“Mo-om,” I protest. It figures she’d want to talk about Leo and has no problem being awkward enough to do it in front of Dad.
“What? He seemed nice, didn’t he, Greg?”
“Lots of people seem nice,” he grumbles before picking up his coffee mug and hiding behind it, but I can tell he’s still sort of smiling.
“He is nice, but he also flew home last night with his mom, like, less than an hour after you met him.”
“Who is nice?” A new voice joins the conversation and I flinch. Gibby is beside our table, smiling down on us.
“Coach Gibson,” Dad says, reaching out to shake his hand. “Good morning.”
“Morning to you folks too. Audrey,” he says, nodding. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re all doing well and congratulate you again on what you’ve achieved as a family.”
“Thank you,” Mom says, grinning and looking to me.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I know Audrey has a lot more to offer than what we saw this weekend. But I don’t mean to interrupt. I’ll let you folks get back to your breakfast, and, Audrey, I’m truly excited to see you at training camp.”
And with that he’s gone. I force myself to take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. That wasn’t so bad.
“He’s excited you’re on the team,” Mom says, her smile spreading wide across her face.
“Yeah.” I don’t really want to share what he said last night about beam and needing more from me. My parents are happy and proud. I can deal with Gibby’s mind games on my own. “There’s still a lot of work to be done, though.”
“There is,” Dad agrees through a mouthful of eggs. “And speaking of, I got in touch with the airline this morning and had you, Emma, and Pauline moved to the red-eye tonight.”
“Thanks,” I say before taking a large bite of my breakfast. We didn’t want to assume anything when we booked our return flight from trials, so we figured the hassle of having to change our travel arrangements was better than jinxing my chances of making the team. I’m not superstitious exactly, but Olympic trials didn’t seem like the time to tempt fate.
I take another bite of the omelet and then a large sip from the orange juice. “I’ve gotta go, guys.” I lean over, kissing Dad on the cheek, then stand, stepping around the table, and give Mom a quick hug. “I’ll try to meet you in the lobby before you leave for the airport, okay?” I should have enough time between the team meeting and everything else to say goodbye. “Just in case, though, have a safe flight, and I’ll see you at home,” I say, giving Dad a big hug and then another one to Mom.
As I turn to leave, I look for Emma, but she’s already gone. Chelsea is getting up from her table as well. We naturally gravitate toward each other as we exit the restaurant and make our way to the conference room.
“It still hasn’t sunk in,” I whisper.
She smiles at me, almost the same way my mom did before. “Don’t try and force it. One day it’ll hit you that all of this is real.”
“And then I’ll have a nervous breakdown?” I ask, with a half laugh.
“Totally. I was walking down a street in LA with Ben”—that’s the boyfriend—“and I literally burst into tears. It was, like, six months after Rio.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Just started sobbing right there on the sidewalk. No idea where it came from, but it all hit me at once. For now, though, go with it. You’ve been to big competitions before. You went to worlds two years ago. Treat this like that, and then you can freak out about it all after!”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Oh, it’s not, but I’ve got your back from here on out. It can be tough for women of color in this sport. We’re held to a different standard sometimes. If anything weird happens, come to me. We’ll figure it out together.”
We’re at the door to the conference room. It’s the longest conversation I’ve ever had with her, I think. Over the last year, I’ve tried to pretend like I’m not super intimidated by her success, but I’m not sure I’ve pulled it off completely.
“Ladies, take a seat,” says the same NGC worker from last night who saved me from those reporters.
Emma is already there sitting beside Sierra and Jaime. When I slide into the seat next to her, she shoots me a tight smile. This is it. Our journey to Tokyo begins now.
Gibby steps up in front of us, and we instinctually straighten to attention, our backs pressing up against the chairs. We’ve all been spoken to before about letting our posture slip, and the last thing we need is to get reamed over casually slumped shoulders.
“Okay, I think that’s everyone,” he says, and the NGC worker shuts the conference-room door. Everyone is here—all the bigwigs, the board of directors, reps from our major sponsors, our coaches, everyone.
