone.
“Ohmygod,Jasmine,”Ibreathe.“Wow.”
Shenods.“Iknow.Ihaven’ttoldhimyet.Ineedtogetmylifeinorderfirst.But…I’vedecided.”
“Howlonghaveyoubeenthinkingaboutthis?”Iask.
“Partofmehasknownforalongtimethatmarryinghimwasthewrongdecision,”sheexplains.“Itfeltrightatthetime,butIwassweptupbyhim,andIwassoyoung,andIwasn’tthinkingstraight.Hehadawayofintimidatingme—moresobackthen—andwhenhesaidweshouldgetmarried,Iwasn’tbraveenoughtosayno.But…”Shehesitates,thenadmits,“Partofthedecisioncamefromtalkingtoyou.”
“Me?”
Iclapahandtomymouth.Ineverhidmycontemptforhim,butIneveroutrighttoldhertoleavehim,either.Meddlinginamarriage,encouragingawifetoleaveherhusband—itallfeelstooadultforme.I’mwayinovermyhead.
“ItstartedatNationals,”sherecalls.“Atthebar,remember?NobodyhaseverdaredtotellmetomyfacethatDimitriis…”Shestopsshortandscowls.“Anemotionallyabusiveasshole.Butyoudid.Youknowwhathe’slike,betterthananybody.”
“Notasahusband,though,”Isay.
“Evenstill,”shesays.“Onceyousaidit,Icouldn’tignoreit.Itgnawedatmefordaysafterward.Everythinghehadsaidanddoneovertheyears,Ibrusheditaside.Butyoudidn’t,anditmademethinkthatIshouldn’t,either.”
“Ofcourse,”Isay.
“Ourrelationshipwasn’tbalanced,youknow?”shecontinues.“TherewasneveratimewhenitfeltlikeIhadtheupperhand,ever.Itwasalwayshim.Weweregymnastandcoachandthenhusbandandwife,butthedynamicbetweenusnevershifted.Wewereneverequalpartners,thewayyou’resupposedtobe.”
“Iwonderedaboutthat,”Iadmit.“WhenIfirstheardyouweretogether,Ijust…Icouldn’tmakeanysenseofit.”
“Ididn’tknowhowstrangetherelationshipwas,”shesays.“Ididn’tseehowunhealthyitwas.”
“Youdeservesomuchbetterthanhim,”Isay.“Imean,nobodydeserveshimatall,butespeciallynotyou.”
I’mrelievedforher,butI’mafraidforwhatI’vesetintomotion.Iknowthat,onaverage,ittakeswomensevenattemptstofinallyleavetheirabusivehusbandsforgood.IwonderwhereJasminewillgo;I’dletherstaywithmeandSara,ifshewantedto,eventhoughtheprospectofDimitribangingonourdoorlateatnightmakesmefeelsickwithnerves.
“IthinkIknowthat?”shesaystentatively,likesheisn’treadytofullycommittotheideajustyet.“Imean,Ilookatmylife,andtheonlycommonthreadthroughoutallthedifferentparts—gymnastics,TV,marriage—isthatDimitrihasalwaysbeenrighttherebehindme,makingmefeelsmall.Everyoneelsecheersmeon.Butwithhim,it’salways…”
Jasminefalters,andherexpressioncrumples.
“Nothingisevergoodenoughforhim.I’mnotgoodenoughforhim,”shesays.Hervoicegetshighandtight.“HesaysI’mtooanxious,toosensitive,toomediocre.”
“Maybeyou’dbelessanxiousifhedidn’tmakeyousoanxious,”Ipointout.
Idon’tknowifsheevenhearsme—nowthatshe’sstartedtospillhowshereallyfeels,shebarrelson,spittingouttheinsultsDimitrihashurledherwayovertheyears.
“Thedinnerislate,”sherecites.“Andmycelluliteisbad.Isupposedlyinterferewithhisschedule.Ireallydon’tthinkallthatistrue,butnomatterwhatIdo,thecommentskeepcoming…Ithoughtmarriagewasaboutbeingoneachother’steam,youknow?Butnotmine.”
Shegingerlyplacesherwineglassonacoasteronthecoffeetableandsinksbackintothecushionswithahandpressedoverhermouthtomufflehersobs.Foramoment,hershouldersshake,andIreachacrossthecouchtohugher.Sheleansintotheembrace,andwestaylikethatforalongtime.Irubherbackandwonder,withasickeningfeelinginmygut,whatitmustbelikeforhertopreparetoleavethemanshehasbeenwithformostofherchildhoodandtheentiretyofheradultlife.Ican’tfathomit.Sheissoincrediblybrave—shealwayshasbeen.Iholdheruntilshesteadiesherself,returningtothenormalriseandfallofherbreathing.
“I’msorryforgettingemotional,”shesaysquietly,wipingawayhertears
“Please,there’snothingtoapologizefor,”Iinsist.
Sheshrugs.
“Youknow,I’mhereifyouneedanything—anyhelpatall,”Itellher.
“There’salotIneedtofigureout,”shesays,sighing.“Allmymoneyisinajointaccount,andI’llneedaplacetolive,andIneedtofindagooddivorcelawyer.Thatstuff,Icandoonmyown.Butmaybe,whenit’stime,you’llhelpmepackupandmoveout?”
“Ofcourse,”Ipromise.
Shesuddenlylooksshy.“Orevenifyoujustcontinuetobemyfriend,that’smorethanenough,youknow.Ican’ttellyouhowgratefulIamthatwecamebackintoeachother’slives.Reallyandtrulyjustblown-awaygrateful.”
Shegivesmethemosttendersmile,andIfeelsotouchedthatsheseesmeasapersonwhowillhaveherbackagain.It’sheartbreakingtowatchherreckonwiththebrokenpiecesofherrelationship,butI’mproudthatshetrustsmetohelpherhealandmoveon.BeforeNationals,IneverwouldhaveguessedinamillionyearsthatJasmineandIwouldbefriendsagain—couldbebestfriendsagain,thekindofpresenceinyourlifewhereitdoesn’tmatterifyoucryinyoursweatpantsoryourvoicecrackswhenyourevealthegnarledinsecuritiesandfearsthatkeepyouupatnight,becausethatpersonlovesyouforyouandlovesyouforgood,forever.Ididn’tthinkafriendshipofthatmagnitudecouldabruptlydropdeadandberevivednearlyadecadelater.Butthistime,I’mgladtobeprovenwrong.
?CHAPTER25?
Afewdayslater,asI’mjammingmyfeetintosneakersandgettingreadytoheadoutofmyapartmentforpractice,Jasminesendsmeatext.
Anotherone,shewrites,copyingalinktoanewsstory.
ThetextshowsapreviewoftheNBCstory,withtheheadline“ASeventhGymnastAccusesDr.RonKaminskyofSexualAbuse”andaphotoofSkylarHayashitakenatacompetition.IfeeldisgustedasIclickonthestoryandwaitforittoload.Idon’tknowmuchaboutSkylarotherthanthatshe’soneofDimitri’sgymnasts,sheonlycompetesonvault,andasfarasI’veseen,shecanstickperfectlandingsinhersleep.
Isinkdownonthecouchtoreadmore.NBCreportsthatSkylarcameforwardonTwitterearlythismorning,writing,“Ihavesomedifficultnewstoshare.Likemanyofmyfellowathletes,IsurvivedsexualabusebyDr.RonKaminsky.Forthoseofyouwhomaybesufferinginsilence,Iencourageyoutoseekthehelpyoudeserve.#MeToo.”NBCnotesthatSkylaraccusedKaminskyofabusefollowingsimilarallegationsfromDeliaCruz,MaggieFarber,KikiMcCloud,EmilyJenkins,BridgetSweeney,andLioraCohen,andthatKaminsky’scriminaltrialissetforthiswinter.TheAmericanGymnasticsFederation,thesport’sgoverningbody,issuedastatementthismorninginsupportofitsgymnasts’bravery,butthatdoesn’tfeellikeenoughtome.Theymusthaveknownwhatwasgoingon.Didn’tthey?
Reluctantly,IheadoutsideanddrivetoSummit.IknowHallieisgoingtobeshakenuptoday,andIwishIhadawaytoshieldherfromallofthispain.WhatSkylarandHallieandalltheothergirlsaredoingisalreadypainfulenough.They’vealreadysacrificedenoughoftheirchildhood,theirfreedom,theirhealth,andtheirfamilies’peaceofmindinordertobewheretheyare.It’sunbelievablyunfairthatgrownmen,monsters,canstepinandmakeeverythingevenworse.
WhenIspotHallieglumlysprawledacrossacrashmat,Idon’thavetoaskifshe’sseenthenews.Icantell.
“Skylar,”shesaysheavily.“Yousaw?”
“Idid,”Isay.
“Outofeveryone,Ididn’tthinkitwouldbeSkylar,”shesays,shakingherhead.“Imean,outofallofus,she’s,like,thenormalone.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iask.
Halliesighs.“Shehasschoolfriends.Shehasaboyfriend.She’sreallyprettyandgoestoArubawithherfamilyeverywinter,andshewenttoaPostMaloneconcertlastmonth.”
“Thiscanhappentoanyone,”Isaygently.
“Yeah,butyou’djustthink…ugh,god…”Halliesays,trailingoff.“You’dhopethatnoteverybody’slifewouldberuined,youknow?”
Inod,becausewhatelseistheretosay?
Ryanapproachesusgingerly,squattingdownsohe’sonHallie’seyelevel.Heglancesatmeandgivesanervoushalfsmileasagreeting.
“Hi.Howareyoudoing?”heasksHallie.
Sheshrugsathimandlooksatme.“Bummed,Iguess.”
“BecauseofSkylar’snews?”heasks.
Shenods.“Yeah.”
“Idon’twanttopushyoutoohardtoday,”hesays.“I’msorryyou’rehavingatoughmorning.”
I’msurprisedbyhowgentleheiswithher.Trialsaresixweeksaway—thereisn’ttimetotakeiteasy,especiallynotwhenHallie’slessofashoo-infortheOlympicteamthanweallhadhoped.
“Thanks,”shesays.“Imean,I’mokay.It’sjust…unfair.”
“Itis.Itreallyis,”hesays.“IsthereanythingIcandotomakethingseasierforyourightnow?”
Shegiveshimaskepticallook.
“I’mhereifyouwanttochat,”hesayswarmly,soundinglikeacoachandaprotectivebigbrotherallrolledintoone.“Orifyouwanttosmashthings,Icanbringinmyoldprinterandahammer.Orwecanskippracticetodayandpickuptomorrow.”
Shelaughs.“No,I’llbegood.Iappreciateallthat,really,butnosmashingnecessary.”
“Okay.Justletmeknow,”hesays.
“Willdo.”
Hestartstorise,butappearstothinkbetterofit.“Ifit’sanycomfort,Ihaveatinypieceofnewsthatmightcheeryouup,”hesays.
“Trialsarecanceled,andIcangostraighttotheOlympics?”Hallieguesses.
IthinkIknowwhereRyanisgoingwiththis,andIdon’tlikeit.
“Don’tgetyourhopesup,”Imutter.
“Well,I’vebeentalkingwithDimitri,andheseemsreallyexcitedabouttrainingyoufor2024,ifyoustillwantthat,”hesays,offeringasmallsmile.
There’snowayDimitriwouldhaveeverusedtheword“excited.”Ryan’sexaggerating.
Halliebeams.“Well,that’snice!”
“Justpassingalongacompliment,”Ryansays.
“Imean,Iguessalotdependsonwhathappensthissummer,but…withoutmakingpromises,IthinkIdostillwanttokeep2024openasanoption.”
“Cool,”Ryansays,high-fivingher.
“Dimitri’sintense,isn’the?”Halliesays,turningtome.“Imean,he’sthebest,buthe’sintense.Right,Avery?”
“Yeah,he’sintense,”Isaydarkly.
“Avery,”Ryansaysquietly,asifhe’swarningme.
Heshootsmeameaningfulglare,andIhesitate.
“I’msurewhateverhappens,you’llbeamazing,”Itellherdiplomatically
It’sthetruth.Notthewholetruth,butthere’sonlysomuchIcansaywithoutcrossinganinappropriateprofessionalline.
Shesquealsanddrumsherhandsagainstthemat.“Eep,thanks.”
Ryansmirks.“GladIcouldcheeryouup.Let’sgettowork.”
?CHAPTER26?
Ishouldn’thavebeensurprisedthatJasminegothershittogethertoleaveDimitriprettyquickly.Withintwoweeksofhertellingmeshewantedtodivorcehim,shehadalreadycontactedagooddivorcelawyer,funneledawayenoughmoneyintoaseparatebankaccountinordertoputdownadepositandthefirstmonthofrentonanapartmentinCambridge,andofficiallybrokethenewstoDimitri.ShetoldmeshewasgoingtodoitonaFridaynight;Ispentalleveningholdingmybreath,waitingforthefranticphonecallthatsheneededhelp.IstayedinandwatchedamovieonNetflixwithmyphonerestinginmyhand,justincase.Butthecallnevercame—justatextatnearlymidnight,askingmetocomebythenextmorningtohelpherpackupherthings.Iwasrelieved.
So,onSaturdaymorning,forthefinaltime,IdrivetoseeJasmineatherhouse.It’sagorgeousseventy-fivedegreesoutside,butIgetachillwaitingonthefrontstepforhertoopenthedoor.It’shardtoimaginethatafternearlyalifetimewithDimitri,she’llbeleavinghimbehindforgood.Sheopensthedoorinwhitejeansandapinktanktopandthrowsherarmsaroundmeintoahug.
“Thankyouforcoming!”shesays.
Sheseemsrelievedtoseeme,whichis,Iguess,betterthanthealternative—miserable.
“I’mhappyto,”Isay.“IsDimitrihome?”
Shewrinkleshernose.“No.HewasatleastniceenoughtoleavemealonewhileIpackedtoday.”
“So,then,lastnightwentokay?”Iask.
Sheheavesasighandstartstotrudgeupthestairstoherbedroom.“Yesandno.Atfirst,hewasfurious.Hescreamedatme.HewantedtoknowifIwascheating,andheaccusedmeofsabotagingTokyobythrowingthisdistractionhiswayata‘crucialtime,’?”shesays,rollinghereyesandmakingairquoteswithherfingers.“Hewasmadatme,butultimately,hedidn’targuewithme.Imean,hecan’tpretendlikeourmarriageishappy.Ithinkwe’dbothbehappierwithadivorce.”
“Wow.”
It’satiny,meagerthingtosay,butwordsjustaren’tformingforme.Ican’timaginestandinguptoDimitrilikethat.I’mimpressedbyherbravery.
Weenterherbedroom,andItrynottothinkaboutthewould-bebaby’sroomdownthehall.Thecrispwhitebediscoveredwithfoldedpilesofclothes,andthere’sastackofcardboardboxespiledinonecorneroftheroom.Onthenightstand,there’sarollofpackingtapeandablackSharpiealongsideJasmine’sengagementringandweddingring,andasilverphotoframeturnedfacedown.
“Hetoldmethathewouldruinme,thatI’dneverworkinthesportagain,thatIwasan‘ungratefulbitch’whowasgivingupthebestlifewiththe‘greatestman’I’deverknow,”sherecalls,spittingouteachbrutalword.“But,Imean,fine.Nothingworsethananythinghe’ssaidbefore.And,mostimportant,heletmego.”
“Heletyougo,”Irepeatdumbly,tryingtoabsorbhowcasuallyJasminetossesoffhiscruelremarks.
Irememberhowhorriblehewastousyearsago,butit’sdifferenttohearofhimhurlinginsultslikethatathiswife.It’sdepressing.
“Hesaidhewasangrywithme,buthewouldn’tstopme,”shesays.“Hisexactwords,Ithink,werethatI’mnow‘anadultwomanwhocanmakeherownchoices.’?”
“Asifyouweren’twhenyougotmarried,”Isay,fillingintheimplication.
“Barely,”sheadmits.“Iwastwenty-one.Ihadbeenonafewdateswithguysmyownage,buthewasthefirstpersonIdated.HewastheonlymanI’deverreallyknown.”
Someday,whenalittlemoretimehaspassed,Jasminewilleventuallydiponetoeinthedatingpool,andshe’sgoingtodiscoveranentireworldoutthere:electrifyingfirstdates;butterfly-inducingtexts;real,equallove.Maybeheartbreak,too.Butatleastthistimearound,she’llbestandingonherowntwofeet,awayfromDimitri’sshadow.
“So.Helpmeputeverythingintoboxes?”sheasks.
“Ofcourse.”
Weworksidebyside,stackingherjewel-tonedshiftdresses,workoutclothes,andthickwintersweatersintocardboardboxes,securingthemshutwithstripsoftape,andlabelingeachboxwiththick,definitiveblacklinesofSharpie.Idon’twanttodwellonthereasonshe’smovingout,butthere’sstillsomuchI’mdyingtounderstand.Oncesheleaveshere,thatwillallbeinherpast—todayfeelslikethelastchanceIhave.
“Doyoueverthinkyouwould’vehadarealrelationshipwithDimitriifheweren’tourcoachfirst?”Iask.
Shelooksupfromtheboxshe’stapingshutwithasour,stunnedexpression.“No.Wewouldn’thaveknowneachother.”
“Howdidithappen?Weweren’treally…talkingthen,”Isayawkwardly.
Evenafteralltheseyears,Istillcan’tpictureit.
Shereturnstotapingthebox,maybesoshedoesn’thavetolookatmeassheexplainsthispart.
“IdidaTVsegmentatanewsstationinBostonaftertheOlympics,”sherecalls.“Hecamewithme—hewason-air,too.Insteadofdrivingmestraightbackhomeafterward,hesaidhewasinthemoodforadrink,andsowewentouttothisIrishpub.”
Heprobablydidn’tinviteherout;heprobablyjusttoldhertheyweregoing,andthatwasthat.
“Heorderedbeerafterbeerafterbeer,”shesays.“Ididn’torderanything;Iwasjusttwenty,notoldenoughtodrinklegallyyet,andIwastooafraidofbeingrecognizedtoeventry.Hegavemesipsofhisbeerwhenhethoughtthebartenderwouldn’tnotice.Andthen,rightthereatthebar,hekissedme.Ididn’tknowwhattodo—it’snotlikeIwasgoingtosaynotohim.”
“Wereyouokaywiththat?”Iask.
“Notatfirst!Iwasterrified,”shesays.
“Butastimewenton,itwasn’tsobad?”Iask.
“Youhavetoremember,Avery,Ididn’thaveanythingtocompareitto,”shesayssadly.“Nootherboyfriends.Mymomhadbeensinglepracticallymyentirelife.It’snotlikeIhadotherfriendsmyagewithregularrelationships,either.So…intime,itfeltnormal.That’sallIknew.Plus,hewasestablished,respected,hehadmoney…Whenhewantedtogetmarried,itdidn’tevencrossmymindtosayno.Ithoughtthisisjustwhatpeopledid.”
Shepushestheboxtothesideandstartsonanotherone.
“Weweresosheltered,”Isay.
“Mm-hmm,”Jasmineagrees.“It’snicethatHalliehasyou,someoneshecantalkto,someoneshecantrust.Wedidn’thaveanyonelikethatatthegymgrowingup.”
Sheabsentmindedlyfidgetswithhernecklace,surveyingthespreadofclothesstilllaidoutonthebed.
“Iguess,”Isay.Istillfindithardtotakeacompliment.
Anideacomestome,half-formedandfuzzy.
“Wecoulddosomething,”Isay,tryingtopindowntheexactthought.“Imean,wecouldhelpthesegirls.We’vebeenthroughenoughtoknowwhattheyneed.”
“Youmeanlikeasupportgroup?”Jasmineasks.
“Yeah,”Isay.“Imean,gymnastsknowtotakecareoftheirbodies…butIdon’tknowifmostofthemtakecareoftheirminds,too.Ididn’t.Whatifwehelpconnectgirlstomentalhealthresources?Thatway,theycangetthesupporttheyneed,nomatterwhatthey’redealingwith.”
“Thatwouldbesocool!”Jasminesays.
“Ifanyonecoulddoit,itwouldbeus,”Ipointout.“Imean,mostlyyou—youstillhavearealnameingymnastics.Youcouldgetpeopletocare.”
Jasmineleansontothebed,too,andtiltsherhead.
“Wecoulddothat,couldn’twe?”shesays,awestruck.“Wecouldreallyhelp.”
“Thiscouldchangegirls’lives,”Isay.
Jasminegivesmeaknowinglook.Idon’thavetospellitoutforher.Thefactisifyoutrainandcompeteasanelitegymnast,yougethitonewayoranother,ifnotmultipleways:maybeyougetmolestedbyadoctorormaybeyoufailoutofcollegebecauseyou’retoodepressedanddisorientedtogiveashitanymore.Yourbodybreaksdown:yourspineachesifyoustandfortoolong,oryourankleisheldtogetherwithmetalscrews,oryouneverfullyshakeoffthehabitsyoupickeduptostarveyourself.
“Ilikethisalot.AndgodonlyknowsI’llneedsomethingtokeepmymindoff…”Shewavesherhandvaguelyaroundthebedroom.“Allofthis.”
WefinishpackingupJasmine’sbedroomandbathroomquickly.Theentiretime,weworkthroughideas:whatthegroupneedstodo,howtomakeithappen,andevenaname.WesettleontheEliteGymnasticsFoundation,whichwouldprovidementalhealthservicesandsupporttotopgymnasts.
IfeelthesamefloodofadrenalineanddesperatesenseoflongingIfeltwhenIfirstfoughtforthecoachingjobatSummit.It’snotanewfeeling,either;Irememberthetangledrushofemotionsfrommyowngymnasticscareer.Wantingthings—wantingthingssobadly,myheartracesandthehaironmyarmsstandsonend—makesmefeelaliveandfullofenergy.Rightnow,IfeellikeIcouldstickadouble-twistinglayoutflyawayoffthehighbar.
I’mnotna?ve—Idon’texpecttwoformerathletestochangethesportovernight.Butifgymnasticstaughtmeanything,it’sthatifyouworklongandhardatsomething,astronomical,unfathomablesuccesscanbeyours.
WhenJasminetapesupthefinalbox,wecarryeverythingdownstairstothefoyersothemoverscanpickthemuplaterthisafternoon.(Allthoseyearsofconditioningreallydidcomeinhandy.)Wesitonthecooltilefloorinthefronthallway,leaningagainstthecardboardboxeswithourfeetsplayedoutinfrontofus.
“Girl,thankyou,”Jasminesays,exhausted.
“This?Thiswasnothing,”Isaytruthfully.
I’mhappytohelpherwithwhateversheneeds.Sheshouldknowthatbynow.
“Idon’tmeanjusttheboxes,”shesays.“Thatwasclutch,butImeaneverything—theboxes,yourfriendship,thisidea.It’sabigidea.”
“Itis,”Iadmit.“Andthere’snobodybetterintheworldtodoitwith.Ithastobeyouandme.”
Suddenly,hereyessparkle,andsheboltsupright.
“Huddleup?”sheasksmischievously.
Theoldmemoriesofourcompetitionritual,ourgood-luckcharm,comefloodingback.
“Let’shuddleup,”Isay,beaming.
Weloopourarmsaroundeachother’sshoulders.I’mnotsurewhattosay.
“Wecandothis,”shedeclares.
Isqueezehertighterandjoinin.
“Wecandothis,wecandothis,wecandothis,”wechant.
Itfeelslikecominghome.
?CHAPTER27?
It’stoughtofocusatpracticeonMonday.WhenI’mworkingone-on-onewithHallie—warmingup,drillingtumbling,fine-tuninghertechniquesonfloor—Ifeelpresent.Butotherwise,myheadisadrift.IcleancrashmatsandwonderaboutJasmine’smoveoutofDimitri’shouse;IorganizethesupplyclosetanddaydreamabouttheEliteGymnasticsFoundation.TheideafeltfreshandexcitingwhenIfirstcameupwithit,buthere,atSummit,itfeelsevencrisper.IwatchHalliesprintdownthevaultrunwayandcatapultherselfthroughtheair,andmyheartsurgeswiththedesiretoprotecther.BrainstormingwithJasminefeltmoreabstract,buthere,it’simpossibletoignoretheveryrealpersonatriskrightinfrontofme.
That’swhyIhavetotalktoRyan.Ican’tsitbyandwatchashetakesHallieintoadangeroussituation.Arguingwithhimdidn’tworkthefirsttime,butmaybethen,Ididn’tgiveitalltheeffortIhad—maybeIheldbackoutoffearofdamagingourrelationship.That’snotaconcernIhaveanymore,obviously.Ifheignoresonelast-ditchefforttodeterhimfromjoiningDimitri,thenatleastIcansayI’vetrulytriedmybest.ButIhavetotrynow,beforeit’stoolate.
AfterHalliehasleftforthenight,IwaitforRyan.Isitonthestairsinthelobbythatleaduptothesecondfloor,whichpositionsmewiththebestview:fromhere,Icanseehalfthelobby,thedoortothegym,thedoortotheoffice,thedoortothebathrooms,andtheexit.NomatterwhereRyanis,I’llbeabletocatchhim.Sureenough,twominuteslater,heroundsthecornerfromtheoffice.
“Wait!”Icall,springingupfrommyseatonthestairs.
“Hey,”hesays.“What’sup?”
“Ineedtotalktoyou,”Isay.
Helookssurprised.“Oh!Believeitornot,Iwasactuallycomingtofindyou.”
“Why?”Iask.
Hetiltshishead.“There’ssomethingI’mhopingtogetyouropinionon.Ifyou’reopentotalkingtomeaboutit.”
Thisispracticallythemostcommunicationwe’vehadallday.
“What’sgoingon?”Iask.
He’spiquedmycuriosity.
“Youfirst,”hesays.“Let’ssitintheoffice?”
Wesitdown.Igearuptotellhimwhat’sonmymind,butmythoughtsgettangled—Idon’tknowwheretostart.Somuchhaschangedsinceourbreakup:myrenewedfriendshipwithJasmine,herseparationfromDimitri,whatIcanonlyimagineisRyandrawingfurtherintoDimitri’sinnercircle.
“So,youmightknowthatJasmineandIarecloseagain?”Istart.
“I’veheard,”hesays,nodding.
“We’vebeentalkingalotabouthowthecultureofgymnasticsatthislevelisjusttotallymessedup,particularlyforgirls,”Iexplain.“Imean,eveninjuriesaside,therearetheissueswithfoodandbodyimage,mentalhealth,sexualassault…andwewanttodosomethingaboutit.”
“That’sgreat,”hesays.
“We’relaunchingasupportnetwork,”Icontinue.“We’recallingittheEliteGymnasticsFoundation.We’llconnectgymnaststomentalhealthprofessionals.”
“Impressive,”hesays.“You’retheperfectpeopletomakethathappen.”
Hiscomplimentwarmsme,butIcan’tletitsoftenmetowardhim.
“Well,youmightwanttowaitbeforeyoustartsayingnicethingstome,”Iwarn.Thisismylast-ditchattempttogethimtolistentome:“IneedyoutoturndownthePowerhousejob.”
Helookssurprised.
“So,that’sactuallywhatIwantedtotalktoyouabout.IwenttoPowerhouseonmylunchbreaktoday.Itwas…intense.”
Ipursemylips.“I’msureitwas.”
“I’veheardyourstoriesaboutwhatitwasliketohavehimasyourcoach,butseeingitfirsthandfeltdifferent,”heexplains.“Ididn’tlikethewayhetreatedhisgymnasts.Hemadefunofthemforgettingwindedduringconditioning;hecalledthem‘sloppy,’‘lazy,’‘useless.’Hecameupwiththeseabsurdpunishments,likerunninglapsforfallingoffbeamduringjustaregularpractice.”
“Idon’twanttosayItoldyouso,but…Ryan,comeon,whatdidyouexpect?”Iask.
“Itmademehaveseriousdoubtsabouttakingthejob,”headmits.
I’mshockedbuthopeful.
“Well,obviously,youknowwhatIthink,”Isay.
“IguessIjustwantedtoconfirmwithyou—doyouthinkwhatIsawtodaywasaone-off,badday?Oristhatwhohereallyis?”heasks,squintinglikehealreadyknowstheanswer.
“That’sjusthim,”Isay.
Ryanleanshiselbowsontothedeskandpresseshisfingerstohistemples.Heexhalesaraggedsigh.
“Okay,then,”hesays,moretohimselfthantome,withasmallshakeofhishead.Helooksupatmewitharesignedexpression.“Thenthat’sthat.”
There’stoomuchatstakeformetojumptoconclusions.
“That’s…what?”Iclarify.
“Ican’ttakethejob,”hesays.
I’mreelingathowquicklyhechangedhismind.Ican’twaittotellJasmine.Ialmostcan’tquitebelievethatI’mhearinghimcorrectly.DespitehowmuchIhopedRyanwouldcomearound,deepdown,Idon’tknowifIeverreallybelievedhewould.
“It’snotthedreamjobIthoughtitwas—notifhe’slikethis,”heexplains.
MyheartracesasItellhimemphatically,“It’snot.You’reright.”
“I’lltalktotheConwaysandtellDimitriIwon’tbeworkingforhim,”hesays.
That’sthenextstepthatwillmakeallofthisfeelreal.
“Ican’tpromisetheConwayswillacceptmydecision,though,”hewarns.“IftheygotexcitedaboutPowerhouse,theymightchoosetotransferthere,anyway.”
Thatmakesmystomachflip—notonlywouldHalliestillworkwithDimitri,butifsheleaves,Summitmaynothavemuchuseformeanymore.
“IftheystillwantDimitri,theycangoseehisgymforthemselves,”Isuggest.
“Right,”hesays.Hepausesandbiteshislip,thencontinuesinasoft,serioustone.“I’msorryittookmesolongtolistentoyou.Ishouldhavetrustedyouropinionofhimfromthestart.Thisisn’tanexcuseatall,butIhadahardtimewrappingmyheadaroundexactlyhowabusivehereallywas.Iknewhewasn’taneasycoach,buteverythingyou’vetoldmeissodifferentfromthewayIwastrained—Ijustdidn’tgetitatfirst.AndmaybeIwasstarstruckbyhim.ButIunderstandnow,andIapologizefortakingsolongtogethere.Iunderstandifthisisn’tpossible,butIhopeyoucanforgiveme.”
Helookssomberbutheartfelt.Whenheoffersupahopefulsmile,hisdimpleflashesbeneathhistender,darkeyes.
“Thankyouforsayingthat,”Imanage.“Itmeansalot—itreallydoes.Apologyaccepted.”
Herufflesahandthroughhishairinreliefandshootsmeagratefullook.“I’mreallygladtohearthat.”
IfRyanandIbrokeupbecausehewouldn’tlistentothetruthaboutDimitri’sabuse,andnowhe’scomearoundandapologized,wheredoesthatleaveus?Ican’thelpbutwonderifthesamequestionisonhismind.Butevenifweareonthesamepage,I’mnotreadyforustomoveforwardtogetheragain.Allthosemonthsofhurtanddistrustcan’tdissolveinaninstant.Asingleapologydoesn’treversethepainIfeltbecauseofhim.
Andyet…Ican’tlietomyself:myfeelingsforRyanneverwentaway.IshovedthemdownsoIcouldstomachworkingwithhimdayinanddayout,andItriedtodistractmyselfwithJasmine,withSara,withcookingelaboratemeals.Evenstill,Icravetheeasywayweusedtojokearound;Imisshissecretlyromanticside;Ican’tforgethoweverythingelsemeltedawaywhenhetouchedme.Whenweweretogether,hemademefeelseenandunderstood—andI’vespentenoughtimeinthewrongrelationshiptograsphowspecialandrarethatis.
Istanduptogivehimahug.Heholdsmeclosetohischest.Wefittogetherlikewealwaysdid,withhischinrestingontopofmyheadandmycheeknuzzledagainsthisshoulder.Itstrikesmeasunfairthatloveisn’tlikeaswitchyoucanfliponandoffatwill;despitethestormofconflictedemotionsIhaveoverRyanrightnow,he’stheonepersonintheworldwhosehugwillmakemefeelbetter.
Ipullbackjustenoughtolookupathim.Hemeetsmygaze,andthere’saheavinesstohisexpressionthatIcan’tquiteread.Isitregret?Orlonging?Eitherway,itmakesmyheartache.Forasplitsecond,Ifeelhisbodytensebeneathmyarms,likehe’sabouttosteelhimselftokissme.Butthen,justasquicklyasitarrived,themomentdisappears.
Ryanbacksaway,digginginhispocketsforhiscarkeys,furtivelylookingovermyshouldertothedoor.
“Ishouldgetgoing,”hesaysstiffly.“I’mgladwehadthisconversation.”
Inod.“Same—me,too.”
Weexitthroughthelobby.Heholdsthedooropenforme.
Intheparkinglot,wewalkinoppositedirectionstoourcars,butIhearhimcallmynamebeforeIgetinside.
“Yeah?”Isay.
“Thankyou.Imeanit.”
Hedrivesaway,andIwatchhisheadlightsvanisharoundthecorner.Ishouldn’tmisshimalready,butIdo.
?CHAPTER28?
RyaninvitesmeandtheConwaysinforameetingbeforepracticethenextmorning.Kim,Todd,andHallielookanxiouswhentheyarrive.I’msecretlygladRyanincludedmeinnegotiationsaboutHallie’scareerthistimearound.
“Thanksforcominginonsuchshortnotice,”hesaysaswetakeseatsinSummit’soffice.
“Itsoundedimportant,”Toddsays.
Kimfrowns.“Andvague.”
“Iseverythingokay?”Hallieasks.
HerparentsdartconfusedglancesfrommetoRyan.Ibetthey’resurprisedtoseemehere.
“Thingsarefine,butthere’ssomethingIwantedtodiscusswithyou,”Ryansays.
Hecomesaroundthedesktoleanagainstit,hesitatinglikehe’stryingtofindtherightwordstoexplainhismistake.Thiscan’tbeeasyforhim,evenifheunderstandsnowhowcrucialitistoturndownDimitri’sjoboffer.Thicktensionfillstheroom.
“AveryandIhavebeendebatingtheprosandconsofmovingtoPowerhouseformonths,”hebegins.“SheknowsDimitribetterthananyofus.Andfromwhatshe’stoldmeaboutherexperienceswithhimandhavingseenhiminteractwithhisgymnasts,Ican’trecommendthatHallietrainsathisgym.”
KimandToddlooksurprised;Hallielooksdeflated.
“Whatdoesthatmean?”Kimasks.
“Youtoldushewasthebest,”Toddsays,narrowinghiseyes.“Imean,histrackrecordspeaksforitself.”
“Itdoes,”Ryanhedges.
Helooksatmeforbackup.Iappreciatethathedoesn’ttakethelibertyofrevealinguncomfortablypersonaldetailstotheConwayswithoutmypermission.
“He’semotionallyabusive,”Iconfirm.“Bullying,name-calling,fitsofrage…Helashesoutwhengirlsgetsickordon’tperformuptohisstandards.Hemightberesponsibleforalotofgoldmedals,buthe’snotagoodcoach.He’stoxic.”
Hallie’sjawdrops.“Whoa.”
“You’resureaboutthis?”Toddasks.
“Believeme,Itrainedwithhimforfiveyears,”Isay.“Iknowwhathe’sreallylike.AndIdidn’tevengettheworstofit.”
“Ohmygod,”Kimsays,appalled.
“Well,Hallie’snotgoingthere,”Toddsaysflatly.
“Yeah,no,hesoundshorrible,”Halliesays.Shegivesmeasympatheticlook.
“I’mgladyouunderstand,”Isay.“Thankyouforlistening.”
Forsomanymonthsnow,I’vefeltpowerlesstostopHalliefromgettinghurt.ToseehowquicklyandeffectivelyIcouldchangeherfateismind-blowing.I’msogratefulthattheConwayfamilycamearoundtomysideimmediately.
“ItwasmymistaketorecommendamovetoPowerhouseearlier,”Ryansays.“Ireallydoapologizeforthat,andIhopeyoucantrustmyjudgmentgoingforward.”
Hallienodsinapproval,butKimandToddexchangeworriedglances.
“Youhavetounderstand—we’veputHallie’scareer,ourfamily’slives,inyourhands,”Kimsays.“We’vealwaystrustedthatyouknowwhat’sinherbestinterests.”
“I…Iunderstandthat,”Ryansays,faltering.
Toddpileson.“Idon’tmeantoberude,butIhavetoask:canwetrustyou?”
“Dad,”Halliesays,slinkingdowninherseatandcoveringherfacewithherhands.“Don’tbesodramatic.”
“Thisisimportant,Hallie,”Kimsays.
Ryanstraightensup.“Youcantrustme.Youcantrustbothofus,”hesays,noddingatme.“Icouldn’tdothiswithoutAvery.”
IwatchKimandToddchewthatoverforafewmoments.Shesighsheavily.
“Allright,”shesays.“Allright.”
Toddgivesmeasmallsmile.“Thanksforeverythingyoudo,”hesays.
“Ofcourse,you’rewelcome,”Isay.
“SoI’mgoingtotellDimitriwe’rebothstayingput—youandme,”RyansaystoHallie,whoappearstoberecoveringfromthehumiliationofherparentshavinganopinionaboutherwell-being.“Thatis,ifyoustillwanttokeeptraining.”
“Yeah,”shesays.“ThemoreIthinkaboutit,themoreIreallydowanttotrainfor2024.Nomatterwhathappensthissummer,I’veworkedtoohardtoretireatsixteen,youknow?”
Ryangrins.“That’swhatIliketohear.”
JUNE2020
?CHAPTER29?
Then,bam,it’sJune.Whiletherestofthecountrystartstoslowdownforsummervacation,timespeedsupforus.TheOlympicTrialstakeplaceonSaturday,June27,andtheOlympicsbeginlessthanamonthafterthat,onFriday,July24—soonenoughthatIhavearunningcountdowninmyheadthattrackshowmanydayswehaveleft.Idon’tneedtocheckacalendar;thedaystickdownautomaticallyforme.It’stwenty-five,thentwenty-two,andnowwe’reintheteens.ThisiswhatI’vebeenpreparingforsincelastOctober,andwhatHalliehasbeenlookingforwardtoforquiteliterallyherentirelife.
TheOlympicsarejustcloseenoughnowthatregularpeoplearegettingexcited.Ononelunchbreak,HalliesqueezesinaphoneinterviewwithKiss108,thelocalTop40radiostation;onanother,shetakesacallfromaPeoplereporter.AwholecrewfromtheBostonGlobearrivedduringpracticeoneafternoontotakepicturesandinterviewherforafront-pagestory.Ryanshooedthejournalistandphotographerawayafterforty-fiveminutes,insistingthatHallie’senergywasbestspentontrainingatthemoment.Asthereporterspackeduptheircameraequipment,herfacefelljustalittlebit.Idon’tblameher.
Competitivegymnasticsisn’tlikefootballorbaseballinthesensethatthegeneralpublicwilltuneinforabiggameorevenbeawarewhenthesportisinseason—itgetsoneblipoffandomeveryfouryears.So,eventhoughthrowinganewresponsibilityontopofpreparingHalliefortheOlympicsseemslikepurelunacyrightnow,Jasmineinsiststhatwehavetocapitalizeonthismomentinordertogainmediaattention.ShewantstolaunchtheEliteGymnasticsFoundationpubliclynow,beforetheOlympicskickoff,whileelitegymnasticsishavingitsmomentinthesun.IfwewaituntilafterTokyo,thepublic’sinterestinwhateverwehavetosaymaybelost.PeoplewillonlyseeHallieandherOlympiccohortasbuffMissAmericastand-ins—shiny,patriotictrophies—notflesh-and-bloodyoungwomenbattlingrealsystemicissues.Andthen,wellbeforethefirstcrispdayoffall,gymnasticswillhavefallenoffmostpeople’sradars.
So,whileHalliehasbeenslippingoutofthegymforinterviewsandheadinghomeearlytorestupasmuchaspossible,I’vebeenworkingalongsideJasminetotransformthefoundationfromahazyideaintoasolidreality.ItextandemailasmuchasIcanduringtheday,andonnightsandweekendsweholeupinmylivingroomtogetworkdone.Maybeit’sbecausewetrainedalongsideeachotherforyears,butwe’reastrongteamnow,too.Withinaweek,we’vecontactedaslewofformergymnaststogetthemonboardwithpubliclysupportingthisinitiativeandtocollectdonations.We’veusedthatmoneytohireawebdesignertocreateasite.Andmostimportant,we’vestartedtoassembleateamofmentalhealthprofessionals,includingtherapistswhohaveworkedwithathletesandsexualassaultsupportgroupleaders.They’llprovideserviceseitherinpersonorremotely,dependingonwherethegymnastslive.We’vegottenthemtoagreetoworkingprobonoupfront,andourgoalistofund-raisetopayfortheirservicessotherewillneverbeanyquestionifagymnastcanaffordtoaccesshelp
Jasminehookedusupwithafive-minutespotonNBC’smorningnewsshowforMonday,June8,sowe’llbethefirststorybreakingaftertheweekend.ThegoalistoannouncethelaunchoftheEliteGymnasticsFoundation,spreadawarenessforthesport’sdesperateneedforreform,and,ofcourse,raisemoney.NBCistheobviouschoice,givenJasmine’sconnections;she’safamiliarface,sotheirviewerswillbeprimedtohearwhatshehastosay.
MyalarmblaresatfivethirtyonMondaymorning.AsIshower,ItrynottodwellonhownervousIam.It’sbeeneightyearssinceI’vespokentoareporterorbeenonTV.Doingpressusedtofeelexciting—Ilikedwhenmycompetitionswerebroadcastliveforviewersathome,andanyquestionsthrownmywaywereeasytoanswer:HowhardhadIbeentraininglately?WasIhappyaboutmybigwin?WeretheLondonOlympicsonmyradar?Thisisentirelydifferent.I’mpubliclycallingoutthefailuresofthesportthatgavemeeverything.
Jasminedictatedspecificinstructionsoneverythingfromwhattoweartohowtospeak.ShesaysIneedtowearasimple,professional,solid-coloredtopordress—noprints,becausetheylookdistractingoncamera,andnogreen,becausethegreenscreenwillturnmeintoafloatinghead.Iownnothingremotelyright,soI’veborrowedacoral-redshiftdressfromherclosetthatIcanjustbarelysqueezeinto.Jasminepromisesthecamerawillonlyfilmmefromthewaistup.I’venevermasteredtheabilitytoblow-drymyhair,butIdomybestattemptatitwhilerunningthroughthesoundbitesI’vepracticed.Jasminewilldomostofthetalkingon-air,butIcan’tbeentirelymute.It’sfunny,Iwasneverafraidtohurtlemyselfintotheairandperformimpossible-lookingstunts,butsayingafewlinestoacameracrewstrikesmeasterriblyintimidating.
Istepintomymostprofessional-lookingpumpstogivemyselfaconfidenceboost,pourcoffeeintoathermos,anddrivetoNBC’sstudio.Jasminemeetsmeinthelobby.She’sinabrightbluewrapdresswithflutterycapsleevesthatshowoffhertonedarms,remindingviewersofherathleticpast.Shechosetheseoutfitsonpurpose:redandbluetoremindeveryonethatevenifwecriticizetheAmericanGymnasticsFederation,we’restillwhollyinsupportofTeamUSA.
“Youready?”sheasksasthesecurityguardatthefrontdeskscansmydriver’slicenseanddouble-checksmynameagainsthiscomputer.
“Ibarelysleptlastnight,”Iadmit.
Shelookscloselyatmeandscruncheshernose.“Themakeupartistcancoverupyourdarkcircles—noworries.”
Jasmineleadsustothefourthfloor,wherethereceptionistgreetsherbyname,andthenthroughamazeofhallwaysuntilwe’reinthegreenroom.
“Everyguestontheshowwaitsheretogoon,”sheexplains.
Theroomisn’tactuallygreen—it’swhitewithgraycarpeting,brownfurniture,andmultipleTVstunedintotheshow.Ahandfulofpeoplesitaroundinsuitsanddresseslikeours;theyhavefacesthatseemvaguelyfamiliar,ormaybeit’sjustthateveryoneonTVlooksmoreorlessthesame:conventionallyattractivebutairbrushedinaneerilyblandway.
Atwenty-somethingproducerinaheadsetcomesflyingtowardus.
“Hiiii,you’reinhairfirst,”shesaystoJasmine,thenglancesdownatherclipboard.“Andyou,Avery?You’reinmakeup.”
“Oh,Iactuallydidbothathome,”Isay.
Jasmineshakesherhead.“Everyonegetstouch-ups,”sheinsists.
Theproducerdropsmeoffinaroomjustbigenoughtocontainasinglechairinfrontofamirrordeckedoutinlightsandatablefullofbeautyproducts.Amakeupartistdabsconcealerundermyeyes,asJasminepromised,andslicksonhotpinklipglossbeforeIcanprotestthatIdon’treallyfeellikemyselfinsomuchmakeup.Next,theproducerbringsmetotheroomnextdoor,whereahairstylistfinishesthetransformationwithacurlingironandanintenseblastofhairspray.Whenshe’sdone,Ilooklike…well,IlookjustaspolishedandprofessionalasJasminealwaysdoes.Withapang,Irealizethatifmylifehadturnedoutdifferently,noneofthiswouldfazeme.Iwouldn’tbebare-skinnedinaponytailatSummit;IwouldbecontouredandcurledatNBC.Thiswouldbemyreality.
IfindJasminebackinthegreenroom.OnTV,themeteorologisttalksabouttheseventy-five-degreedayscomingthisweek.JasminestaresvacantlyinthedirectionoftheTV,butshe’snotfocusedonthescreen.Herkneebouncesupanddown.Iunderstandwhyshe’snervous—myheartispounding,too—butI’msurprisedthepressureisgettingtoher,ofallpeople.
“Youokay?”Iaskgently.
Sheturnstowardme,andherjitterykneeslowstoastop.“Yeah,”shesays.“Yeah,Iwillbe.”
“Yousure?”Iask.
“I’llbefineonceI’moutthere,trustme,”shesays.“It’sjust…thisisbiggerthananythingI’veeverdonebefore.”
“You’vebeenonthissamechannel,what,ahundredtimes?Athousandtimes,”Iremindher.
“Commentingonotherpeople,”shesays.“Thistime,thespotlight’sonus.”
Igrabherhand,andshegivesmineasqueeze.
Soon,theproducerbreezesbackintothegreenroom.“Comewithme,”shesaystous,jerkingherhead.“Commercialbreakjusthit.”
Wefollowherdownahallwayandaroundacornerintoadarkstudiospacejumbledwithlightingequipment,rubbercables,and,furtherback,aglossy,L-shapeddeskwithtwoopenseatsforusdiagonalfromCynthiaKing,thenewsanchor.Anotherproducerclipstinymicrophonestothenecklinesofourdresses.IfIhadn’twatchedJasminedoitfirst,Iwouldhavebeenbewildered:Jasmineexpertlythreadsthethincableoverhershoulder,hidingitunderherhair,andturnstolettheproducerclipthemic’sbatterypacktoherbraunderneathherdress.Ifollowherlead,flinchingatthefeelofhishands.Hezipsmydressupagainandgivesthefirstproducerathumbs-up.We’reready.
“Thirtyseconds,”shebarks.“Go.”
IfollowJasmineonstage,lettinghertaketheseatclosesttoCynthia,whogreetsherwarmly.Incontrasttothedimlylitbackstage,thelightinghereisbrightandwhiteandblinding.Cynthia,cladinapearlypinkdresswithaneatbobandgravity-defyingeyelashes,lookslikeaRealHousewivesstarinthesensethatshecouldjustaseasilybethirty-fiveorfifty.ShesayshelloandaskshowIam,butI’mtoonervoustosqueakoutanythingmorethanahello.SheandJasminemakepleasantsmalltalk,whichseemsfranklyinsanetomewithjustsecondstogobeforewe’reonlivetelevision,butJasminelooksunfussed.I’mrelievedthatshe’ssettlingintoherelement.
“Theproducersaysit’sJasmineFloyd,notFloyd-Federovnow,right?”Cynthiaconfirms.
“Floyd’sperfect,thanks,”Jasminesays.
Cynthiacocksherheadlikeshe’sconnectingthedots.“You’releavingyourhusbandthecoach,andspeakingoutaboutabuseinthesport?”sheasksslowly.
Jasminefreezesnexttome.“Well,um…”
“Five,four,”thecameramancallsout.
Cynthiaraisesaneyebrow,shufflesherpapers,andclearsherthroat.
Thecameramanfallssilent,flashingthreefingers,thentwofingers,thenpointingstraightatus.
“Welcomeback.TheOlympicsarejustaroundthecorner,butbeforeyougettooexcitedaboutwatchingthegymnastics,youmightwanttohearwhattwoformerathletesaresayingaboutthesport,”Cynthiabegins.Hervoiceisstrongandsmoothlikehoney.“OlympicgymnastJasmineFloydandherformerteammateAveryAbramsclaimthatthecultureofcompetitivegymnasticsputsyoungathletesatrisk,andthey’relaunchinganeworganizationcalledtheEliteGymnasticsFoundationtoofferthesegymnastswhattheybelieveismuch-neededsupport.Ladies,tellusmore.”
“Thanksforhavingus,Cynthia.It’salwaysgreattobehere,”Jasminesaysweakly.
We’vepracticedthatJasminewilldelivertheannouncementofthefoundation,butnowsheseemsshaken.Iglanceather,unsureifIshouldtakeoverherlines.Onlivetelevision,everysecondfeelslikeitstretchesoutfortenminutes.Butfinally,thankfully,shecollectsherselfandlaunchesintothespeechwewrotetogether.
“AsmanypeopleunfortunatelysawwiththerecentsexualabuseclaimsagainstDr.RonKaminsky,gymnastsaren’talwayssafe.Andastwoformerelitegymnastsourselves,weknowthereareotherissuesouttherethatthreatentheathletes’well-being.Noteverygymnastoutthereisstruggling,buttherearerealchallengesinthissport.I’mtalkingabouteatingdisorders,depression,anxiety,emotionallyabusivecoaches,andyes,sexualabuse.There’saseriouslackofregulationfromthesport’sgoverningbody—theAmericanGymnasticsFederation—andgivenourpersonalexperiences,weknowhowchallengingitcanbetoadvocateforyourselftogetthehelpandresourcesyouneedinordertothrive.That’swhywe’relaunchingtheEliteGymnasticsFoundation,anorganizationthatoffersmentalhealthsupportforelitegymnasts.”
“That’sveryadmirable,”Cynthiasays.“We’veheardalotabouttheallegationsagainstDr.Kaminsky—who,bytheway,issettofacetrialearlynextyear.”
Achillrunsthroughme.Delia,Skylar,andtheothergirlsshouldhavejustice.
“WhileI’msaddenedtohearofthementalhealthissuesthatplaguetopgymnasts,I’malsonotexactlysurprised,”Cynthiacontinues.“Itseemslikeaparticularlyhigh-pressuresport—andwhoislookingoutforthesegirls?”
“Thesport’stoxiccultureisarealproblem,”Iagree.“That’swhyourfirststepwastocreatewhatwe’recallingawellnessnetworkforelitegymnasts.We’veassembledanexcellentteamofprofessionals,includingtherapistsandsexualassaulteducators,toprovidetop-notchcarefortheseathletes.Gymnasticsisamind-bodysport—gymnasts,mostlyadolescents,trainhoursadaytokeeptheirbodiesstrong,butit’sequallyimportantforthemtotakecareoftheirmentalhealth,too.”
Ipivottothesalespitch.“Thisisimportantwork,butit’snoteasy,soweareraisingmoneyonEliteGymnasticsFoundation.comtofundtheseinitiatives.”
I’msurprisedatthesteadywaymywordsflow.Itfeelsasifthelightsandcamerasandunnaturalstagemakeupfadeaway,andallIneedtodoisexplainwhyI’mhere.
“Avery,foryou,thisispersonal,isn’tit?”Cynthiaasks.
Iknewthisquestionwascoming.Itwaspartofourpitchtothenetwork—agoodsobstorywillcatchpeople’sattentionmorethananythingelsewecouldsay.NeitherofusisreadytotalkpubliclyaboutDimitriyet,butthere’sstillplentyIcansay.
“Itis,”Iconfirm.“IsufferedakneeinjuryduringtheOlympicTrialsin2012.Physically,Iwasabletobouncebackafterafewmonths,butIwasdepressed.Ididn’tseekouthelp,butIshouldhave.Thisorganizationwouldensurethatnobodyfeelsalone.Gymnasticsisasolosport,butthatdoesn’tmeanyou’reonyourown.”
JasmineandIwrotefivedifferentversionsofthatlinebeforewehitontherightone,andmaybethefamiliarityofitstirssomethinginher.
“Nobodyhastobealone,”sheadds.Underthedesk,shegripsmyhand.“I’mgratefultobepartneringwithmyfriendAveryhere.”
“That’sagreatmessage.Now,Avery,you’rehopefullyheadingtotheOlympicsinTokyolaterthissummer,isn’tthatright?”Cynthiaasks.
“I’mcoachingayounggymnastnamedHallieConway,andIhavetotellyou,sheissuchasuperstar,”Isay.“Ican’twaitforyoutoseehercompeteattheOlympicTrials.”
“Iwouldn’tmissit,”Cynthiasays.Sheturnsawayfromustofaceadifferentcamera,andwrapsupthesegment.“ThishasbeenJasmineFloydandAveryAbrams,cofoundersoftheEliteGymnasticsFoundation.Backtoyou,Michael.”
Thenetworkcutstoacommercialbreak,andtheproducershufflesusquicklyoffstage,unclippingourmicsandsendingusbacktothegreenroom.
“I’mshaking,”Jasminewhispers.
“Youweregreat,”Ireassureher.
“Ilostit,”shesays.“Hercommentbeforewewentonthrewmeoff.Youwereamazing.”
“Idon’tthinkwesoundedsobad,”Iadmit.
“Nexttime,I’llbebetter,”sheinsists.
“Nexttime?”Iask.
Shebeams.“Girl,thisisjustthebeginning.”
Inthegreenroom,Idigmyphoneoutofmypurse.I’mcaughtoffguardbyatextfromRyan.Afterthebreakup,ourendlessstreamoftextscametoasuddenhalt;nowwerarelytext,andonlyaboutwork.
IcaughtyouonTV,hewrote.Veryimpressive.Justwantedtosaycongrats—whatyouandJasminearedoingissocool.
Ihadmentionedthesegmenttohim,butIdidn’tthinkhe’dbotherwatchingit.It’sonethingforhimtopaylipservicetoourcause,butthisshowsheactuallycares.I’mhappytohearfromhim.IslipmyphonebackintomypursewithoutmentioningittoJasmine.
IdrivedirectlyfromNBCtothegym,whereIchangeoutofJasmine’sdressintoanoldpairofSoffeshortsandafadedT-shirtwithSummit’slogosplashedacrossthechest.Ipullmyhairbackintoaponytailbutdon’tbotherscrubbingtheglossoffmylips.
“Whoa,”Halliesayswhensheseesmeonthefloor.“Whydoyoulooksofancy?”
IhesitatetoexplainwhereIwasearlierthatmorning.Ihaven’ttoldheranythingatallabouttheEliteGymnasticsFoundationbecauseitfelttooembarrassinglypersonal.Butnowthatshe’sasking,Idon’thaveachoice.
“Youprobablyhaven’theardaboutwhatI’mupto,”Iconfirm.
Idoubtshewatchescablenews—andanyway,she’sbeeninthegymallday.ButIalsowouldn’tbesurprisedifthiswaslightingupherTwitterfeed.
“Jasmine—JasmineFloyd—andIwentonNBCthismorningtoannouncethelaunchofourneworganizationthathelpsouttopgymnasts,”Iexplain.“YouknowhowIconnectedyoutoSaraandgotyouintoyoga?Thinkofthat,plusconnectingpeopletotherapistsandotherexpertswhocanhelpgymnastsstayhealthy.”
Shesquealsalittle.“Avery!”
“What?”Ilaughnervously.
“I’msoproudofyou,”shesays.
It’safunnythingforhertosay—ifanything,I’mproudofher.That’showthisrelationshipdynamicissupposedtogo.But,hey,JasmineandIcreatedthefoundationforthesolepurposeofmakinglifehealthierandhappierforgirlslikeHallie.Ifshe’sonboardwiththeidea,I’melated.
HalliesashaysacrossthegymandfindsRyanfillinguphiswaterbottle.
“Ryan,Ryan,Ryan!”shecalls.
Heturnstolookoverhisshoulder.
“Hallie,Hallie,Hallie,what’sup?”hemimics.
Sheleaps—andImeanliterallyexecutesaperfect,180-degreesplitleap—infrontofhim.IwishIwasherageandhadthatmuchenergyonaMondaymorning,oreveratall.
“DidyouhearwhatAvery’supto?It’ssupercool!Andveryfancy.Seehowfancyshelooks?”shesays.
Helaughs.“Iheard.Prettyamazing,huh?”
“Guys,stopit,”Isaybashfully.“Don’twehaveworktodotoday?Therearejust—”
“Eighteendaysleft,”Halliegroans.“Iknow,Iknow.”
Maybeit’sbecausetheOlympicsaredrawingcloser,ormaybeit’sbecauseofJasmine’snearcelebritystatus,buteitherway,theresponsetotheNBCsegmentisthrilling.Thestorygetspickedupbyotheroutlets,includingESPN,SportsIllustrated,theBostonGlobe,Cosmo,andBuzzFeed.JasmineandIareinvitedonGymCastic,thegymternet’smostreveredgymnastics-themedpodcast,andawaveofcurrentandformerelitegymnastsurgetheirInstagramfollowerstodonatetothefoundation.Withinthreedays,weraisenearlytenthousanddollars.It’sfarmoremoneythanIcouldhavehopedfor.
WeweredisappointedthatAGFneverreachedouttousdirectly,thoughwhenproddedbyCosmo,theorganizationapparently“declinedtocomment.”Predictably,theworstreactioncamefromDimitri.HecalledJasminefivetimes,andwhensherefusedtopickup,heleftavoicemailthreateningthatwebetternotsayawordabouthim.Shesavedthevoicemail—justincaseweeverneedit.
It’snerve-wrackingbutexcitingtohavethefoundationgettingthismuchattentionsoearlyon.Itfeelslikeyetanothergoodomen:nowthatI’veencouragedRyantoturndownDimitri’sofferandworkalongsideJasminetomakearealdifferenceinthissport,IfeelmorecapableandconfidentthanIhaveinalongtime.Peoplesaygoodthingscomeinthrees.Andthissummer,there’sonlyonegoallefttotackle.It’sabigone.ButI’mready.
?CHAPTER30?
ByFriday,ofcourse,thecountdownhasdroppedtojustfifteendays.Intwoweeks’time,HalliewillbeabouttocompeteatTrials;insixweeks,shecouldpotentiallybemarchingwiththerestoftheUnitedStatesOlympicfleetattheopeningceremonyinTokyo.Thisafternoon,though,theonlyplaceHallieisgoingisbackandforthacrossthelengthofthebeam.RyanandIwatchpatientlyasshedrillshertumblingpass—abackhandspring,whipback,backlayoutstep-out—overandover.Thegoalisforhertosmoothlyconnecteachmoveintothenextandfinishtheserieswithasatisfyingthwackofacleanlanding,nowobbleswhatsoever.
Asarapsongblaresfromthespeaker,Halliestandswithhertoesamillimeterfromtheedgeofthebeamandstretchesherarmsoutinfrontofher,centeringherself.Herchestrisesandfallsasshetakesadeepbreath.Then,inonesleek,catlikemotion,sheswingsherarmsbehindherandlungesbackwardintothetumblingpass.Thebackhandspringissolid,butshe’sprobablybeendoingthatsinceshewasnineyearsold.What’strickieristhewhipback,afast-moving,archedflipinwhichherhandsfloatafootabovethebeam,andsafelytransitioningfromthattoasoaringbacklayout,whichrequiresrotatinghighintheairwithherbodyandlegsextendedtotheirfullestlength.Shelandswithoneheeljustinchesfromtheoppositeendofthebeam,andteeterseversoslightlytocatchherbalance.It’snotgoodenough,andsheknowsit.
“Again,”Ryancalls.
Shelooksalittlefrustratedwithherself,butshenodsandscurriesbacktotheotherendofthebeamtostartover.
Ryanturnstome.
“So,uh,I’vebeenthinkingaboutwaystosupportthefoundationyouandJasminearelaunching,”Ryansays,lookingdownathisfeet.
“What?”Iask,surprised.
“Yeah.It’sanamazingcauseandIwanttodomypart,”hesays,shrugging
“Oh,uh,wow.Thankyou,”Isay.
“Ihopethisisn’toversteppinganything,butIcalledafewplacesaroundtowntoseewhomightbewillingtohostafund-raiser,”hesays.
“Youdidwhat?”Iblurt.
Hespeedsupnervously.“JadeCastleagreedthatifwewantedtopartnerwiththemforafund-raiser,onehundredpercentoftheproceedsfordrinksorderedtherewouldgodirectlytotheEliteGymnasticsFoundation,aslongaswetipthebartenders.”
Helooksdirectlyatmenow,andI’malmosttoostunnedtospeak.
“Ryan,ohmygod,”Isay.
Hewinces.“Orifyouhatetheidea,Idon’thavetodoanythingatall.Ihaven’tagreedtoanythingwithJadeCastleyet—Ijustcalledtoask.”
“No,areyoukiddingme?That’ssoridiculouslyniceofyou,really,”Isay.
Ican’tbelievehereallydidthis.It’snotoutofcharacter,exactly—Iknowhe’sathoughtfulperson,andI’msurehisfriendswouldhavenoproblemdrinkingenoughtoraiseasizablechunkofmoney—butI’mblownawaythathewoulddoallthisforme.
Hallieflipsacrossthebeamandsticksthelanding.Sheleansdramaticallyintoabow.
“Goodone,”Ryancalls.“Again.”
Hedropshisvoiceandturnstome.“IwantedtofindawaytoshowyouhowsorryIamforalmosttakingthePowerhousejob.ImadeahugemistakebynotlisteningtoyoufromthemomentyoutoldmewhatDimitri’sreallylike,andIhatethatIupsetyoubytakingsolongtocomearound.Iknowthisisn’tenough,butIhopeit’sasteptowardshowingyouthatIreallydocareaboutkeepingHallieandtheothergirlssafeandhappy.”
HisapologythatnightatSummitwasonething,butthisisonanotherlevelentirely.Thisshowsmethathe’slisteningandlearning,andisn’tthatallanyonecanaskfor?Hemadeamistakeandisn’tjustowningit—he’sfixingit.IwishweweresomewhereelsesoIcouldgivehimahug.
“Thankyou,”Isay,squeezinghisarm.“Ireallyappreciatethat.Thisfund-raisersoundsreallyhelpful.”
Heexhales,relieved.“JadeCastlehadabigbirthdaypartyreservationcancel,sotheyactuallyhavespaceforusatseveno’clocktomorrownight,”heoffers.“Unlessthat’stoosoon,inwhichcase,wecanfiguresomethingelseout.”
Mystomachdrops,andit’snotjustbecauseJadeCastlewasthesceneofmydisastrousfirstTinderdateaftermovingbacktoGreenwood.
“Oh!Iwould,butIactuallyhavedinnerplanstomorrow,”Ilie.
I’mnotreadytospendtimewithRyanoutsideofwork.IfI’mhonestwithmyself,IknowI’mnotfullyoverhimyet.That’swhywe’vebarelyspokenaboutanythingexceptforHalliesinceourbreakup,andthat’swhyIcan’tbringmyselftoopenTinderagain,eventhoughtheappsendsplentyofremindersthatpeoplenearbyhaveswipedrightonme.
“Oh,noworries,wecanschedulethisforanothertime,”hesays,scratchinghisearandblushing.
“Uh,no,goforit.Idon’thavetobethere—whatmattersisthatpeopleareraisingmoney,”Isayawkwardly.“AndmaybeIcouldswingbylater.”
“Areyousure?”Ryanasks.
Ihesitate.“Haveanamazingtime.”
Halliefinishesbeamandheadstovaultnext.I’mnothercoachforeitherevent,soeventhoughIwatchfromthesidelinesandofferencouragement,there’sunfortunatelyenoughspaceformymindtowander.
I’mtouchedthatRyanwouldorganizeafund-raiser.I’dworriedthatI’dtrustedhimtooeasily,andfeltdupedthatI’dfallenforaguywhowouldshovetheworstmomentsofmylifeundertherugsothathecouldclimbthecareerladder.Intheaftermathofthebreakup,itwaseasytoboileverythingdowntosimpleblackandwhite:hewaswrong,hewasabadguy,andsowewereover.
Butlifeisn’tsoblackandwhite.Peoplearecomplicated,andtheycangrow.Icertainlyhave.Ican’tdenythatbetweenRyanturningdownDimitri’sjobofferandhimorganizingthisfund-raiser,I’mstartingtoseehiminabetterlight.Hewantstolearnandmakeamends.He’sopentochanginghismind,evenwhenitcomesatapersonalcost.DespitethefrostbetweenuseversinceNationals,itwouldn’tbefairtoignorethathe’stakensignificantstridestoearnmyapprovalagain.Thenextstepmightbeforgiveness.
Isitontheedgeofthebluefloorandpickatapieceoffuzzcomingloosefromthefabric.Sixtyfeetaway,Ryanleansoverthevaulttable,explainingsomethingIcan’tquiteheartoHallie.Hetalkswithhishands,andshenodsalong.Hallie’sattentionistightlyfixatedonwhathe’ssaying;Icantellfromtheseriouswayshestandswithherhandsonherhips,bitingherlip.Shetrustshim,doesn’tshe?MaybeIshouldtrusthim,too.
SOS,whatareyoudoingtomorrownight?ItextSaraonmylunchbreak.
I’meatinglastnight’sleftovertilapiaandzucchinistraightfromtheTupperwareinmycar.Ryan’sinvitation,howevercasual,mademetoojitterytoeatwithinthesamebuildingashim.
Ihaveafriend’shousewarmingpartyat8,wannacome?shetextsback.
RyaninvitedmetodrinkwithhisfriendstomorrownightatJadeCastle,Iwrite.It’safund-raiserforEGF.
HerresponsepopsupbeforeIcancontinuetyping:???
IliedandsaidIhadplanswithyou.Idon’twannagoalone.ButIdothinkImightwanttogo.Pleasecomewithme?Itext.
Itsoundssopitifullaidoutlikethat,butIknowSarawon’tjudgeme.
How’sthis:I’llcomewithyouforabit,thenheadouttothepartyonceyoufindyourfooting?sheasks.Slashyouhavetwodrinksandfeelfine.
Thatsecondonesoundsaboutright,Iwrite.Thankyou.Loveyou.
IfinishthefishandtextJasminetojoinus.Sheknows,ofcourse,thatRyanturneddownDimitri’sjoboffer,butIthinkshe’sstillskepticalofhim—oranyonewhowouldwillinglyassociatewithherex,tobehonest.Ican’tblameher.Icareaboutheropinion,andI’dfeellessguiltyovermystormofconflictingemotionstowardRyanifIhadherapprovalofhim.Iwanthertakeonthissituation.I’mstrangelyrelievedwhenshetextsbackthatRyan’sfund-raisersoundsamazing.Shesaysshewantstogo.
OnSaturdaynight,IarriveatJadeCastlealittleaftereightwithSaraandJasminebymyside.Therestaurant’sloungeisdimlylitandcrowded,filledwithvaguelyfamiliarfacesI’veseenaroundtown.IspotRyanstandingwithaclusterofpeoplebythewindow,holdingabeerandinthemidstofconversationwithsomeguys.He’sinapairofdarkjeansandalightbluebutton-downshirtwiththesleevesrolledup.Idon’trecognizemostofthepeoplehe’swith,butIspothisfriendGoosewithhisgirlfriend,Melissa.
IcatchRyan’seye.
“Hey!Youmadeit!”hesays,chokingdownbeer,lookingsurprisedtoseemehere.
Hewindshiswaythroughthecrowdandtentativelygivesmeaone-armedhug.
“Wefinisheddinnerandfiguredwhynotcomeby?”Isay.
It’scloseenoughtothetruth.JasminebroughtoverabottleofwineforthethreeofustosharewhileSaraandIdabbedonmakeupandputonsundresses.Ifeltmorecomfortablecomingheretonightwithalittleliquidcourageinmysystem.
“Oh,wow,nice,”hesays.“CanIgetyouadrink?”
“Wecangetourown,”Jasminesays,cuttingin.
“Allforagoodcauseanyway,right?”Sarasays.
Ryangesturestothebar.“Ofcourse.”
Saraordersavodkasoda,andIaskforthesame.Jasminesquintsatthearrayofspiritsliningthebackshelfofthebarandsighsattherowofdraftbeers.
“I’llhaveaprosecco,”shesays.
Thebartendergivesherawearylook.
“Wedon’thavethathere,”hesays,withoutbotheringtocheck.
“Jasmine,thisisn’tthefanciestplace,”Isayquietly,nudgingher.
Shegrimaces.“Anothervodkasoda,sure.”Underherbreath,shemutters,“Greatbar.”
WetakethedrinksovertotheedgeofRyan’screw.
“TheseareRyan’sfriends?”Jasmineasks,lookingcuriouslyatthegroup.
“Yeah,anyoneyourecognize?”Iask.
Thegymnasticsworldistiny—Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifshehadcrossedpathswithanyonehere.
“No,I’mjust…interested,Iguess.Theseareguysourownage,”shecomments.
“Don’tgettooexcited,”Sarawarns.
Ifeeluneasy—notsurewhattosaytoRyan,tooawkwardtosayhitoGooseorMelissa,andtoonervoustostrikeupaconversationwithanyofhisotherfriends.MaybeIshouldn’thavecome.Butthen,thehigh-pitcheddingofaknifeagainstglasscutsthroughthenoiseofthebar.
“CanIhaveeverybody’sattentionforaminute,please?”Ryanasks.
Hestepsonachairsohe’shighabovethecrowd.Conversationsfadeout,andpeopleturntofacehim.
“Iwantedtothankyouallforcomingouttonight.AsI’vementioned,allproceedsfromthedrinksgotoareallygreatorganizationcalledtheEliteGymnasticsFoundation,whichsupportselitegymnastsliketheverytalentedathleteI’mhopefullytakingtoTokyothissummer,”hesays.
“Whoop,whoop!”Goosecallsout.
Ryanraiseshisglass.“Soplease,drinkup,anddon’tworryabouthowyou’llfeeltomorrowmorning.Okay?AndwhileIhaveyourattention,thefoundersofthefoundationarehere—let’sgivearoundofapplausetoAveryAbramsandJasmineFloyd.”
Heraiseshisdrinkinatoast,andeveryoneelsefollowssuit.
It’sastrangesensation,havingpeopleclapforme.It’shappenedbefore,ofcourse,atplentyofcompetitions,butthatwasdifferent.Backthen,crowdscheeredmeonbecauseofwhatIhadbeentrainedtodo.Tonight,they’recheeringmeonforwhatI’mdoingforothers.Thisisnewforme,butIlikeit.
Ryanhopsdownoffofthechairandjoinsus.
“Heythere.Notabadturnout,right?”hesays.
“Prettygood,”Isay.“Ireallyappreciatetheeffort.”
“It’sprettycoolthatyoudidthis,”Jasminesays.Shepursesherlips.“Especiallynowthatyou’vechosentohangaroundbettercompany.”
Heraiseshishandsindefense.“Iknow,I’mgladIturneddownthejob,”hesays.“You’regoingtoTokyo,right?”
“Yep.Youhaven’tbookedyourflightyet?”sheasks.
“Nah.Itdoesn’treallymakesensetobookituntilweknowforsureifHallieisgoingornot,”heexplains.
I’minthesameboat.
“Well,I’llbewatchingfromhome,”Sarasays.
“Aslongasyou’rewatchingNBC,that’sfinebyme,”Jasminesays.“Gottakeepthoseratingsup.”
“I’mjealous.VisitingJapansoundsamazing,”Sarasays.
“AreyouplanningtostickaroundaftertheGames?”IaskRyan.
Ryanrunsahandthroughhishair.“Yeah,myplanistotravelaroundAsia.”
“Ooh,fun,”Sarasays.“Where?I’vealwayswantedtovisitThailand.Amazingfood,gorgeouswater,notcrazyexpensivecomparedtootherdestinations,youknow?”
“Well,sinceI’llbestartingoffinTokyo,itmakessensetoexploremoreofJapanfirst,”hesays.“ButitallreallydependsonwhathappenswithTrials.”
“Fingerscrossed,”Sarasays.
Later,afterRyanmovesontochatwithotherpeople,wegetanotherroundofdrinks.Whenthey’refinished,Sarasaysshehastogetgoingtoherfriend’shousewarmingparty.SheinvitesJasmineandmealong.Jasmine,sorelyinneedofarealgirls’nightout,gladlyaccepts,andsoIdo,too.Idon’twanttoputadamperonhernight.WeallsaygoodbyeandthankRyanforthrowingthefund-raiser.SaraandJasminemoveaheadwhileIhangback.
“Onesec,guys,I’llmeetyououtside,”ItellJasmineandSara.Then,toRyan,Iadd,“Ijustwantedtosaythankyouagainfordoingallofthis.Itreallymeanssomuchtomethatyoucareenoughtobringyourfriendsoutforourcause.”
“It’stheleastIcoulddo,really,”hesayssheepishly.
“Howmuchmoneydoyouthinkyou’veraisedsofar?”Iask.
Hescanstheroom.“Let’ssaytwentypeople,anaverageoftwodrinkseach,maybe…”Hepausestodothementalmath.“Threehundredandfifty–ish?”
Thatpaysfortwotherapysessions,maybethree,tops.ButI’mstillgrateful.
“That’sawesome,”Isay—andImeanit.
“I’mreallygladyoucame,”hesays.“I’dcompletelyunderstandifyoudidn’twantto,butit’scoolthatyougotachancetoseethis.”
TheemotionsI’vebeenfeelingalldaycrest.Allatonce,I’mgratefulandbittersweetandnostalgicforwhatwehadtogether.Ihavetoleave;IknowifIstayanylonger,I’llonlybekeepingmyselfinasituationprimedtomakememisshim.
“IthinktheUber’scoming,”Isay.“Gottago—haveagreatnight.”
BeforeIcanoverthinkit,Ithrowmyarmsaroundhiminaquickhug.ThewaveofcomfortIgetfrommybodyflushagainsthisfeelslikeashock.It’soverwhelming.
“Goodnight!”hecallsasIhurrytowardthedoor.
IjoinSaraandJasmineoutside,andsoonwe’reonourwaytothehousewarmingparty.It’saget-togetheratacondoinCoolidgeCornerinBrooklinewithaslidingglassdoorthatopenstheterraceuptoapretty,starrynight.Saraintroducesmeproudlytoherfriends,andtheyallgoslack-jawedwhentheyhearI’mpossiblyonmywaytotheOlympics.Alankyguyinachambraybutton-downbringsmeplasticcupsofbeer—apparently,therealglasseshaven’tevenbeenunpackedyet—andshylyasksformyphonenumberattheendofthenight.He’ssonotmytypethattherequestcatchesmeoffguard,andeventhoughtheprospectofdatingsomeonenewstillfeelstoostrangerightnow,Igiveittohim.MaybewhatIneedisadistractionthatwilltakemymindoffRyanforgood.
It’sonlyhourslater,whenIwakeinthemiddleofthenighttogetaglassofwatertosoothemyparchedmouth,thatIseethetextfromRyan.ImusthavemisseditwhileIwassleeping.Irubatmyeyes,notsureifI’mawakeenoughtoreadthemessageproperly.ButIreaditthreetimesinarow,anditseemssolid.Ican’tbelieveit’sreal.
Itwasreallygreattoseeyoutonight!Thefund-raiserwasahugesuccess.Weraised$410.ButIknowthat’snotenoughtomakethekindofdifferencethiscausedeserves,andsoI’malsodonatingthemoneyIwould’vespentonmytravelsaftertheOlympics.Total,it’llbenearly$3,000.Iknowyou’reprobablygoingtoprotest,butI’vebeenthinkingaboutthisfordays.Isavedupthemoneyforsomethingimportant,andthere’snothingmoreimportantthanthis.
?CHAPTER31?
TeamHallieConwayfliestotheOlympicTrialsinSt.Louisonseparateflights:Hallieandherparentsinthemorning,Ryanintheafternoon,andmeandSaraonaneveningflightsoshedidn’thavetocalloutofwork.HallieinsistedthatSaraflyhalfwayacrossthecountrywithusbecauseshewantedaprivateyogasessionbeforethebigday.PayingforSara’sround-tripflight,hotelroom,andmealsprobablycoststheConwayfamilynearlytwothousandbucks,buttheydon’tseemtoflinch.They’vealreadysunkhundredsofthousandsofdollarsintothisdreamsofar—it’snotworthriskingeverythingandwingingitthemorningofOlympicTrialsbyinsistingthatHalliepracticeyogaonherown.
SaraandIaresharingahotelroom,soatseventhirtyinthemorningwewalktogetherfromourroomtoHallie’s,wherewepickherupandcontinueontothehotel’sfitnesscenter.Saracalledaheadandconfirmedthatthefitnesscenter’syogastudiowouldbeavailableforthemtouse.Shehasayogamatstrappedtoherbackandtotesabagfullofsupplies:afoamblock,aspeaker,abottleoflavenderessentialoil.Hallieemergesfromherhotelroominleggingsandastretchytanktop;she’llgetreadyandputonanactualleotardforTrialsafteryogaandalightbreakfast.
“Morning,”Isay.“Readyforthebigday?”
“Ha,no,butit’shere,”shesayshonestly.
Saranudgesherdownthehalltowardtheelevator.“Oh-kay,let’sgochilloutforanhourandfindamorepositiveattitude.”
Theyogastudioislocatedatthebackofthefitnesscenter,throughadooralongthefarwallofthegym.Aswewalkpastarowoftreadmillsandellipticals,throughacrewofsweatydudesworkingoutonweightmachines,wecrosspathswithRyan,who’sbench-pressingweights.Hegrunts,setsthebarbackontheholder,andremovesoneheadphone.
“Hey,”hebreathes.“Morning.”
“Morning,”wechime.
“Wewon’tdistractyoufromyourworkout,”Sarasays.
SaraleadsHallieintotheyogastudioandclosesthedoor.I’veneverjoinedoneoftheirsessions,andIwouldn’tdareinterruptnow.It’sgoodforHallietohavesomesolotimewithSaratofocusonrelaxingforthedayahead.
“So,I,uh,I’mnotsureIeverproperlythankedyouforyourtext,”IsaytoRyan.
Heremoveshisotherheadphoneandsitsup,grinning.“Yeah?”
“It’sanabsurdlyextravagantdonation,”Ipointout.“Just,like,wayaboveandbeyond.Youknowthat,right?”
Heshrugs.“Eh.”
“Ijustwanttomakesureyou’rereallysureyouwanttodothis,”Isay.
“OfcourseI’msure,”hesaysseriously.
Ican’thelpit—Icovermyfacewithmyhands.“Okay!”Isaybrightly.“I’mgonnatakeyourmoneyandrun,Iguess,beforeyouchangeyourmind.”
Helaughs.“I’mnotgoingtochangemymind.”
“WhenItoldJasmine,youknowwhatshesaid?”Iask.
“What?”heasks.
“ThatthedonationisenoughforhertoforgiveyouforalmostworkingwithDimitri,”Isay.
Hismouthtwitchesnervously.“Well,that’sgood.And…you?”
“It’sonethingtoapologize,butit’sanotherthingtomakeasituationrightagain.Andyoudidboth,”Iexplain.“So,yeah,Iforgiveyou.”
“Really?”heasks,almostlikehecan’tbelievewhathe’shearing.
“Yeah,we’recool,”Isay.“Obviously,Iknowthingshavebeenkindof…weird?Betweenus?Forawhilenow.ButImisshoweasilyweusedtogetalong,andI’dliketogobacktothat.”
IcanfeelmyheartpoundingasItellhimhowIreallyfeel;vulnerabilityisfuckingscary.Butthen,asmilespreadsacrosshisface,andI’mfloodedwithrelief.It’stheexactsameexhilaratingsensationyougetwhenyou’reflyingupsidedownabovethehighbaronareleasemoveandcatchitsolidly.It’sadangerousthrill,butthenyouknowyou’resafe.
“Avery,youhavenoideahowmuchIfeelthesameway,”hesays.Helooksdownapologeticallyathissweat-drenchedT-shirt.“I’dwanttohugyourightnow,but…”
“Yeah,no,I’mgoodwithoutit,”Itease.
“Yourloss.Ismell…”Hesniffshisshirtandmakesasourface.“…amazingrightnow.”
“PleasejustpromisetoshowerbeforeIhavetospendtherestofthedaywithyoutoday,okay?”Iask.
“Ipromise,”hesaysearnestly.
“Now,backtowork.Don’tslackonthosebiceps,okay?”Ijoke.
Heflexesonearm,andthemuscleswells.Iresistmyinstincttolookimpressed,andinsteadsaygoodbyeandwalkoutofthegymwithmyheadheldhigh.
Igetsomecoffee,fruit,andyogurtatacafénearthehotel,andthenreturntomyhotelroomtomakemyselflookalittlemorepresentablefortheday.Iknowthecameraswillcatchatleastafewglimpsesofme,andsomeconcealerandmascarawillgoalongway.I’mblendingthemakeupundermyeyeswhenIseemyphonelightupwithanincomingtext.MystomachdropswhenIcatchthenameonthescreen—it’sTyler.Wehaven’tspokenoncesinceIleftLA.
Hey.IjustwantedtosaythatIheardyou’redoingreallywellnow,coachingandlaunchingthatorganization.Itallsoundsreallyimpressive.Congratulations!
Ilaugh,dumbfounded.Ican’tbelievehereachedoutatall,especiallytopraisemyaccomplishments.Heneverexpectedmetomakeanythingofmyselfagain;hedidn’tthinkIhadthedrivetodream,achieve,orsucceedanymore.It’sdeliciouslysatisfyingtoseehimrecognizehowwronghewas.IwishIcouldtravelbackintimetothatfight,theoneafewmonthsbeforeourbreakup,whenhefoundmesittingonthekitchenfloorwithmywineglassinthemiddleoftheafternoonandcriticizedwhatlookedlikealackofambition.Ifonlythatversionofmyselfcouldseemylifenow.
Idashoffthebriefest,politesttextIcanmuster.It’sfunny:foryears,Icaredmoreabouthimthananyoneoranything—wherehewas,howhewasdoing,whathewasupto.ButnowIdon’tevencaretoknowwhathislifelookslike.
Thanks!Hopeeverything’sgoingwell.
I’vegotmoreimportantthingstodo.
Atnine,ImeetHallieinhersuite.Sheinvitedmetositwithherasshegetsready,andwhensheopensthedoor,shelooksvisiblymorerelaxedthanshedidjustninetyminutesearlier.
“Isentmyparentsoutforbreakfast,”sheexplains,welcomingmeinside.“TheygetevenmorenervousthanIdoondayslikethis.Stressfulvibes.”
“Minewerelikethat,too,”Isay.“Actually,theystillare.”
“Maybetheycouldalllearntomeditate,”shesuggests.“SitwithmewhileIdomyhairandmakeup?”
Weheadintothebathroom,whereIflipdownthetoiletseatandsit,andsheplugsinahairstraightener.Whenit’shot,sheironseachsectionofhairuntilit’sperfectlysmooth,thenbrushesitallintoahigh,tightponytailandblaststhecrownofherheadwithextra-strengthhairspray.IneverworemuchmakeupwhenIwasherage—noteventocompetitions—butthisgenerationofgymnastsgrewupwatchingbeautytutorialsonYouTubeandspendingtheirallowancesonUrbanDecayNakedpalettesandKylieJennerlipkits.They’resomuchsavvierandsophisticatedthanIeverwas;duringcompetitions,theylooklikeHollywoodstarletsontheredcarpet.
“I’mgoingtoskipfoundationbecauseit’lljustsweatoff,”sheexplains,diggingthroughhermakeupbag.
“Notthatyouneeditanyway,”Ipointout.
Sheshrugs.“ButI’lldoconcealer,highlighter,andalittleblushandbronzer.”
Sheexpertlyappliesthose,thenmovesontoeyeshadowprimer,threedifferentshadesofsparklyeyeshadow,blackeyeliner,andseveralswipesofmascara.IfeellikeIcouldlearnathingortwofromher.
“Good?”sheasks,seekingapproval.
“Let’sjustsaythatifyouevergetboredofgymnastics,youcouldhaveabackupcareerasamakeupartist,”Isay.
“So,Ihavetwoleotardoptionsfortoday,andIwantedtogetyouropinion,”shesays.
Sheopenstheclosetdoorandpullsouttwohangers.
“Ididn’thangthem—that’snuts—butmymomspent,like,ahalfhoursteamingthemsotheywouldn’twrinkle,”sheexplains.“LikeIsaid,she’sstressed.”
Hallieholdsuponeleotardinfrontofher,thentheother.Thefirstisbrightpurple,withanombréeffectonthebodice,meshcutoutsonthesleeves,andasprayofrhinestonesoverthechest.It’slikethesportyversionofabeautypageantgown—whatMissAmericamightwearforhertalentportion.Thesecondoneismuchsimpler:entirelyredandfleckedwithsilvershimmer.
“You’dlookgreatinboth,”Isay.
“Butifyouhadtopickone,”sheimplores.
Ittrulydoesn’tmatterwhatshewears;themostimportantthingisthatshefeelsconfident.Idon’twanttoaccidentallypicktheoneshe’sleaningagainstandtriggerhertosecond-guessherinstincts.
“Ireallylikeboth,”Iinsist.
Shepursesherlips.“YouknowwhyIliketheredone?”shesaysshyly.
“It’smorecomfortable?”Iguess.
“Thisdoesn’tlookfamiliar?”sheasks.
Itrytorememberifshe’swornitbefore,butIcan’trecall.
“Youworeonejustlikethis,”shesays,blushingalittle.“IsawyouonTVwhenIwaslittle,andIwassostarstruck.”
Suddenly,Iknowexactlywhatshe’stalkingabout.
“OlympicTrials,2012,”Isay.
Shenods.“Iwantedtobejustlikeyou.Istilldo.”
“Thatwasmyverylastcompetition,youknow,”Isaycarefully.
“Butthiswon’tbemine,becauseyou’vecoachedmesowell,”shesays.“Iwouldn’tevenbehereatTrialswithoutyou.”
Ahardlumpformsinthebackofmythroat.Forsomanyyearsnow,I’vefeltlikeafailure:IfailedtomaketheOlympics;Iliterallyfailedoutofcollege;Iflounderedthroughafailingrelationship.IsquanderedmyfreshstartinCalifornia,andIneglectedtotakecareofmyselfthewayIdeserved.ButnoneofthatmatterstoHallie.Inhereyes,itseemsasifI’maninspiration.I’marolemodel.Andmostimportant,I’macoachwhohashelpedtogiveherafairshotatachievingherlifelongdream.
“Oh,Hallie,”Isay,wrappingherinahug.“BeingyourcoachistrulythebestthingI’veeverdone.Imeanit.Idon’tknowwhatIwould’vedonewithoutthisjob.”
“Thankyouforeverything,”shesays,squeezingmeback.
Iblinkhardtwiceandshakemyheadtokeepthetearsatbay.Nowisnotthetime.Hallieputsthepurpleleotardbackinthecloset,thentakestheredoneintothebathroomtochange.Whensheopensthedooragainaminutelater,shetwirlsinacircletoshowoffthelook.
Nowthatshe’spointedouttheconnection,it’simpossibletoignore.Cladinred,shelooksanawfullotlikeIdideightyearsago.Exceptnow,Hallielooksconfident.Self-assured.Happy.IdesperatelyhopeshehasbetterlucktodaythanIdid.
?CHAPTER32?
Thecompetitionarenalooksthesame.Italwaysdoes.Nomatterwhereyouareinthecountryortheworld,regardlessofwho’swinningorwhattheyearis.Thefamiliar,standard-issueapparatusandmatsandchalkbowlsarearrangedonabasketballfloorunderfluorescentlighting,surroundedbybleachers,withfrenziedenergypulsingthroughtheair.RyanandIflankHallieaswearrive,lookinglikearealteaminourmatchingSummittracksuits.Forthefirsttimeinmonths,Itrulyfeellikethethreeofusareinsyncagain.I’mgladRyanandIgotthechancetotalkthismorning.
Hallietakesintheviewofthearenawithacuriousexpression.
“Thisisit,”shesays,soundingstunned.
“Nothingyouhaven’tseenbefore,”Iremindher.
“That’skindofchill,”shesays.
“Good,”Ryansays.“Ilikethatattitude.Gowarmup.”
Shenods,slipsoutofhertracksuit,andjogstothefloortorunafewlaps.Ryanslidesclosertomeonthebench,bridgingtheemptyspaceHallieleftbehind.
“Youknow,nomatterwhathappenstoday,whethershemakesitornot,I’mproudofus,”hesays.“Ithinkwedidakillerjob.”
“Wemadeaprettygoodteam,”Isay.
“Wedid,didn’twe?”Heletsoutashortlaugh.“It’scrazytothinkofhowmuchhashappenedthisyear.YoumovingbacktoGreenwood,joiningmeatSummit,theKaminskyscandal,thePowerhouseoffer,yourfoundation…”
Hetrailsoff.Hedoesn’tneedtosaytherest.Iknowwhathe’sthinking:wegottogether,brokeup…andyet,we’restillhere.SoisDimitri,acrossthearena.Hewon’tevenlookatme.
“Hey,theschedule’sup,”Isay,nudginghim,gladtohaveasafetalkingpointemerge.
It’sacrowdedroster:fifteengymnastscompetingforjustfourrealspotsontheOlympicteam.Technicallyspeaking,twoothergymnastsarenamedasalternates,justincaseanyonegetsseriouslyinjuredduringtheOlympicGames—theycanswapinandcompeteasbackups.Butobviously,nobodyaspirestobeanalternate.Thatmeansthatafterbarelymissingthechanceofalifetime,probablybyafractionofapoint,youhavetositonthesidelinesandcheerforyourteammatestoachieveyourdream.Itsoundsliketorture.Asterribleasmyexperiencewas,atleastIcouldchoosenottowatchthecompetitionfromthecomfortofmyownhome.
HallieisupagainstseveralgymnastsIknow—EmmaPerry,DeliaCruz,MaggieFarber,KikiMcCloud,SkylarHayashi,andBritAlmeda—andalsoseveralthatIdon’t:OliviaWalsh,MadisonSalazar,RileyRobinson,JocelynSnyder,AyannaClayton,TaylorO’Connor,CharlotteChan,LucyShapiro.It’sdizzyingandheartbreakingtoconsiderthatthemajorityofthesegirlswillhavetheircareersendtoday.Thenextfewhourswillchangealloftheirlives.
Onceagain,Halliehasbeenassignedtostartonbars,whichmeansshe’llcyclethroughvault,beam,andthenfloor.Apparentlyhavingfinishedhercardiowarm-up,shetrotsbacktowhereRyanandIaresittingtostretch.Sherollsherwrists,bendsoverherfeet,andoccasionallywavesatcameraspassingby.
Beforethefirstrotationstarts,Ryansquatsdownnexttoherandwavesmeovertojoin.
“Look,I’mnotgoingtomakeabigspeechtopsychyouup,becauseIknowyou’vegotthis,”hesayssimply.“AllIwantyoutodoisgooutthereandperformjustasbeautifullyasyou’vebeendoingeveryday.Don’tworryaboutanythingbeyondtheactualwork.Becausethat’sallyoucancontrol.”
Shenodsheavily,thenhugseachofus.
“Gotit.Thankyouforeverything.Let’sdothis,”shedeclares.
I’msecretlygladthatshe’supfirstonbars,becausethatwillgetherstartedontherightfoot.Sheputsonhergripsandwarmsupfortheallottedfewminutes,andthenwaitsforherturn.Whentheannouncerboomshernameovertheloudspeaker,shewavestoagirlinthestandsholdingaposterwithhernameonitasshestridestowardthebars.Thisishermomenttoshine,andsheknowsit.
“Let’sgo,Hallie,let’sgo!”Icheer.
Shecentersherselfinfrontofthelowbar,liftsherchin,andwithjustahintofasmugsmirk,jumpsforwardintohermount.Acrossthearena,anothergymnast’sfloormusicbeginstoplay,butit’sclearthatHalliehastunedouteverythingexceptthebarunderherhands.Herbodyrocketscleanlytothehighbar,wheresheswingsupintoahandstand,pirouettes,andflingsherselfintotheseriesshe’sbeendrillingallyearwithRyan:aTkatchevintoaPakSalto.It’sgorgeous.Shefinishesstrongwithtwogiantsandherbreathtakingdismount,adouble-twistingdoublebacktuck.Halliesticksthelandingsolidlywithherfingerssplayedoutinanelegantflourish.Theaudiencecheersasshestraightensupintoaproudsaluteforthejudges,thenwavestothecrowd.Thatwasagoddamnperfectroutine.
Ryan,whowasspottingherreleasemoves,high-fivesherwithbothhands.TheylooktriumphantastheymaketheirwaybacktowhereI’msitting.
“Thatwasepic!”Isay.
“Let’sseewhatthejudgeshavetosay,”shesaysmodestly.
Thejudgesbarelyneedtodeliberate.Theyawardherroutinewithawell-deserved15.150.
Halliesqueals,smooshingahandoverhermouthtomuffleherexcitement.
“See?Nothingtoworryabout.You’redoinganamazingjob,”Ryantellsher
Bytheendofthefirstrotation,shereignsinsecondplace.TheonlypersonwhoscoredevenasliverhigherthanherforthefirstroundwasDimitri’sgymnastEmma,witha15.250onbeam.Thatdoesn’tfazeme.Emmaisfreakishly,supernaturally,horrifyinglytalented.Hallie’ssecond-placeshowingisstillfantastic.Withastrongstartlikethat,shecouldbearealcontenderforoneofthefourOlympic-boundspots.
Thankstoherexcellentbarsroutine,Hallie’ssure-footedconfidencecarriesovertovault.Theeventgoesbyinsuchaflash,Idon’tevenhavetimetogetnervous.Shestickscleanlandingsonbothherfirstrun,anAmanar,andhersecond,aMustafina.Afterherfinalsalute,sheglidesbacktothebenchserenely.Thejudgesrevealherscoreasshesettlesdown:14.975.
Vaultistheshortestevent,whichmeansthere’sabitofwaitbeforethesecondrotationendsandwecanseewhereHalliewillfallintherankings.Asshesucksdownthecontentsofherwaterbottle,Iwatchthecompetition.Deliapolishesoffagloriousfloorroutine.Ayannacompletesanimpressiveseriesofreleasemovesonbars.Onbeam,Charlotteswaysoffbalancewhentryingtolandafrontaerialandlosesherfooting.Thecrowdletsoutasomber“Ooooh”whenshefallstotheground.Icringe;Ifeelsoterribleforher.Sheclimbsbackuponbeamandfinishesherroutinewithadisappointedgrimace.
Whenthesecondrotationends,Halliehasdroppedintofourthplace.That’sstillaverygoodspottobein—ifthecompetitionwereoverrightthissecond,she’dmaketheOlympicteam—butitalsomeansthere’snomoreroomforerrororbadluck.Ifshedoesn’tperformthehelloutofhernexttworoutines,orifanyoneelsehappenstohaveastartlinglysuccessfulshowing,it’sgameover.
I’vealwaysknown,ofcourse,thatmakingtheOlympicteamisalongshot.IknewtherewerenoguaranteesofHallie’ssuccesswhenIsignedontocoachher.Butsomehow,I’veneverthoughtthroughexactlywhattosayordotoconsoleherifitturnsoutthatshedoesn’tmaketheteam,despiteourbestefforts.There’snogoodwaytocomfortapersonwhosesoledreamhasjustslippedaway.Ihopeitdoesn’tcometothat.
Hallieheadsofftowarmupforbeam.
“Youokay,Avery?”Ryanasks,onceshe’sgone.
“Ha.Hanginginthere,”Isay.
“Youlookstressed,”hesays.
HeknowsmewellenoughtoseethroughthecalmactI’mputtingonforHallie.
“Ididn’trealizethiswouldbothermeuntilIgothere,butbeingatTrialsagain?It’sjustkindofalot,”Iconfess.
“Becauseofwhathappenedtoyou?”heasks.
“IknowI’mfine,andit’snotthatIexpectHallietohaveafreakaccidentthewayIdid,buttoday’smajor,evenifwe’repretendingit’snot.Nomatterwhathappenstoday,afewpeople’sliveschangeforthebetter,andeveryoneelse’sliveswillreallysuck,”Iexplain.“Iknowthatsoundsreallystupidandobvious,butIjust…Ifeelforthesegirls.”
“It’shighstakes,”hesays,nodding.
Hereachesformyhandandrunshisthumbsoothinglyacrossmypalm.Thegestureiscomforting.
“IhopeHalliemakesit,”Isayglumly.
Heheavesagiantsigh.“Me,too.”
Ibarelybreathewhenit’sHallie’sturnonbeam.Theproblemwiththisapparatusisthatyoucan’tgetcocky:itdoesn’tmatterhowtalentedyouareorhowhardyou’veworkedtoprepare—youcanstillfall,andthenyou’rescrewed.“Comeon,comeon,comeon,”Iwhisper,watchingherexecutethebackhandspring,whipback,backlayoutstep-outcombowe’vedrilledsomanytimes.It’ssolid,butIstillcan’trelax.Everymuscleinmybodytightensasshewindsuptoperformthewolfturn.I’mrelievedwhenshestaysonthebeamwithoutawobble.There’sabriefglintofsurpriseonherface,too.Herdismountgoessmoothly,too,andit’sonlywhenshesalutesthejudgesthatIcanfinallyexhale.Theroutinewasgood,butnotgreat:Icanimagineonetinydeductionfornotseamlesslyconnectingtwojumps,andanotheroneforalegthatcould’vebeenalittlebitstraighter.Butoverall,itwasafineshowing.
Shebarrelsbacktothebench,whereIwrapherinahugandstrokeherhair.
“You’reamazing,”Isay.“You’redoingareallybeautifuljob.”
Sheshudders.“Atleastbeamisover.”
Thejudgesgivehera13.500,andbythetimetherotationends,thatlandsherinsixthplace—barelyinOlympiccontention,butonlyasanalternate.She’sfallenbehindEmma,Kiki,Delia,Taylor,andAyanna.FromwhatIcantell,theproblemwasn’tthatherbeamroutinewasterrible,butratherthateveryoneelsehadanunusuallygreatrotation.IwishIcouldcalculatewhatscoreshe’llneedinordertoguaranteeafullspotontheOlympicteam,butIdon’tknowhowtoevenbeginfiguringthatout.Mystomachcrampswithnerves.
Halliepressesherlipstogetherlikeshe’stryingnottowinceorgroan.Ikneeldowninfrontofher,grippingbothofherhandsinmine.Ihavetogooffscript.
“Look,Iknowthatwe’vebeensayingalldaythatyoushouldjustpretendlikethisisanormalday,andthatyoushouldjustchilloutandnotsweatthecompetition,butthatisn’tgoingtoworkforfloor,”Itellherbluntly.
“Whatdoyoumean?”sheasks.
“Thisisthemostimportantperformanceyou’veeverhad,”Itellherhonestly.“Youneedtopoureveryounceofenergy,everyounceofpassionintothisroutine.Gooutthereandenjoyeverysinglesecondofit,becausethisiswhatyou’vebeentrainingforyourentirelife.”
Thehairsonmyarmsstanduponend.Hallielockshereyeswithmineandnodsseriously.
“Thisisit,”shesays.
“Thisisit,”Irepeat.“Nomatterwhattheoutcomeis,I’llalwaysbesoproudofyou.ButIwantyoutofeelproudofyourself,too,andthatmeansgivingityourall.”
“Icandothat,”shesays.
Shegivesmeahugandheadstofloortowarmup.
“Thatwasasolidpeptalk,”Ryansays.
Igroan.“Ijusthopeitwasenough.”
I’malmosttooantsytowatchHalliepracticehertumblingpasses,butIknowIhavetopayattentionincasethere’sanylast-minutepracticaladviceIshouldofferher.Iwishwecouldjustfast-forwardthroughthefourthrotation.
Finally,enoughtimecreaksbyandit’sHallie’sturntocompeteonfloor.RyanandIstandfifteenfeettotheleftofthejudges’table,whichisjustaboutascloseaswecangetwithoutcausingadistraction.Adrenalinerushesthroughmeashernameisannouncedovertheloudspeakeronemoretime.
Halliecomposesherselfattheedgeofthefloor.Shesmileswarmlyatthejudgesasshesalutes,thengracefullywalkstoherstartingspot.Shesettlesintopositionandwaitsforhermusictobegin.Foramoment,everythingisstillandquiet—orasquietasabustlingarenalikethiscanbe.She’savisioninsparklingred.Asthejazzyopeningnotesplay,sheblossomsintoaswirlofmotion.Theflickofherwristispreciseanddelicate;theswingofherhipsisflashyandflirty.She’salwaysbeenagymnast,buthere,aftermonthsofhardwork,she’sdevelopedthegraceofadancer,too.
Onherfirsttumblingpass,sheboundscleanlyacrossthefloor,rocketingskywardinanelegantstagjumptochannelherextraenergy.Itworksbeautifully:shelookspowerful,strong,andincontrolofeverymovement.Shedancestowardanothercornerofthefloor,polishesofftwopreciseleaps,thendivesstraightintoasecondexcellenttumblingpass.AsIwatchherprance,pirouette,andflip,Igetachillingsenseofexcitement.ThisisoneofthemostgorgeousroutinesI’veeverseenfromher.Somethinggenuinelyspecialisunfoldinghere—thisisadeterminedathleteatherpeak.
AfterHallieexecutesherthirdtumblingpassseamlessly,somethinginherpostureshifts.Bythispointinafloorroutine,eventhefittestgymnastscanstarttolookalittlesluggishoroutofbreath.ButHallielooksevenlighterandmorebuoyantthanever.Withfifteensecondsleftintheroutine,sheburstsforwardintoatriumphantfourthtumblingpass,landingeasilyonherfeet.Asshesinksintoherfinaldramaticpose,herfacecrumpleswithjoy.Sheholdsthepositionjustlongenoughtogivetheendofherroutinearealsenseofgravitas,andthenbouncestoherfeettosalutethejudges.Theminuteshe’sdone,Iseehereyesglisteningwithtearsofjoy.Sheclapsonehandoverhermouthandwavestothecrowdwiththeother.Theaudienceroarsinapplause.
Shelingersonthefloorforafewsecondslongerthannecessary,soakingupthisonce-in-a-lifetimemoment.Thejudgesarestilldeliberatingoverherscore,soforthenextfewpreciousseconds,thisisallthatmatters—shedeliveredthehelloutofaroutinethatchallengedher,scaredher,andforcedhertogrowintoabetterathlete.Soon,herfatewillbesealed,butfornow,Icantellthatshe’shappywithherself.That’sararefeatinthissport.
Sheboundsoffthefloorintomywaitingarms.
“I’msodamnproudofyou,”Irepeatoverandover.
Ryanjoinsusforagrouphug.“Youwerephenomenal.Incredible.ThebestI’veeverseen,”hesays.
“Ican’tbelieveIjustdidthat,”shesays,breathinghard.
Suddenly,shefreezes.Herscoreappearsonthescoreboard:15.100,pushingherintosecondplace.Eventhoughthere’sonemoregymnastlefttoperformonfloor,itdoesn’tmatterwhatscoreshe’llreceive—shewon’tknockHallieoutofthetopfourslots.
“Imadeit,Imadeit,ohmygod,Imadeit,”Halliesobs.
RyanandIbreakawaytolookatthescoreboard,thenturnbacktoherinawe
“Ohmygod,Hallie!”Isay,voicebreaking.
WatchingherrecognizethatherlifelongdreamiscomingtrueisoneofthemostbeautifulthingsI’veeverhadtheprivilegeofseeing.Ican’thelpthetearscoming.Idon’tmind.We’veallworkedhardenoughtojustifythem.
“Iknewit,”Ryansays.Evenhisvoiceisshaking.“You’regoingtobeanOlympian.”
“Wedidit,”Halliesays,soundingstunned.“Ican’tbelievewedidit.”
Nother.NotHallieandRyan.Us.Allofus.
Inmyowntimeasagymnast,thereweresomanyecstaticmoments,likewhenagoldmedalwasdrapedaroundmyneckorthedayIqualifiedforOlympicTrials.Buttruthfully,nothingquitecomparedtothisvictory.IfeelasifIcouldburstfrombliss.
Themedalceremonyisahappyblur.Intheend,Emmatakesthetopspot,aseveryoneknewshewould.Hallieisthesurprisedarkhorseinsecondplace,followedbyOlympicveteranDelia,withKikiroundingouttheteaminfourth.Thegirlsconferforsecondsbeforetheyannouncetheirteamname:theFantasticFour,superheroreferenceverymuchintended.MadisonSalazarandTaylorO’Connorarenamedalternates.
There’snoavoidingit—Ifeelterriblysadforthegirlswhodidn’tmakethecut.ButifIcancomebacktothissportyearslaterasacoachandmakearealdifference,theycan,too.There’slifeforallofusafterourgymnasticscareersend.Itjustmighttakesometimetofigureoutexactlywhatthatmeans.
Hallie’sparentshavestumbled,dazedandoverjoyed,fromthebleachersintothemainpartofthearena,wheretheyshowertheirdaughterwithhugs.
“Let’sgivethemsomespace,”IwhispertoRyan.
It’scrowdedinthecenterofthearena,anyway—gymnasts,families,judges,photographers,reporters.
“Goodidea,”hesays.“Comewithmetogetsomethingtodrink?I’mthirsty.”
“Sure,”Isay.
WewalkbythebenchwithourbagssoRyancangrabhiswallet,thenwanderdownamazeofhallwaysuntilwefindavendingmachine,chatteringtheentirewayaboutthehighlightsofHallie’sperformances.
“Idon’tthinkI’llevergetoverthatfloorroutine,”Ryansayswithanoteofaweinhisvoice.“Imean,itwasperfectfromstarttofinish.She’sneverbeenbetter.”
“Ican’tbelievewepulledthatoff,”Isay,feelinggiddy.
“We?No,thatwasyou,”heinsists.“I’lltakefullcreditforhiringthebestfloorcoachontheplanet,butthatwholeroutinewasallyou.”
ThevendingmachineisstockedwithGatoradebottleslinedupinbright,color-codedrows.Ryantiltshishead.
“BerryorFruitPunch?”heasks.
“Berryalltheway,”Isay.
“I’llgettwo,then,”hesays.
Hefeedsdollarbillsintotheslotandpressestherightbuttons.Ileanagainstthesideofthemachineasitwhirstolife,retrievingtheplasticbottlesanddroppingthemdownwithtwosolidthunks.It’scoolandquiethere.Aftertoday’swhirlwind,there’snowhereelseI’dratherbe.Tonight,I’llsleepeasilyintheluxehotelbed,andtomorrowwe’llallbookourflightstoTokyo.Thisdoesn’tfeelreal.It’sunbelievable,somehow,thatafteralltheseyears,I’mfinallygoingtotheOlympics.Everythingisfallingintoplace.Or,rather,almosteverything.
Ryanbendsdowntopickupthedrinksandhandsmeone,interruptingmytrainofthought.
“Thanks,”Isay.
Hestartstoopenhisbottle,butIstophim.
“Wait,”Isay,reachingforhishand.
“Yeah?”heasks.
IkisshimbeforeIcanlosemynerve,slidingmyarmsoverhisshouldersandpullinghimtowardme.Icanfeelthemusclesinhisshoulderstenseforasplitsecond,andIleanback,butthenIseeadimpledsmilespreadingacrosshisface.
“Comehere,”hesayssoftly.“Ilikethat.”
Wefindourwaybacktoeachothertenderly.Hishandsbracemyhips,andsoon,ourlipsfallintorhythmtogether.I’vespentsomanymonthsachingtobeclosetohim,andfromthewayhismouthmovesagainstmine,it’sclearthathe’sfeltthesameway.Hekissesmedeeply,anditjustfeelssoright.
“Ididn’texpectthat,”hemumblesintomyhair.
“Ididn’tplanonthat,”Iexplain.
“I’mgladithappened,though,”hesaysearnestly.
“Me,too,”Isay.
Ididn’tknowitwashumanlypossibletofeelmorereliefandhappinessthanI’vealreadyfelttoday,butI’msogladthatmygutinstinctwasright—hewantedthatkissasmuchasIdid.RyantakestheGatoradeoutofmyhandandplacesbothbottlesonthelinoleumfloorbyourfeetsothathecankissmeagain.It’sperfect.
“Look,IknowImessedup—”Ryanstarts,butIshushhimwithanotherkiss
“There’snoneedtokeepapologizing,”Isay,wrappingmyhandsaroundhiswaist.
“No,hearmeout,”heinsists.“Ineverstoppedcaringaboutyou.”
Hespeaksslowlyandfiercely,givingeachwordtheweightitdeserves.
“Ididn’tsayitbeforebecauseIwasanidiot,butthepastfewmonthshavemademerealizeexactlyhowIfeel,”hecontinues.
Igoverystill,evenasmyheartraces.Hisdarkeyessearchmine.
“Avery,Iloveyou,”hesays.
Ifeelarushofpurejoyandaballooningsensethateverythingisrightintheworld.Thismoment?It’sbetterthanaperfectlystucklanding.It’ssweeterthantheviewfromthetopofthemedalpodium.
“Iloveyou,too,”Isay.
IknowI’veneverstopped.Thistime,I’mnotself-conscioustovoicehowIreallyfeel.Suddenly,thesignificanceofwherewehappentobestandinghitsme,andIcan’thelpbutlaugh.
“What?”heasks.
“Doyourememberourfirstconversation?”Iask.
“ThenightIcalledyouaboutcoachingatSummit?”heguesses.
“No,think—theveryfirsttimeweeverspoke,”Iprompt.
Hiseyeslightup.“ItwasNationals.Iaskedifyouknewwherethevendingmachinewas.”
Ismirkandleanbackagainstthiscurrentvendingmachine,fingersdancingoverhischest.
“Hereweare,”hemarvels.
JULY2020
?EPILOGUE?
It’scompetitiondayinTokyo.IgaspwhenIenterthearenaforthefirsttime;thespaceislargerandflashierthananywhereI’veevercompeted,andhandmadesignswritteninmultiplelanguageswaveinthecrowd.Camerascaptureeveryangle.
HallieandtherestoftheFantasticFourwarmupforthecompetition’sfirstrotation.They’reresplendentinmatchingroyalblueleotards,andtheyworkwithanefficient,upbeatenergy.Eventhoughthestakesarehighertodaythaneverbefore,everyoneseemsjustsoplainhappytobehere.Hallie’sonfloorfirst.
Whilethegymnastsgetreadytocompete,IstandonthesidelineswithRyan.WeflewtoTokyoafewdaysearlysoHalliecouldprepforthecompetitionwhileadjustingtothefourteen-hourtimedifference,andthoughwe’vebeenworkingalot,there’salsobeenjustenoughdowntimetosneakouttogetherondates.Thesushidinner,sumomatch,andZengardenvisitwereamazing,buttruthfully,wecould’vehadjustasmuchfunsittinginthesupplyclosetatSummit.SincewegotbacktogetheratTrials,I’vefeltsoatpeace.We’vedecidedtokeepourrelationshipprivateuntilaftertheOlympics.
AcompetitionofficialsignalstoHalliethatshehastimeforonemoretumblingpass,andthenthewarm-upwillbeover.Hallienods,andIwatchasshelaunchesintoahigh-powered,tightdoubleArabianwithacleanlystucklanding.Ishakemyheadinawe.
“Today’sgoingtobeagoodday,”Ipredict.“Icanfeelit.”
“Me,too,”Ryansays.HewatchesmestudyingHallieonfloor,thenasksquietly,“Doyouwishitwereyououtthere?”
Thequestioncatchesmeoffguard.Forsolong,IsodesperatelywantedtobeinHallie’sexactposition.LosingoutonthechancetocompeteintheOlympicswasthesinglemostdevastatingexperienceofmylife—worsethansurvivingDimitri’srage,worsethanwatchingmyrelationshipwithTylerfallapart,worsethanthetimeIthoughtIlostRyanforgood.
Butthefunnythingaboutyourdreamcomingtrueisthatitneverquitehappensthewayyouthinkitwill.There’salwaysatwist.WhenIwalkedintotheOlympicstadiumforthefirsttime,nobodycheeredformeorwavedsignswithmyname.Myheartdidn’tracewithanticipationformyupcomingroutines.Sportsreportersdidn’thoundmeforinterviews.Andevenstrangerthanallthat?Ididn’tcare.I’moverjoyedtobehereasHallie’scoach.I’veletgoofmyolddreams.Mynewlifehasreplacedthem.
BeforeIcantellhimanyofthat,though,Halliejoinsusonthesidelinesforaslurpfromherwaterbottle.
“Wewerejusttalkingabouthowstrongyourtumblinglookstoday,”Itellher.“You’regonnakillitoutthere.”
Shegrinsandthrowsherarmsaroundme.“Thankyousomuchforeverything.Iwouldn’thavemadeitherewithoutyou.”
ShehugsRyan,too,takesadeepbreath,andwalksproudlytothesideofthefloorwithherheadheldhigh.Anofficialboomsouthernameoveraloudspeaker,andahushfallsoverthearena.Shewaitspatientlyforthejudgestoindicatethatshecanbegin.Whenit’stime,shesalutesthemandarrangesherselfintothestartingposeIchoreographedforherallthosemonthsago.FromwhereI’msitting,Icanglimpsetheconfidentexpressiononherface.There’sarealpoisetohertodaythatshedidn’tquitehavewhenwemet.
Myeyeswellupwithtearsasthefirstnotesofhermusicringoutthroughthearena.
“No,Ryan,”Itellhim.“I’mhappytoberighthere.”
?ACKNOWLEDGMENTS?
First,I’dliketothankyou,reader,forpickingupthisnovel.I’mhonoredthatyouchosetospendyourtimeimmersedintheworldofthisbook.Thankyouforreading!
I’msogratefulforthethoughtful,whip-smartguidanceofmyeditor,KaitlinOlson.Thisbookisbetterincountlesswaysbecauseofhercreativeinstincts,attentiontodetail,andbeliefinthesecharacters.Fromcatchingplotholestosharpeningdialogue,Kaitlinmadethisprojectshine.
I’mincrediblyluckytoworkwiththesamewonderfulteamatAtriaBooksyetagain:manythankstoMeganRudloffandIsabelDaSilvaforensuringthisbookfallsintoalltherighthands,TamaraArellanoforhertirelesscopyedits,andLindsaySagnette,SuzanneDonahue,JimmyIacobelli,andLibbyMcGuire.
Myagent,AllisonHunter,championedthisideafromthemomentmyhalf-bakedemaillandedinherinbox.Hervisionformycareer,faithinmyabilities,andtruefriendshipmakeherthebestteammateanauthorcouldaskfor.AtJanklow&Nesbit,ClareMaoandNatalieEdwardsmadethisprocesssoseamless.
Thisbookwasbornofmylifelongloveofgymnastics.Iwillforeverbeawestruckbyathletes,includingShannonMiller,CarlyPatterson,NastiaLiukin,ShawnJohnson,AliciaSacramone,GabbyDouglas,McKaylaMaroney,SimoneBiles,andmore.Mostimportant,thankyoutomyownhometownheroAlyRaisman,whoseworkethic,talent,andbraveryhasbeenasourceofinspirationtomesincechildhood
I’mthankfulforthesupportofallmycolleaguesatEliteDailyandBustleDigitalGroup,includingKylieMcConville,VeronicaLopez,ImanHariri-Kia,EmmaRosenblum,andBryanGoldberg.IalwaysfeelfortunatethatIdon’thavetochoosebetweenmyworkasaneditorandasanauthor.
Myfriendsweretheultimatecheerleadingsquad.Theygavemeplentyofpositivityduringtoughwritingdaysandcelebratedwithmeeverystepoftheway!ManythankstoAnnieKehoe,MorganBoyer,RoshanBerentes,KelseyMulvey,ElyssaGoodman,AlexiaLaFata,DaynaTroisi,EmilyRaleigh,EmmaAlbert-Stone,andDevonAlbert-Stone.
ThankstoJerryandEleanorHart;Karen,Bob,andJakeSykes;Bruce,Heather,Xander,Nathan,andZoeOrenstein;andJamie,Karin,Dani,andRosieOrensteinforalltheirlove.
ToproperlythankMom,Dad,andJulia,IhavetoborrowmyfavoritewordfromYiddish:whenIthinkabouthowfullythey’vesupportedmewithencouragement,enthusiasm,andsomuchlove,I’mverklempt(thatroughlytranslatesto“overcomewithemotion”).Ican’timagineabetterfamilyintheworld.
MorefromtheAuthor
LoveatFirstLike
PlayingwithMatches
?ABOUTTHEAUTHOR?
HANNAHORENSTEINistheauthorofPlayingwithMatchesandLoveatFirstLike,andistheseniordatingeditoratEliteDaily.Previously,shewasawriterandeditoratSeventeen.com.ShelivesinNewYork.
SimonandSchuster.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Hannah-Orenstein
@AtriaBooks@AtriaBooks@AtriaBooks
AlsobyHannahOrenstein
LoveatFirstLike
PlayingwithMatches
WehopeyouenjoyedreadingthisSimon&Schusterebook.GetaFREEebookwhenyoujoinourmailinglist.Plus,getupdatesonnewreleases,deals,recommendedreads,andmorefromSimon&Schuster.Clickbelowtosignupandseetermsandconditions.CLICKHERETOSIGNUPAlreadyasubscriber?Provideyouremailagainsowecanregisterthisebookandsendyoumoreofwhatyouliketoread.Youwillcontinuetoreceiveexclusiveoffersinyourinbox.
AnImprintofSimon&Schuster,Inc.
1230AvenueoftheAmericas
NewYork,NY10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Anyreferencestohistoricalevents,realpeople,orrealplacesareusedfictitiously.Othernames,characters,places,andeventsareproductsoftheauthor’simagination,andanyresemblancetoactualeventsorplacesorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
Copyright?2020byHannahOrenstein
Allrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbookorportionsthereofinanyformwhatsoever.Forinformation,addressAtriaBooksSubsidiaryRightsDepartment,1230AvenueoftheAmericas,NewYork,NY10020.
FirstAtriaPaperbackeditionJune2020
andcolophonaretrademarksofSimon&Schuster,Inc.
Forinformationaboutspecialdiscountsforbulkpurchases,pleasecontactSimon&SchusterSpecialSalesat1-866-506-1949orbusiness@simonandschuster.com
TheSimon&SchusterSpeakersBureaucanbringauthorstoyourliveevent.Formoreinformationortobookanevent,contacttheSimon&SchusterSpeakersBureauat1-866-248-3049orvisitourwebsiteatwww.simonspeakers.com
InteriordesignbyErikaGenova
CoverdesignbyVikkiChu
Authorphotograph?SylvieRosokoff
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Orenstein,Hannah,author.
Title:Headoverheels/HannahOrenstein.
Description:FirstAtriaPaperbackedition.|NewYork:AtriaPaperback,2020.
Identifiers:LCCN2020005035(print)|LCCN2020005036(ebook)|ISBN9781982121471(paperback)|ISBN9781982121488(ebook)
Subjects:GSAFD:Lovestories.
Classification:LCCPS3615.R4645H432020(print)|LCCPS3615.R4645(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2020005035
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2020005036
ISBN978-1-9821-2147-1
ISBN978-1-9821-2148-8(ebook)
TableofContents
Dedication
Author’sNote
Part1.October2019
Chapter1Chapter2Chapter3
Part2.November2019
Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6
Part3.December2019
Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9
Part4.January2020
Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12
Part5.February2020
Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16Chapter17
Part6.March2020
Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20Chapter21Chapter22
Part7.April2020
Chapter23
Part8.May2020
Chapter24Chapter25Chapter26Chapter27Chapter28
Part9.June2020
Chapter29Chapter30Chapter31Chapter32
Part10.July2020
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
Copyright
© Copyright Notice
The copyright of the article belongs to the author. Please do not reprint without permission.
THE END
No comments yet