“Wow,” Chelsea says, studying the group selfie we just posed for on her phone. “We look like we’re about to fuck up someone’s shit.”
“Chelsea!” Janet scolds immediately as she comes out of her room, but then she shrugs a little bit as she looks us all up and down. “She’s right. You all look incredible.”
Ifeelincredible.
Our white USA tracksuits over our black leos make the look almost chic, and with our team united, everything feels like it’s falling into place right when it needs to. We have to go out there and hit our routines, nothing more, nothing less. We’re the best gymnastics team in the world, the four of us together, and nothing can change that.
Snapping a selfie, I send the picture to Leo. After a minute, he responds with a level of prose I wouldn’t expect from a guy who chucks himself off snowy mountaintops for fun. I refuse to show it to anyone else. The amount of crap I would get for it would be unending.
We board one of the buses to the arena and settle into the back, waiting for another team to join us. The doors open, and it’s the girls from Team Canada.
“Oh my God,” Dani says, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.
Their whole team is also wearing teal eye makeup, and they’ve even added teal hair ties to keep their braids, ponytails, and buns in place.
“Wait, okay,” Katie Daugherty, one of the Canadian girls, says, holding out a hand, “don’t cry because then we’re going to cry, and we’ll all look totally wrecked when we get to the arena.”
“We saw that interview with that asshole, and we wanted to let you know we stand by you,” another girl, Tricia, says. “I think the Dutch and British girls are doing this too. The Japanese team actually has teal leos, so they’re going to wear them. Romania and China have ribbons for their hair, and Russia has armbands.”
“Russia too?” I ask, stunned. I’ve always had a healthy respect for the Russian team, but they’re our fiercest rivals. Having their support is incredible.
“Russia too,” she says, smiling. “Everyone.”
She’s right. Everyone in the warm-up gym has teal somewhere on their leos or in their hair, and when we drop our bags near the floor to start our warm-up routines, almost every single girl and coach comes over to offer us a word of support or a fist bump or a high five. Sun Luli—one of the top all-arounders from China and one of my major challengers for uneven bars gold—gives us all hugs, since the language barrier is way too steep to climb.
Even Irina Kareva and her Russian teammates raise their hands to wave to us from the other side of the gym, pointing out their teal armbands and giving us thumbs-ups.
“Crying is bad,” Dani says aloud, reminding us all that being leaky messes before we go out onto the competition floor is really not a good look.
“Not gonna lie,” I say, sitting down and beginning to stretch out. “This is way better than going to the opening ceremonies.”
“Totally,” Chelsea says.
Only Emma is quiet. “Em?” I ask, turning to her. I don’t want her to feel left out of any of this, especially after what happened yesterday.
“Yeah, definitely,” she says with a nod.
Our warm-up session is amazing. That well-oiled machine from Coronado is back and better than ever.
“Great job, ladies,” Janet says, clapping as Chelsea finishes off our practice floor rotation. “Let’s bring all of this into that arena. Get some water, get cleaned up, and check your bags to make sure you have everything. And above all, stay warm. We go in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes!” a tournament official yells in English and then Japanese, echoing Janet. “Line up, please.” He walks over to our team and gestures toward the exit, where the Japanese team has already lined up.
“Okay,” I say, taking my spot at the head of the line. “Let’s do this.”
The arena is packed. Thundersticks have been handed out to the crowd again, and they’re banging them together in sync. It’s when our line passes closer to the stands that I get a good look at the noisemakers and I realize they’re teal too.
Apparently, the whole world is with us, and I am definitely going to ruin my eyeliner before this competition starts.
“Do you see?” Chelsea says behind me, and I nod, reaching back for her hand. She grabs mine, and then I can feel her shift enough to know she’s reaching back for Dani, who then reaches back for Emma. We walk hand in hand to the vault and raise our arms together when we’re announced to the crowd to acknowledge their support as a cheer as big as the one they gave the Japanese team echoes through the arena.
Dani’s first, and the crowd goes insane as the announcer calls, “Now on vault from the United States of America, Daniela Olivero!” Their thundersticks crash together and drown out the sound of Dani’s feet pounding down the runway and off the springboard, but the result is clear. She lands and doesn’t move and somehow the arena gets even louder. That’s a great vault.
She runs down the stairs, pumping her fist at the crowd, and I nearly tackle her with a hug. A 14.8 pops up on the scoreboard, and the crowd actually hisses in response. I was expecting a fifteen, but Dani sometimes bends her knees before she lands; maybe that’s what the judges saw.
It doesn’t matter. It’s still a great score to build upon.
Russia’s up next, with Galina Kuznetsova, their weakest vaulter, but still a powerhouse with an Amanar. She lands on her feet but under-rotates slightly, having to hop forward and sideways, trying to make it look like she completed all two and a half twists.
