“Maybe.”
Or maybe she’ll stay pissed and drag Jaime along with her like she always does and make the next few weeks miserable. Not that I’m going to say that out loud. Ever.
“Do you think she’ll tell us what actually happened?” I ask, nodding toward where Dani and Chelsea are sitting, their legs dangling into the water off the dock.
“I don’t want to know,” she says, and I glance back at her. I’m never going to ask Dani about it. If she wants to share, she will, but I can’t believe Emma’s not even the least bit curious. I guess that’s just how she is, though. Stuff never bothers her once she decides it’s not going to.
My headache from the morning is nearly gone. Was that really just this morning? Maybe all I needed was a little rest and some sun. Vitamin D can do wonders, or so I’m told.
I shield my eyes against the glare off the water when Chelsea and Dani stand and wander toward us, smiles on their faces. Dani looks exactly like I remember from Olympic trials. Not that I thought she’d look different, but it’s somehow weird that she looks the same? I don’t even know.
“Look who’s back,” Chelsea says, her gaze focused behind me.
Leo—this time with a shirt on, the addition not diminishing his good looks at all—is walking up the driveway. The plain white T-shirt sets off his brown skin in the sunshine of the afternoon.
I leap from the chair, singeing my bare feet a bit as I move from the wood planks of the dock onto the stone patio on the side of the house. Emma, Dani, and Chelsea are right behind me.
“So?” I ask, bouncing up on my toes impatiently when he reaches us.
“So, you’re in,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “She’s going to pawn off our junior girls to other gyms for a few weeks. You’ll have the facility all to yourselves.”
I shriek straight from the back of my throat and leap at him. His arms circle around me, and his chest vibrates against mine in a deep chuckle.
“Thank you so much. I don’t know what you said to her, but thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” he says, setting me down, but not letting go. There’s something in his eyes, though—something not quite right. I don’t know him well enough to be sure, but it looks like it could be regret.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, tilting my head in confusion.
He smiles, any trace of that odd emotion disappearing. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn down another hug.”
That I can do. Hugging him is nice, and it’s something I could definitely get used to.
I pull him close again, breathing in the scent of salt water and a hint of chalk from the gym we’ll be training in until we leave for Tokyo.
Maybe now,finally, our Olympic journey can begin.
chapter nine
Ihave to choke back a sob of joy when I swing up onto the bars the next morning, my grips and palms scraping lightly against the cylindrical fiberglass. Or it could be just the chalk dust getting caught in my throat. Either way, it feels amazing to actually be training.
Aside from the single routine we managed to get through yesterday before the world imploded again, I feel like I haven’t done gymnastics in months. My arms ache pleasantly as they hold my weight in a handstand on the high bar. I change my grips through a full pirouette, then release into my dismount, my body straight and tight while I spin into a triple twist.
“You know, when I saw you debut that move on TV, I actually started applauding from my couch,” Janet says from beside the landing mat. “Creative, difficult, and it stands out from the crowd. Plus, you twist like a top.”
I smile, rubbing the leather of my grips together and moving away from the uneven bars so Emma can swing up onto them.
“You’re a half a second late on that full, though, and it’s costing you at least a tenth.”
“I’ve had problems with it in the last couple of months. I’d rather be a split second late finishing the pirouette than not quite make it to the handstand and not connect it to the dismount, you know?”
“You’re capable of it doing it all, though. It was smart of your coach to give you that cover during the trials process, but despite it not feeling that way, we do have time to fine-tune some of the details between now and Tokyo. It’s costing you a tenth at least, and a tenth will mean the difference between silver and gold on the event,” she says as Emma dismounts with her double layout, sticking it cold. She wasn’t late on her pirouette. One-tenth.
“Got it.” I move away to chalk my hands. Digging into the bowl, I let my eyes wander the quiet gym. Normally, there must be dozens of kids around, Junior Olympic and recreation classes buzzing in and out all day long, but true to her word, Janet has sent her kids— almost all of whom are in their competitive off-season anyway—to other gyms so she can help us prepare for Tokyo.
It’s a nice facility, but not exactly state of the art. It’s way smaller than our gym at home and isn’t filled with banners proclaiming the club’s success. Instead, there are murals painted on the walls, brightly colored silhouettes of gymnasts leaping in the air, toes pointed, legs fully extended, perfect form. The far wall is like a garage door, and right now it’s open to let in the breeze off the ocean.
The six of us are paired off: Emma and me on bars, Chelsea and Dani on beam, and Jaime and Sierra on vault, both back to being alternates again. Once we finish our assignments, we’ll come together to work on floor. This is how it’s supposed to be. We might not be at the training center, and we might not have our own coaches, but when it’s all said and done, gymnastics is still gymnastics.
