“Don’t look at it,” Emma says, settling beside me, stretching her legs out in front of her, pointing and flexing her toes over and over again.
“I’m not,” I assure her, and it’s the truth. At least, I stopped looking after the first few notifications. Apparently, there are some people out there who think that Dani’s gold and my silver aren’t legit because Emma didn’t get to compete against us. Yeah, the twoper-country rule sucks immensely, but the trolls have made it about anything and everything other than gymnastics, from a conspiracy of political correctness focusing on Emma’s skin color versus mine and Dani’s, to the Russians bribing the judges into eliminating Emma, giving Kareva a clear path to gold, only to have it backfire in competition. “Have you?”
“Yeah, it’s bullshit, all of it,” she says, “and I told them so.”
“What?”
We haven’t exactly talked about it, the fact that I got to compete for the medal she was expected to win.
“I posted that I didn’t belong in the all-around final and that everyone should stop giving you shit. I choked when it mattered, twice, and that’s that.”
“You didn’t choke, Em; you were dealing with a major trauma.”
“I’m going to talk to the FBI,” she says, basically ignoring what I just said. “After I talked to Dani, I thought about it, and I’m ready to tell them what happened to me. Mrs. Jackson is going to set up an interview after we get home.”
“If you feel like you’re ready.”
“I am,” she says simply.
This is the Emma I remember, cool and calculating, never letting anything rattle her. The mental strength it must have taken to get her mind to this point is totally beyond me.
“Em?”
“Yeah?” she asks, looking up from bending over her knees, her hands pulling at the arches of her feet.
I want to say something profound, something that lets her know just how glad I am she’s my best friend, and that we’ve come through this together, but that might make us cry, and we don’t have time for that right now. We have to compete soon and kick the rest of the world’s ass on uneven bars.
“I’m really psyched that you’ll be out there with me when I win bars.”
She snorts and lets it turn into a chuckle, but doesn’t say anything, just shakes her head and keeps stretching.
This is good—better than good, it’s normal.
Emma stands up, shaking out her limbs, and jogs away. I’ll join her in a minute. It takes me a little longer to stretch out.
“Nice, Chels,” Janet calls from over by the vault, where Chelsea and the girls who will compete in a few minutes are warming up.
Mrs. Jackson has totally embraced athletic chic while at the Games: a new tracksuit each day and matching sneakers.
“Audrey,” she says, “good luck out there today. I know you’ll make us proud.”
“Thanks, Mrs. J.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, have you thought about what comes next? Janet informed me of your unfortunate situation regarding your injuries, and since you can’t compete in the NCAA …” She trails off.
“There’s been some sponsorship interest, but honestly, I haven’t had time to talk about the details with my parents.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve been trending worldwide since qualifications. Sponsorships are wonderful, but not what I’m talking about.”
I tilt my head in confusion. “Then what?”
“I’ve watched you these last weeks. You’re a natural leader, quick on your feet, hardworking—”
“Mrs. J—” I try to cut her off.
“Modest,” she jokes, with a knowing grin. “You’re the first Korean American to win an all-around medal in the history of these Games.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
