I knock my fist against hers. “One more time.”
My floor routine can be beautiful, but it’s not difficult, not nearly as difficult as those of every other girl who will go up before me. That’s out of my control, though. The only thing in my control is what I do out there.
Ana-Maria Popescu is up, and she’s got the crowd clapping along to her music, a bouncy classical piece I don’t recognize. It almost sounds like it’s from a carnival or circus, and she plays up to the crowd with her dance and her fabulous tumbling. She bounces out of two of her passes, though, costing precious tenths, and she needs every tenth she can get.
I applaud with everyone else, but my focus immediately shifts to Dani, who is at her starting corner, waiting for Ana-Maria’s score to be posted so she can begin. She looks cool and calm, but her heart has to be going a hundred miles an hour. She could clinch an all-around gold medal with this routine if she does what she’s capable of here.
After everything she’s been through, it all comes down to this routine for her, and there is something perfect about that. She suffered Gibby’s abuse alone. Standing up on that podium, waiting to begin, she’s still on her own. That’s the nature of our sport. For all that we make of the team concept and support from our coaches, when it all comes down to it, we have to compete alone. Dani’s strong, though. I believe she can do this. I know she can.
TheGreatest Showmanmedley pours out from the arena’s sound system, and the crowd is immediately into it. They know what’s on the line here, and if they can, they’re going to cheer her straight to the top of the gold-medal podium. But maybe the moment is too big, because Dani takes a huge hop back and nearly out of bounds on her first pass. Her next pass is better with a small shuffle of her feet on landing, and now she’s halfway through and playing to the crowd with her bright smile and broad gestures. She’s settled into the routine because now she’s dancing through her required leaps and spins like she’s in total control, not a toe or finger out of place, not a stumble or a hesitation as she moves across the floor. It’s gorgeous.
“Come on, Dani! Finish it!” I shout, trying to get my voice to carry over the crowd, but I’m probably drowned out by the fierce cheering as she lands her final two passes, sticking the last one cold and raising her arms in triumph. She did it. She’s done, and if that doesn’t win gold, all of Tokyo might riot.
I run up to where she’s waiting for her score with Janet and Chelsea, hugging her from behind. She jumps in surprise, but then she turns and embraces me fully. Her body is shaking in my arms, and I can practically feel her relief seeping into my skin from hers.
I can’t really celebrate with her yet, though. I still have to compete.
A 14.3 is posted, not quite her best, but it definitely should be enough. She came into the rotation with a decent lead over both me and Kareva.
Irina moves onto the floor, and the fierce look in her eyes as she waits for her music to begin is enough to make me believe that she’s going to force the judges into giving her a chance at gold. I’m sure it’s going to be a great routine, but I don’t want to watch.
I need to focus on what I have to do, just one more time. One more chance to stun the crowd into an awed silence or make them shed a tear or two. I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. In and out, over and over again, the world around me fades entirely and I’m suspended, weightless in a sea of black, the meditative state I’d managed to perfect during those wild weeks in Coronado.
Kareva’s music ending and the crowd exploding in applause is the only thing that breaks my almost trancelike state, jolting me back to a world full of color and noise.
I move to an empty bit of floor away from the competition and close my eyes. The sound of Erika Sheludenko’s haunting ballet music tries to force its way in, but I push it back and replace it with my own. I keep warm, swinging my arms back and forth, lunging out with one leg and then the other. I’m going to need every ounce of energy left in me for this floor routine.
Next is Sun Luli’s “Ride of the Valkyries,” where through sheer force of will she manages to transform herself from a sweet teenager into a fierce warrior, but still, I push it aside. More deep breathing, and I start to walk around, keeping my routine in my head, my tumbling, the dance sequences, the leaps and turns all blending seamlessly into one expression of artistry for the judges.
The music comes to a crashing halt, and I open my eyes. She salutes and waves to the cheering crowd.
One floor routine. My last floor routine.
I march up to the podium before her score is even posted. I don’t want to see it, and I won’t be able to from where I am, beside the carpeted springs that will help me determine my fate.
The crowd applauds whatever number the judges give her, but I look straight ahead until the red light switches to green.
My arms open wide as I move out onto the floor and settle into my starting pose. A soft tone warns me that my music is about to start before the twangs of a cello plucking out a rhythm lead me into another universe, one where I don’t have to talk. I can let the music play and use my body to tell everyone exactly what I’m feeling. To dance like I did yesterday with Leo, letting the world melt away and creating our own little universe where we’re the only ones that matter.
My two and a half to full is perfect, and I push up into arabesque to show the judges exactly how much control I have before moving on to another corner with an Arabian double front, leaping up out of my landing and dancing across the floor. Maybe there’s a twinge in my back as I hit my third pass, but who cares? This is the last time I’ll do this, and somehow that makes the routine even better, the subtle reminder that one day soon the cortisone will wear off entirely and all of this will be nothing more than a memory, but damn if it won’t be a beautiful one.
The music has almost run out, and the crescendo is building as I stare across the floor for my last pass, a simple double back. One breath and then two, and I run into a roundoff, back handspring, launching myself into the air, flipping backward twice, bent at the hips, but my legs tucked, and I land with the smallest shuffle of my feet, almost identical to how I finished my routine yesterday. Funny how fate works sometimes.
The music fades, and I end with a flourish, reaching up into my ending pose. My chest is heaving with the exertion, but I barely feel it. That was the best I’ve ever done. The best I’ll ever do. And it was perfect, not because I didn’t make any mistakes—I’m sure I did—but because of what it took to get here, all the pain and suffering, all the angst and worry, every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears for the last fourteen years, and it all came down to this, andthatis what makes it perfect.
I salute the judges, but also the crowd that carried me through it, and taste the tears sliding over my cheeks onto my lips. Dani’s right there, and I launch myself at her.
“That was beautiful,” she whispers into my shoulder. She’s crying too. There’s so much crying. No one ever told me it would be like this, that it would be this perfect. More perfect than I could ever imagine.
Now we wait, beneath that scoreboard again, clutching each other’s hands, as I try to catch my breath. The standings will reset themselves into medal order a moment after my score comes up. We’ll know immediately. I hold my breath. This is it.
chapter twenty-two
