The only people on the bus, besides our NGC security guard, are the gymnasts going to Tokyo. Sarah and Brooke are in the first row. It’s fitting that they’re kind of removed from the rest of us. Their qualifications process was totally separate from ours, and they’re not even going to train with us in the lead-up to Tokyo. After we all fly out of San Jose tomorrow, we won’t see them again until we hit the Olympic Village.
I’d thought about it, briefly—competing all around the world against other individual gymnasts to earn my own spot for the Olympics instead of letting Gibby decide whether or not I would make the team, but my injury made that option impossible. Plus, Gibby wasn’t exactly thrilled when Sarah and Brooke decided to go that route, and alienating the head of the NGC wasn’t high on my list of priorities the year before the Olympics.
“We don’t have to get dressed up for this, do we?” Emma asks, picking at the velvet fabric of her tracksuit pants.
“Doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Sierra shoots back. “Thanks to Audrey, we’re already late to the party.”
“Not enough time to change,” Jaime says from beside her.
“It doesn’t matter,” Chelsea says in that way she has that makes it sound like her word is the final word on something. “It’s just family, the NGC, and maybe some sponsors, and they’ll all love the fresh-from-competition look.”
“Will Leo Adams?” Emma teases quietly, but not quietly enough. The rest of the girls definitely hear her.
“I have no idea.”
The really honest answer is that I hadn’t even thought about him since Gibby had walked into the locker room and read off our names. Leo Adams is cute and all, but going to the Olympics definitely trumps a cute boy.
Jaime pops her head out from behind Sierra, her shiny blond curls rapidly escaping her attempt at a bun. “I bet he’ll be there. His mom got an award, and they’re from all the way down in Coronado. They’re definitely staying overnight.”
“It’ll be cool if he’s there, but I’m pretty sure hanging out with a boy the whole time won’t impress Gibby.”
Emma glares at me. “C’mon, Audrey. We made the team. You can relax for one night—barely a night. Just a few hours.”
I actually have to physically bite my tongue to keep from snapping back at her. The last thing I want to do is reveal what Gibby said to the entire group.
Something in my face must give away my annoyance, because her expression softens almost immediately. “I don’t mean, like, dance on the bar or anything. Try to have a good time. You’ve been a big ball of tension for months, and tonight you deserve to celebrate.”
“We all do,” I agree. Of course—wedeserveto celebrate.
“Right, and if you celebrate a little bit with a cute guy, where’s the harm?”
Sierra nods. “I mean, look at Chelsea. She’s got a boyfriend, and look how much her gymnastics has improved since the last Olympics.”
Emma sits back in her seat and rolls her eyes. Chelsea doesn’t even acknowledge the jab. Sierra’s such a little troll, and sometimes she’s funny, but she never seems to know where the line is.
The bus pulls to a stop in front of the hotel. There are crowds of people lined up behind barricades, and a ripple of excitement flows through the sea of bodies when they realize exactly who is on the bus. Emma slides out from her seat, and everyone else falls in behind her.
“You’re right, you know, about Gibby and not letting down your guard,” Dani says, her nose wrinkling. “Nothing is guaranteed. You got this far doing what worked for you.”
“Exactly.”
She nods in approval and leads me toward the front of the bus. Dani’s only a year older than me, and I’ve known her since we were little, but we’ve never been that close. In the last couple of years, she’s skyrocketed from the fringes of the elite ranks into a top contender.
The rest of the team is at the front of bus. “Ladies, unfortunately the crowds are way too big for us to manage, so I’m going to ask you to smile and wave to them and not stop for autographs or pictures. We need you to keep walking,” our security guard says.
“Got it,” Chelsea agrees for all of us, and he nods at her words.
“We’ll go on my signal,” he says, turning around to say something into his walkie-talkie.
“Girls, before we go out there, presents!” Chelsea says. Reaching into her bag, she pulls out seven little gift bags with two gymnasts flying through the air in the shape of Cs emblazoned on the front. It’s the logo from her personal cosmetics brand. I remember seeing an interview where she talked about how, as a Black woman, she wanted to create totally inclusive line with tons of shades and tones. New products always sell out within five minutes of release.
“Okay, let’s go,” the security guard says and waves us forward.
Chelsea hands a bag to each of us as we pass her on the way to the front of the bus. She won two Olympic golds at the age of sixteen, and since then she’s been in movies and music videos. She’s famous in a way that I’m pretty sure I never want for myself.
“Thanks.” I take my bag from her, and she smiles and pats me on the shoulder.
“No sweat, Rey.”
