5.Audrey Lee
115.4
6.Chelsea Cameron
110.5
Everyone finished as expected, though I’m a little surprised at how close it is between Emma and Dani. There are four spots on the Olympic team, and I’m in fifth, but all-around scores don’t matter as much as what Gibby wants. Let’s be real: his opinion is the only thing that matters.
Somehow in the midst of the chaos, I slip on the black tracksuit Emma and I wear. It has the New York skyline emblazoned on the back in silver glittering rhinestones andNYC GYMon the left lapel. Obnoxious, maybe, but gymnastics fashion is rarely subtle. The tears are really falling now. No matter what happens, this is the last time I’ll wear my NYC Gymnastics tracksuit. From here on out, it’ll be USA gear or nothing.
Stop it, Audrey. Enjoy the moment.
I try to channel Emma and push down the emotion. It only half works. Better than nothing, though. As I shoulder my bag, one of the workers I vaguely recognize as an NGC official is motioning for us to leave the floor. I shuffle in behind the rest of the girls, twelve of us about to be whittled down to four, plus two alternates.
Behind me, the announcer calls out to the crowd, “While we wait for the decision from the selection committee, please join us in honoring Olympic silver and bronze medalist Janet Dorsey-Adams, owner and head coach of Coronado Gymnastics and Dance, on her induction into the NGC Hall of Fame!”
The spotlight follows Janet up onto the floor, where there’s a trophy waiting for her. It’s pretty cool to be in the Hall of Fame; maybe in a few years I’ll be—
“Audrey, come on!” Emma’s voice interrupts my thoughts from farther down the hall than I thought she’d be.
I turn to catch up with her, but instead my eyes meet the chest of someone a lot taller than me. We nearly collide, my nose to his pec, before strong hands reach out, holding on to my upper arms lightly. In a quick leading step, we’re clear of each other and he releases me. I glance up and gasp in surprise. I know him.
Leo Adams, son of Janet Dorsey-Adams and world champion snowboarder. His mom used to drag him along to competitions when we were little. We follow each other online, but I haven’t actually seen him in person for years.
Wearing a sardonic grin and aTHIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKET-shirt, he’s tall compared to my five feet four inches, maybe six feet or a little more. He’s biracial—half Black, half white—and there’s a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.
“Hey, Leo.”
