Sierra laughs, and the other girls giggle. “It’ll be fine. Look.”
And she’s right. I finally look at the message he wrote.
@Leo_Adams_Roars:Ran into @Rey_Lee, literally! It’s okay. She’s fine. That uneven bars gold is still ours! #NGCTrials
A knock interrupts, and together our eyes fly away from the screen. The distraction is over. Gibby and the rest of the selection committee are hovering at the door.
It’s time.
chapter two
Shallow, gasping breaths are all I can manage as we enter the arena in a line, arms raised, waving to the crowd. Their answering wall of noise is a humming buzz in the background. Not even a lifetime of dreaming has prepared me for this. My skin is tingling and numb at the same time.
Gibby is at the center of the floor, a spotlight shining on him in the otherwise dark arena. His hair is impeccable, his shoulders high, back straight, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen! It is my honor to announce to you the athletes selected to represent the United States of America at the Olympic Games in Tokyo, Japan. Along with our individual athletes, Sarah Pecoraro and Brooke Cohen, please join me in congratulating …
“… Chelsea Cameron …
“… Audrey Lee …
“… Daniela Olivero …
“… Emma Sadowsky …”
Gibby’s voice cuts in again. “Our alternates are Sierra Montgomery and Jaime Pederson.”
I burst into tears as soon Gibby announced our names in that locker room, and it’s only gotten worse since. My cheeks are raw from wiping the tears away. My throat is thick, and it’s impossible to get my breathing under control. For once, I don’t care. Being under control is totally overrated. At least, for now.
Emma is beside me as we move up the stairs that lead to the raised floor, the arena lights blinding us. She hasn’t broken yet. Not one tear or choking gasp, just the serenity appropriate for the best gymnast in the world. I clutch her hand tightly. Holding it keeps all of this real. If I let go, it might slip away into the ether. I’ll wake up from this elaborate, torturously perfect dream.
It’s everything I thought it would be and at the same time completely different from what I imagined. Not making the team would have been way more devastating than making the team makes me happy. It’s strange to know that about yourself, that you take your failures far more to heart than your achievements. It’s not exactly healthy, but it’s who I am.
A resoundingcrackmakes me jump as confetti explodes from somewhere above us and glittery bits of red, white, and blue paper tumble down from the ceiling, getting caught in our hair. For an awkward moment, one even lands in my mouth. There’s another round of laughing and hugging as it rains down on us. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever hugged so much in my entire life. It’s not my usual thing, but I could totally get used to it.
“Girls, huddle up!” Chelsea calls over the din. She’s been to the Olympics before and knows what this feels like, but all I want to do is soak in the moment. With my back, this is a one-time thing for me. Sierra’s arm slides around my shoulders as we all come together. What must it feel like for her and Jaime? Alternates. I’m not sure I’d feel much like celebrating if I were in their shoes.
Emma’s arm comes around my other shoulder and I’m in a circle with these girls, all eight of us, all together. Their names will be connected to mine forever, no matter what happens between now and the closing ceremonies.
“We’re a team now.” Chelsea says, having to shout. Even so, her voice doesn’t carry beyond our tight circle. “It’s us against the world, and we’re going to come out on top.”
I nod along with her words. We all do.
“Hands in,” Chelsea says. Looks like someone is making a play for the captaincy. I mean, it’s an easy choice. She’s the oldest and the most experienced gymnast. Chelsea puts her hand out, then Emma, then Jaime and Sierra, me and Dani, and finally Sarah and Brooke. “USA on three—one, two, three …”
“USA!” we shriek, raising our hands to the sky and then fanning out as one, turning and waving to the crowd. The lights have come up in the arena, and I think my parents are sitting a few rows behind the vault table.
Yep, that’s them, and I don’t even have the heart to be embarrassed by the way Mom is jumping up and down, waving frantically for my attention while Dad smiles and claps with the rest of the crowd.
I wave back but can’t go over to them, not unless I want to spring over the wall separating the competition area from the stands and give security apoplexy. I’ll see them in a bit.
But first we have interviews.
The NGC worker, whom we’ve followed like ducklings all weekend, corrals us down from the floor. Tissues are pushed into my hands as we move back into the tunnel toward the media area. There are stools waiting for us with our names plastered behind them.
Sliding onto the stool, I try my best to wipe away the tears without completely destroying my makeup, and a few reporters wander over to me. There are predictably massive crowds around Emma and Chelsea’s designated seats, but it’s cool to see that Dani Olivero has got a group as big as theirs plus all of the Spanish-speaking media. She’s Mexican American and speaks Spanish at home, so she can actually give those journalists a good quote. There are six empty stools on the other side of the room for the girls who didn’t make it. They’re still in the locker room. How close was it really? How close was I to being one of them, instead of sitting on this stupidly uncomfortable stool?
A few reporters clearly decided to talk to me first, waiting to interview our stars once the crowds thin a bit.
