Mrs. Jackson meets us down there, quickly handing us the USA’s official medal ceremony outfit. “I didn’t want to give these to you girls beforehand. I didn’t want to jinx anything,” she says, holding out a deep navy-blue jacket withUSAstamped across the back in white and matching blue bottoms and white sneakers to complete the look.
Apparently, Mrs. Jackson isn’t actually a robot and believes in things like superstition and jinxes. Who knew?
We quickly pull on the outfits, and then she stands back and smiles at us. “Ladies, you look fantastic, and I …” She hesitates, looking away for a moment, taking a deep breath—wow, not just superstitious, but emotional too? “I am so proud of both of you for everything you’ve gone through to end up here. Remarkable.”
She reaches out and hugs Dani, and I press my lips together, trying to hold back my own emotions. My makeup is probably already a wreck, and I don’t need to make it worse. Mrs. Jackson pulls away from Dani and hugs me next before stepping back and nodding at us.
“Now, I also thought you might need this,” she says, reaching down to the floor and holding out a small makeup kit.
I smile widely. “This is why you’re my favorite, Mrs. J. My absolute favorite.”
We sit cross-legged on the floor of the tunnel, and I do Dani’s makeup first. “Can you believe this?” she whispers as I take her by the chin and flick two perfect wings of eyeliner atop her eyelids.
“Of course I can.” It’s the truth, almost. “Well, I believe you won, but me? I’m not sure I’ll ever believe what just happened.”
Dani laughs a little, but then grows serious. “Do you think he saw?” she asks, but I don’t answer because she’s still talking. “I hope he saw. I hope he saw me winning without his sick, twisted ass on the floor. I hope he knows I did this despite him.”
“He knows.” I look her dead in the eye. “And he’s going to rot in a cell for the rest of his life, and you’re an Olympic gold medalist.”
Dani sniffs and squeezes my hand back. “I’m so happy we did this together. I’m so glad you were the one out there with me.”
Warmth pulses through my heart. It’s something I’ve never felt before with anyone except Emma. Real friendship, sisterhood, the kind of bond that will never break.
We both nod and then sit in comfortable silence as I finish up her makeup. There’s nothing left to be said about it. It almost feels like closure, the kind so many survivors rarely get, a complete and total triumph over their abuser. She won. He lost. The end.
I’m halfway through cleaning up my own makeup when I see Irina waiting with her coaches. I catch her eye and point at my liquid liner and then lift a shoulder in suggestion. It takes her a moment before she nods, and I can understand her hesitation. But then she says something to her coach, who looks stunned, and makes her way over to me. I hand her a cleanser wipe and finish my own face before turning to her.
“Like you,” she says and closes her eyes.
“No problem.”
And fifteen minutes later, we’re lining up and marching back out onto the floor with our faces free of tear tracks and that cat eye I’m quickly making our team signature perfectly applied. The three best gymnasts in the world, one Russian and two Americans, separated by less than a point on the scoreboard, but with far more in common than what divides us.
The walk to the floor is short, and the announcer introduces the members of the IOF that will be presenting us our medals. As soon as he announces their names, I forget them, because the announcer is calling our names now, and it’s surreal.
“The winner of the bronze medal, representing the Russian Federation, Irina Kareva!”
“The winner of the silver medal, representing the United States of America, Audrey Lee!”
“The winner of the gold medal and Olympic Champion, representing the United States of America, Daniela Olivero!”
It’s all such a blur of kisses to both cheeks and well wishes, the sweet scent of Japanese apple blossoms from the flowers they hand us before the satisfying weight of the silver medal is around my neck. I pick it up, the round silver disc that declares me an Olympic medalist. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please stand for the national anthem of the United States of America!”
I turn to the end of the arena, where our flags are being secured, and put my hand over my heart. I’ve never been an especially patriotic person, but my entire body starts to tingle and break out in gooseflesh when the orchestral version of “The Star-Spangled Banner” starts to play. I’m fighting tears—and the destruction of the work of art that is my eye makeup—when Dani’s free hand rests on my shoulder from the gold medal platform, squeezing lightly.
We’re here together. We won together, and that’s forever.
The pace of the Games is unrelenting. Less than twelve hours after the all-around, we’re back in the warm-up gym at the arena. It’s the first day of event finals—vault and uneven bars. Dani is running through some conditioning since she doesn’t compete today at all. She’ll head up to the stands to watch us compete just like Emma did yesterday.
Tomorrow is the last day of the women’s competition: beam and floor.
For me, it’s bars today, beam tomorrow, and that’s it. My Olympics will be over, and I’ll have to … do something else with my life, I guess. I’m still not really sure if I’m ready to deal with that. In fact, I know I’m not.
I push it to the side as I start to stretch out. The bars final isn’t until after vault, but the other seven finalists are here too. If you look at our qualifications scores, we’re all within a few tenths of one another. We’re in for a great competition, and it’s going to be a close one.
My phone blings to life on the mat beside me, and I grimace, ignoring it.
