The driver pulls the lever opening the bus door, and we’re hit with a wall of shrieks and camera flashes. I follow Dani down the stairs, just ahead of Chelsea. The lane the hotel created with metal barriers for us to walk through isn’t wide enough to keep the fans from reaching over and touching us as we walk by. The crowd surges against the barriers. I slap a few outreached hands and try to keep a smile on my face, but my blood is pumping hard, and the urge to flee is tingling down toward my toes as my body starts to overheat at the way the crowd closes in around us. I bend my shoulders in and duck my head, trying to stay as small as possible.
Once we’re in the hotel, it’s not much better. A lot of the fans are guests too, and the lobby is a total crush. I follow the security guard’s shiny bald head because he towers over almost everyone in the madness, and finally we reach an elevator that the guard needs a key card to activate. I assume that means we’re going somewhere the rest of these people can’t get to, and the relief that courses through me is way too real. I suddenly feel a ton of sympathy for every celebrity in the world. There are very few people who would recognize me walking down the street, and I’m more than happy to let Chelsea and Emma take up the spotlight. It seems like I’m the only one, though.
“That was incredible,” Sierra breathes out, and Jaime laughs, a huge grin plastered across her face.
Emma’s cheeks were flushed. “A total rush.”
“Insane,” Dani says, but her eyes are wide and joyful.
Chelsea smiles. “Get used to it, girls. Your lives just changed forever.”
I’m not really sure I believe her, but then the doors to the elevator open, and another crowd—this one made up of friends and family and sponsors and NGC and United States Olympic Federation officials and coaches and former Olympians—turns as one toward us in a large room, where the music is rocking and drinks are already flowing. For a moment it’s silent, and then a huge cheer erupts, along with thunderous applause.
Gibby slides forward out of the crowd, his usual tracksuit long gone, replaced by dress pants and a collared shirt. I’ve rarely seen him out of his official gym clothes, and the transformation is astounding. He looks so much less intimidating—almost normal, like someone’s dad. He smiles at us and then lifts his arms, and the crowd quiets. “Ladies and gentlemen, your United States Olympic gymnastics team!”
“Hear, hear!” someone shouts, but it’s impossible to see who it is in the blur of faces.
Raising his glass, Gibby says, “A toast to Emma, Chelsea, Dani, Audrey, Sarah, Brooke, Sierra, and Jaime!”
It feels weird standing there as the group of adults lift their glasses toward us, but then it’s over, the music rises in volume again, and we’re drawn into the party.
Emma nudges me with her sharp elbow. “Ow, what?” I ask, eyeing one of the trays of food being passed around. I’m pretty sure they’re serving pigs in a blanket, and while I follow a strict diet, those little appetizers are one of my weaknesses.
She nods in the opposite direction of where the waiter with the snacks disappeared into the crowd, and the stupid smile on her face tells me what I’m going to see before I even turn around. We’ve never not given each other crap for having a crush on a guy. Not that I’m saying I have a crush on Leo. I barely know Leo.
Her phone buzzes in her hand, and she glances at it quickly, but clicks off the screen just as fast. “Go,” she says. “Our parents are on the other side of the room. I’ll cover for you. Your hair looks great. Your eyeliner is flawless, as usual. You are anOlympian. Now go knock him off his feet or snowboard or whatever.”
I smile and raise a hand to my head in salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
When I turn around he’s only a few feet away, smiling that same grin he had back at the arena and holding a small plate with pigs in a blanket on it.
“Can I have one?” It’s probably not the smoothest opening, but whatever, I’m hungry.
“All yours,” he says, holding out the plate, and I take one, popping it into my mouth. It’s awesome. Delicious buttery goodness surrounding God only knows what goes into a hot dog. He’d even put some deli mustard on it. I might have to marry this boy.
“I love those,” I say after I’ve chewed and swallowed.
“Well, you’ve definitely earned it. God, it’s been forever, hasn’t it?”
“Years, maybe, like, four or five.”
“Clearly, you’ve made good use of your time since then,” he says, motioning around the room. “Olympic team on your first try—pretty impressive. I knew you’d make it, though.”
I laugh a little. “Yeah? That makes one of us. I was so nervous until he said my name. I’m still nervous, actually.”
“You don’t seem nervous.”
“Maybe I’m good at pretending, then, becausenervousdoesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling right now.”
His smile fades a bit, and suddenly he looks serious. “I get it. Your whole life leads up to this one moment, and then it finally happens—you run into a tall, dark stranger just like you always dreamed you would.”
And at that Ireallylaugh.
“Seriously, though, congratulations. You’re going to blow everyone’s mind in Tokyo. I know it.”
“Thanks. I just can’t believe it’s real, you know? After the surgery and all the work I did coming back.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” he says, biting his lower lip and looking a little sheepish as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Not to sound like a creeper, but I follow you, so, like, I saw the pictures and videos and stuff from after your surgery and then when I got hurt …” He trails off.
