I look to the judges who are scribbling furiously on their score sheets, but wrinkle my nose when Galina’s score comes up. A 14.8, the same as Dani, when Dani’s vault was so much better.
Okay, so it’s going to be one of those days, then. Fine. We’ll just be so good that they can’t take it away.
“Come on, Em!” I yell up to her, clapping my hands together fiercely to keep from going over and slapping a judge or two. “You got this!”
“Crush it, Emma!” Dani yells.
It’s her first competition routine since she didn’t make the all-around, and I know how badly she wants to do well.
The green light flashes, and Emma takes a deep breath, before sprinting down to the vault, roundoff, back handspring, one … two … and a half twists with … whoa, a really big hop forward and then another lunging step and then a smaller one. Totally overcooked, but I get it. After Dani’s vault, her adrenaline was probably pumping. It’s just, those were really big steps.
I still hug her, but she pulls back, biting her lip, and shakes her head. “Damn it,” she mutters.
“We’ll get it back on bars.”
She nods fiercely, almost like she’s trying to convince herself of it.
A 14.3 lights up the scoreboard. It could have been worse, and it’s still not as bad as if I’d gone up to vault in her place.
Sitting down, I grab my tape and grip bag, starting to get ready for bars, just as Irina Kareva goes up to the podium. She salutes, the same way I do, one arm up, one arm out. She’s going second, so I guess she’s not going to use her triple here in team finals, where a fall could cost the team a medal. That’s confirmed when she only twists two and a half times and then takes a small hop forward.
She comes down from the podium, high-fiving her teammates, and sits down just one chair away from me, digging into her own bag and emerging with her grips. She looks up, and our eyes meet for a second, and it’s kind of awkward. Do I smile? Congratulate her for a great vault? She’s our competition, but I’ve competed against her for years. We know each other even without reallyknowingeach other.
I open my mouth to saygood job, but it’s too late—her eyes are flying to the scoreboard over my shoulder.
A 14.9.
Chelsea is already up on the podium waiting for the green light.
“The final vault for the United States, 2016 Olympic all-around champion, Chelsea Cameron!”
The thundersticks are back, pounding in full force when they hear her name.
“You got it, Chels,” Dani calls out.
And she does. A nearly perfect two and a half twist with a stuck landing that makes me want to go over and steal the execution judges’ score sheets so they can’t deduct at all. It would have been impossible for them to see a flaw in Chelsea’s vault with the naked eye, it was that good. Except they’ve seen her vault a million times, and they know she tends to twist slightly off the table and that’ll incur at least a tenth of a point deduction, plus whatever other bullshit they think they see to get to the 15.1 that comes up beside Chelsea’s name.
Erika Sheludenko is Russia’s final vaulter.
“Davai! Davai!” the other Russian girls call to her as she pounds down the runway, a roundoff, back handspring off the vault, and then two and a half twists, flying higher and farther than everyone else and landing in a perfect stick. The crowd sucks in a collective breath of awe before it explodes.
Erika races down the stairs and into a sea of hugs from her teammates and coaches. I almost want to hug her myself. That was incredible.
The judges agree when they post a 15.3, and my stomach rolls.
We have to be behind.
My eyes zero in on the scoreboard.
1.Russian Federation
