57.5
Two per country in the final, just two, and I’m one of them.
That dream was dead a long time ago, and now … now …
Dani’s beside me, her arms open, and I fall into them, letting her pull me in and hug me fiercely.
“I’m so proud of you,” she mumbles, and I pull away, shaking my head in total disbelief.
I look at the standings again, but they haven’t changed.
Then a weight settles into my gut.
Emma.
I spin in place, trying to find her, and there she is, sitting on one of the chairs, her head buried in her hands. Brooke is next to her, an arm around her shaking shoulders. Brooke gets it. She didn’t make her final either, but it’s different, way different. It’s so much worse.
Emma was expected to win this whole damn thing, and now she won’t even get a chance to compete.
But I will.
Dani and I turn and greet Chelsea, who finished up her second of two vaults, landing both easily and nabbing a spot in the vault final. Then she’s back down with us, and a light of understanding flickers in her eyes.
“Good job, Cap,” she says, holding out her fists.
I bump mine against hers, but that’s all. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, I resent it. I should be able to celebrate right now, but I can’t because Emma’s dream had to die for mine to find life again. It’s not like she won’t be able to compete in the team final and on bars, but still, it’s not the same.
Janet’s finally down from the podium, where she’d been shifting the springboard and mats with Sarah’s coach during the rotation. Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the congratulations there, even if she doesn’t say it out loud, but then she moves over to Emma, taking up Brooke’s place at her side, speaking to her so softly that we can’t hear.
“Now on vault for the United States of America, Sarah Pecoraro!”
She flies down the runway, bounding off the springboard, hands first, and she pops up and off, twisting. Her body is supposed to be fully straight, but instead she’s bent way too much at the hips, piking down into the mat. Her hands come out to the mat to catch her momentum, and even though she keeps herself from falling on her face, the deduction will be just as bad.
Her second vault is fine, a nicely executed double twisting Yurchenko, but it doesn’t matter. Sarah’s Olympics ended the moment she put her hands down.
We hug her tightly, but she moves away toward Brooke and Emma. They sit silently together once Janet stands up and comes over to us.
“Leave them be for now,” she whispers, and we nod.
The final Klaxon rings out, signaling the end of the subdivision, and we line up behind the volunteer carrying our sign. It’s like we’ve done all competition long, but it doesn’t feel the same—not even close.
We’re led straight from the competition floor through a lineup of reporters, but Mrs. Jackson meets us at the edge of the arena and shakes her head at the Olympic official waving us through toward the media.
“Audrey, Chelsea, and Dani only,” she says, and the official tries to protest, first in Japanese and then in English, but she just crosses her arms over her chest and then turns away.
“No, I can go,” Emma says, sniffling and then wiping impatiently at the tears.
Mrs. Jackson eyes her carefully. “Are you sure?”
“Of course,” she says, straightening her shoulders. I want to reach out and take her hand, pull her into a hug, something, but I’m probably the last person she wants to comfort her. I just took her spot in the all-around.
“Audrey, when did you realize you had a chance at the all-around?” the first reporter asks. I recognize her from back at trials. She’s the one who didn’t get my LL Cool J joke.
