“We need a coach,” Chelsea finishes for me, stepping up to my other side.
Coach Dorsey-Adams looks between us and then beyond at Emma, Sierra, and Jaime, who’ve been silent until now. “And what about you three? Do you need a coach too?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sierra and Jaime say together. The urge to roll my eyes loses out against the fear of making a bad impression, but it was a close race.
“Please,” Emma finishes for them, an urgency in her voice I’m not sure I’ve ever heard before.
“Hmm,” she says, seemingly unimpressed with our efforts. “Tamara, come inside and let’s talk.”
They disappear into the building. What the hell? Mrs. Jackson already asked her to coach us and she said no. How is this happening? How are we even here right now instead of back at the training center competing?
“Hey,” Leo says, reaching for my hand and then catching himself, leaning back a bit. “Are you okay? I heard about Gibson and … I know you said you were okay, but …”
I rock back on my heels and fold my arms over my chest, not sure what to do with my hands. “Yeah, I’m fine. At least, I think I am.”
He rubs anxiously at the back of his neck with his free hand. “I … I’m really sorry about … everything, and I can’t believe you’re here right now.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I agree, but bite my lip and then look away. This is so surreal that he’s here in front of me, and I want to, I don’t know, hug him or something, but instead my feet are rooted to the pavement.
“I still don’t get why we have to be here,” Sierra says under her breath. “We don’t even know what happened.”
Apparently, she’s still on that crusade to prove Gibby’s innocence or at least Dani’s guilt, like that even matters anymore. Gibby’s gone. Our coaches are gone. All we have left is one another.
Leo ignores her. “Listen, I don’t know how much luck that lady is going to have with my mom. I’m gonna go see if I can help.” He turns to leave but hesitates. He leans in, his hand gently cupping my elbow, and whispers, “I’m really glad you’re here.”
A shiver passes through me, but I try to play it cool.
“Me too,” I say with a small smile, and I feel the tension slide away as he grins back.
With that, he jogs to the gym, propping his surfboard against the wall before disappearing through the doors.
“Well, thank God Leo has a thing for Audrey. We might actually have a place to train,” Sierra says, and her voice feels like a foghorn, breaking the small trance Leo put me in with his smile.
“God, do youeverstop?” I bite back at her, but mostly because the words hit their mark.
Sierra whirls on me, but Emma cuts her off. “We’re screwed anyway. Janet Dorsey-Adams has never even coached an elite. She’s not going to be able to help us.”
“She’s an Olympic medalist, a coach, and a sports psychologist,” Chelsea points out. “And yeah, she doesn’t have any elite gymnasts, but can you think of an elite coach whose head wasn’t shoved up Gibby’s ass to the shoulders? Even Sarah’s and Brooke’s coaches worked closely with him during their individual qualifying process. The USOF isn’t going to let us train with anyone remotely associated with him.”
Red blossoms over Sierra’s cheeks and she spits, “Then we should be allowed the choice to work withourcoaches, no matter what they did. It’s ridiculous that weeks before the Olympics, the people we’ve trained with our entire lives aren’t allowed to help us. We need our coaches. I don’t care what happened with Gibby and Dani. I don’t give one shit. It’s not about that.”
That’s definitely a lie. She definitely cares, but I don’t think it has anything to do with our coaches. She’s scared that Dani is going to come back and take her spot. Dani deserves to be here with us, that is … if we’re even staying.
It’s more than twenty minutes later before Mrs. Jackson walks out of the gym, replacing her sunglasses over her eyes.
“Okay, ladies, back in the van.”
“So, did she say yes?” I ask, climbing in behind Emma.
“She’s thinking about it,” she says with a tight smile from the front seat. “Either way, you all need a place to rest up, so the USOF has rented a house nearby.”
“I feel like I’m on one of those home-decorating shows or something. This place is amazing,” Chelsea says, and a smile blooms on Mrs. Jackson’s face. At least someone is happy right now.
The house is gorgeous—that’s totally undeniable. It’s right on the San Diego Bay. The three-story building is a warm sand color with a red Spanish tile roof. Inside, it’s totally California chic, with gigantic windows overlooking the water and lots of whites and blues in the decor. There’s a massive outdoor deck with lounge chairs and a dock with kayaks and Jet Skis for guests who don’t have to train for the Olympics.
“C’mon,” Emma says as we drag out suitcases up the stairway set off to the side of the large open living space with vaulted ceilings. The luggage clangs against the open metal stairs as we climb, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
What are we going to do if Leo’s mom decides against coaching us?
