Thwap!
“Ugh.”
The groan spills out from Jaime as she rolls over on the vault mats, her face twisted in pain after landing flat on her back. “I’m okay,” she manages to say as she gingerly gets to her feet and shakes out her limbs, proving it to us and maybe herself too.
“This is ridiculous,” Chelsea says, joining us at the bowl. “Someone is going to get hurt, like seriously hurt. How the hell are we supposed to focus?”
She’s got her phone out, and my vision flies wildly around the gym, hoping that none of the NGC staff notices. “Are you crazy?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“Gibby’s not here to tell me to put my phone away. None of these people are actually in charge, and they’ve told us literally nothing about what’s going on, so I don’t see why we …” she says as she continues to scroll. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Emma and I ask together, moving to her shoulders to look at the screen.
BREAKING: US GYMNASTICS COACH FALSIFIED DRUG TEST RESULTS
Flicking away from the article before we can read beyond the headline, Chelsea immediately opens a text message. Dani’s name is at the top, along with a bunch of unanswered texts Chelsea sent over the last week. She taps out a message at lightning speed and clicks send.
Did he mess with your drug test?!
I inhale, holding my breath when those three dots appear.
…
…
…
And then finally …
Yes.
I breathe out.
“I knew Dani wouldn’t cheat. That asshole set her up,” Chelsea bites out.
“That can’t be true,” Emma whispers to me. “Why would he do that?”
I pull up the article on my own phone, and it goes through the timeline pretty quickly: that Dani’s “failed” test was from just before trials and the reporting agency had her results listed as negative, totally fine. So Gibby messed with the results.
Was that enough to get arrested by the FBI? Lying about a drug test? Sure, it’s shitty, but a crime? I don’t know. Fraud maybe? But that still leaves the question, why would Gibby do that? Dani wasn’t doping. That definitely makes sense. But Gibby messing with the results? What would kicking his second-best gymnast off the team just weeks before the Olympics accomplish?
“Audrey!” Pauline’s voice carries through the cavernous space. My head jerks up.
“I guess it’s my turn.” I unstrap my grips, trying to keep my hands from shaking when I release them into the chalk bowl.
I hadn’t thought we’d ever have to talk with anyone official about Dani’s doping—or, I guess, not doping? What the hell am I supposed to tell these people? I don’t know anything.
Pauline shoots me a tight smile when I meet her at the door and reaches for my shoulder, probably to give it an encouraging squeeze, but she stops halfway and then leads me into the room.
“Audrey Lee?” the suited man asks, offering me his hand to shake. My handshake is firm, like my dad taught me, so firm a layer of chalk slides from my hand to his.
“Shit!” I cringe. “Oh, wait, sorry, I …”
Cursing in front of the Feds. That’s a great jumping-off point for an interrogation, Audrey.
The agent chuckles and then shakes his head before using the pocket square in his suit jacket to wipe off his hands. “We’ve heard worse, I promise. I’m Special Agent Greg Farley, and this is my partner, Special Agent Michelle Kingston.” I shake her hand as well. “We’re from the FBI. If you don’t mind, we have a few questions for you.”
The conference room is one of the few private spots at the training center, no glass walls for everyone to see through, just drywall and paint, lined with photographs of Gibby and the gymnasts who’ve trained here over the years. I’m on that wall multiple times, pictures chronicling my career better than even my mom had with her newspaper clippings and memory books. My first developmental camp awards ceremony, where I won physical abilities testing, all the way through when I was named to the world championship team two years ago. Every junior and senior national team I’ve been on since I was twelve is up there, and so are the podiums at worlds, for the team and for my uneven bars medals.
