“No,” she says and yanks her suitcase off the luggage rack in the corner of the room, tossing it on her bed and throwing her clothes into it. “C’mon. We have to pack. Pauline said we have to leave for the airport in less than an hour.”
“Em, seriously? I know stuff never bothers you, but how are you not freaked out by this?”
She sighs heavily and plops down on the bed beside me. “Iamfreaked out by it, but I don’t want to think about it. Like, I know it sounds selfish, but I can’t focus on Dani because the Olympics are nearly here and I’m supposed to—I’m supposed to win everything, and if I don’t focus on that, I can’t …”
And there it is. The moment when making the team isn’t enough. It’s the truth, though. We’re not going to the Olympics for the experience. We’re going to win. Her shoulders are drawn up near her ears, and her eyes are faraway. She’s getting in her own head, and that can be a scary place, so I crack a joke to break the tension.
“I mean, you cantryto win bars, but we both know how that’s going to turn out.”
Emma snorts. “Sorry, you’re going to have to settle for silver there, Rey.”
“We’ll see.”
I check my phone again. Dani still hasn’t responded.
“If I got kicked off the Olympic team, I don’t think I’d be answering my texts,” Emma says, rolling over on her side and propping herself up on her elbow.
“You’re not even curious?”
“What are you going to say if she answers?”
“I …” I trail off. I have absolutely no idea.
“Exactly,” Emma says when my silence stretches out long enough. She sighs and reaches down to grab my hand. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we should think about all of this after the Olympics. Preferably on a beach somewhere with cabana boys who bring us drinks with umbrellas and the only gymnastics we worry about is whether or not you’ll be doing any with Leo Adams back at the hotel.”
“Oh my God,” I protest, grabbing one of the pillows and thwacking her right in the stomach. “You’re seriously deluded. I just met him.”
“We’ve known him for years.”
“That’s not really … I mean, liking posts isn’tknowingsomeone,” I protest. It might feel like it is, but it’s really not.
The words are barely out of my mouth when my phone blings.
It’s a message from Leo—a picture of him, his green eyes still a little bleary from a long night of travel. I grin and quickly snap a shot of myself, crinkling up my nose and making a funny expression.
“Is that him?” Emma asks. “Twice in one day! Take a picture and tell him I’m stealing you from him.” She mashes her mouth against my temple in the worst fake-romantic moment ever. I follow her instructions and send it, which results in a bunch of laughing emojis.
“It sucks he had to leave last night. Not that you would have had time to hang out with him today, though.” She flops back onto the bed with a sigh. “God, I won Olympic trials yesterday, and you totally managed to top it.” She’s laughing, but there’s a note of honesty in her voice. It’s an odd feeling. I’m not sure if in all the time I’ve known her, Emma has ever been jealous of me.
“I promise you, cute boys absolutely do not top winning trials, and we’ll find you a super-hot guy on that beach we’re gonna go to after Tokyo.”
“We better. I am never, ever going to look as good as I do right now. We are physical specimens, and we need to take advantage of it before we eat ourselves into oblivion postgymnastics.”
A knock sounds at the door. “Ladies, are you all packed? Our car will be here soon!” Pauline calls from the hallway.
Together, we leap from the bed and stare at each other in panic. Then, as one, we start tossing the weeks’ worth of clothes into our bags, not even bothering to check what belongs to who. We’ll figure it out when we get home. One week of training back in New York, then it’s off to NGC training camp, and from there, on to Tokyo and the Olympic Games.
chapter five
Sweat runs down my back in rivulets, and my chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. My lungs are screaming for air, and my back is throbbing. I grit my teeth and twist around, stretching the tight muscles as much as possible, trying to free up my range of motion. I had physical therapy this morning. Now, just a few hours of pounding later, the pain is back.
At least training is almost over.
The balloons and streamers from this morning’s send-off party are still hanging up in the corner of the gym. One balloon escaped from its bunch and is bouncing up in the rafters of the hangar-size building that I’ve trained in since I was four years old.
