Tomorrow morning? My heart rate launches itself into a full-fledged sprint. I was hoping he would give us a day or two to train under his eye before pitting us against one another.
It shouldn’t matter, not really, where you compete relative to your teammates, but tradition is that scores build as teams compete, so the first and second gymnasts on an event tend to bring in lower scores. I need to be in the top spot on bars and at least second to last on beam to make the impression I want in qualifications and secure spots in both event finals. So, while Emma’s one of my favorite people, the goal for the next few days is to come out ahead of her.
“Room assignments!” Gibby calls from behind us, making me jump. “Emma and Chelsea, you’re together. Jaime and Sierra, obviously, when they arrive. Hope you don’t mind a single, Audrey. You were originally supposed to bunk with Dani, but, well …” He raises his hands in a gesture of defeat, like he doesn’t have any choice but to make me room by myself, like every single thing between now and the Games isn’t his call. And like splitting up me and Emma isn’t totally on purpose, making sure we stay mentally strong without each other as roommates in the next few weeks.
Sorry, Emma mouths silently as we all head inside toward the back of the facility, where the dorms are located. The training center has been a near constant in my life. Emma and I made our first junior national team when we were twelve, and since then, every few months we’d trek across the country to show Gibby and the NGC staff our skills and upgrades. It’s like a second home, with Gibby serving as our overbearing father with a penchant for mind games and manipulation, passive-aggressively getting the most out of us as athletes, no matter the cost.
My name is on the door to one of the rooms, and I drag my luggage inside, lifting both suitcases onto the bed I decide not to take. Giggling and chattering plus the sound of suitcases banging against the walls of the narrow hallway float in, and my brain registers that Jaime and Sierra have arrived.
“Hey, Audrey!” they chorus together as they pass the door and move into the room across the hall.
“Hi!” I yell back. I’m actually glad I don’t have to deal with their double act right now. They can be exhausting, and I don’t have any mental energy to waste. All of my focus has to be on beam and bars so I can get the spots at the end of the rotation.
I have to get changed, and there’s a pile of official Team USA gear sitting on the dresser. On top is a training leo, dark blue and sleeveless with a sequined star on the chest packaged with a black Team USA T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. Tucked inside the package is a note that saysFIRSTPRACTICE.
Okay, then: black and blue it is, because dressing in bruise colors isn’t ominous at all. Visions of ice baths and cupping and heat packs swim in my mind’s eye. The next few weeks are going to be the most difficult of my life, but I’ve been preparing for more than a decade. I know what I need to do, and I’m going to do it.
I change quickly, stretching out my back as I go. The warm-ups we run through at camp are thorough, but not nearly as focused on my core as I need them to be.
A pounding on my door is quickly followed by Emma’s “Let’s go!” and a few seconds later I’m out in the hallway with the rest of them, headed straight for the main gym.
“We’re competing tomorrow?” Sierra whispers to Emma.
“Yep, nothing like getting tossed in the deep end, huh?” Chelsea jokes.
“For real,” I agree.
It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. I need to kick ass. I cantotally—
My thoughts are cut off when I literally run into Chelsea’s back. “What the hell?” I ask, but looking up I immediately see why she came to such a sudden stop.
FBI agents are swarming the atrium ahead of us. Cars with cherry lights spinning wildly sit parked beyond the large glass walls of the front entrance. Two agents emerge from the crowd with someone between them. I push up on my toes to try and see past Chelsea’s head, and my entire being freezes in shock.
Gibby’s eyes are wild, looking around for rescue, but the agents have him by both arms, secured with handcuffs. There’s no escape.
As they lead him to the door, one of the agents says, “Christopher Gibson, you’re under arrest.”
chapter seven
Gymnasts flipping on the beam and lining up at the vault, coaches off to the side chatting, music blaring through the speakers, the volume turned up so loud that the bass pulses through my chest with every beat. Anyone would think it was a normal day at the NGC Training Center.
Until they look outside.
The glass walls of the main training gym normally frame out a bustling LA street, cars and pedestrians racing through their day, unconcerned with the gymnasts flipping and flying inside.
Today, though, paparazzi crowd the sidewalk and news vans line the street, reporters huddling just outside the front door, waiting for someone, anyone, to come outside and comment.
But that’s not the really distracting part. That’s just the bullshit icing on the what-the-actual-fuck cake that this day has been.
What’s really holding my attention is what’s going on across the gym, beyond the metal beams in the rafters holding up banner after banner proclaiming success of the NGC and the USA gymnastics team, behind the closed door of the training center’s conference room. The same room Gibby and his staff used to determine our fates during national team and world championship selection camps. The same room where he would have chosen the order we’d compete in once we arrived in Tokyo.
The FBI is using that room to question everyone: NGC staff, personal coaches, and athletes alike. Pauline’s in there right now, which is the only reason why Emma and I are getting away with standing at the chalk bowl, pretending to get ready for bars.
“What do you think they’re asking her?” Emma whispers. “What do you think they’re going to ask us?”
With a shrug, I dig into the chalk, which will give me a decent grip on the bars when it’s my turn, because a bars routine is definitely the best thing to take my mind off the fact that our coach just got led away in handcuffs.
Bam!
