Tumbling (14 page)

Camille dismounted her routine and tried not to hear the chant as it boomed back down on her. She tried to push it away from her brain.

Because she wasn't who they said she was. She wasn't Comeback Cammie. She hadn't come back. She'd made herself new.

If the fire in your eyes like Wilhelmina's was
what got you to the Olympics, then Camille wouldn't be so close to going. Someone with more fire would be able to beat her on vault. But that wasn't the way it was. Talent lit up your gymnastics regardless of fire.

It wasn't Camille's fault if she went to Rome and was miserable while Wilhelmina stayed home and was also miserable.

Camille halfheartedly saluted the judges and made her way to the stairs of the podium. A number, a score, rang through the stadium. And it wasn't hers. Camille froze on the podium stairs and turned toward the vault.

Because that was interesting.

There was nothing she could do to get herself out of this gymnast destiny, but maybe there was something someone else could do. Hope filled Camille's veins in a way it hadn't since the last trials four years ago.

Leigh Becker had changed the game.

WILHELMINA

Wilhelmina stood slack jawed and watched from one hundred feet away as Leigh celebrated with her coach. Leigh bounced on her perky toes, her perky ponytail swinging behind her head, her perky teeth practically glittering in the gym lights as she smiled that huge, huge smile.

Wilhelmina could almost hear the televisions in the homes of gymnastics fans everywhere. “And Leigh
Becker makes gymnastics history by landing the first triple twisting Yurchenko! Three full twists in the air! An entire half twist more than Camille Abrams! The first time it's been landed in competition.”

The applause in the stadium was deafening.

The end
. That's what the applause said to her.

Wilhelmina had done what she'd sworn she wouldn't. She'd peeked at the score. Before Leigh's vault, she had been in third place. Now she would certainly be shoved to fourth.

Fourth had been her goal, but now she was pretty sure Katja wouldn't take her if she was in fourth.

Also, the best Wilhelmina would be able to do was third on vault because Camille was always going to beat her and now Leigh would, too. Wilhelmina and her calculator had been banking on second for vault. She'd never seen Leigh do a vault that could come close to outscoring hers before. From the way Leigh was squealing and dancing on the sidelines, it was clear Leigh hadn't seen herself do one like that, either.

Leigh would climb ahead of Wilhelmina this rotation.

Wilhelmina knew Leigh didn't blow the entire vaulting competition out of the water just to slash her own personal dreams of Olympic glory. But it felt like an assault.

It seemed impossible that Leigh or Grace or Georgette or Camille or anyone could want this dream as badly as Wilhelmina did herself. She wanted it more than
anyone. And she had worked the hardest and for the longest. That was a fact. If effort and desire were what counted, Wilhelmina deserved this the most.

But Wilhelmina was being cast out of Olympic Village and into Alternate-ville. A land she didn't think she could stomach after years of seeing those five rings every time she closed her eyes.

Her parents and Davion and Kerry would never understand it, but she had made her decision: Wilhelmina was either competing in the Olympics, or she was done with gymnastics.

And if Camille was right, Katja would easily pick Maria or Annie or someone instead of her.

So, unless she managed to catch Grace or Georgette, she was done.
Thanks a lot, Leigh.

After five more routines, a lifetime of work might come to a close.

She almost wished she could be another kind of gymnast. The kind who would message Dylan Patrick something suggestive tonight to get under Grace's skin. The kind who would quote that most recent article about Leigh right to her face:
Pretty good for a linebacker.
She wished she could be the Camille kind of gymnast.

Kerry came up behind Wilhelmina.

“Camille said Katja doesn't like surprises,” Wilhelmina said. “Which means she's going to hate me.”

Kerry shook her head. “Katja loves winning. More than anything. You're going to help her get there.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

But Kerry was shaking her head. “Mina-Mina,” she said. She put a finger to her lips.

“I know,” Wilhelmina said. “I can only control me. I know, I know.” She felt like rolling her eyes. She was the gymnast kind of gymnast, and that was it.

“I've trained you well, huh?” Kerry said.

Shut up
, Wilhelmina felt like screaming. Why wouldn't Kerry just tell her once and for all if fourth place would put her on the team? Why wouldn't anyone tell her that? Why did she always have to remind Mina of her limits instead of making promises?

Kerry smiled. “Go get 'em.”

Wilhelmina walked away from her coach angry, but as soon as her feet hit the podium steps, she felt her blood slow. She'd be mad again in two minutes. For now she was focused.

Life was easiest when the eyes of a stadium were on her.

Wilhelmina spread the white chalk across her palms and the soles of her feet. She wondered why the chalk always had to be white. Organically, chalk was more of a tan or beige, but gymnastics chalk was always bleach white, standing out on her legs and streaking her arms in obvious ways that would go unnoticed on a milky gymnast like Leigh Becker.

That's what she was thinking about when she heard her name. Chalk. Stupid, trivial stuff. It was nice.

Her brain was similarly clear when the upbeat
drumming that preceded her floor music beat into the stadium.

Wilhelmina took two steps and swung each arm in a graceful arc, embracing the stands. She was inviting them to join her. She was ready for their eyes.

Then the keyboard and horns started in an instrumental Motown medley and Wilhelmina took a breath, bounced on her toes, and smiled.

She was off, running halfway from one corner of the mat to the opposite before launching into her first tumbling run. Her hands hit the ground for her roundoff and back handspring, then they didn't touch it again as her feet and legs propelled her body upside down four successive times in a double layout, double tuck.

The crowd went wild, and when she danced down the length of the square, she heard them begin to pulse with the music. They were clapping. All of them. It didn't matter what she was going to place on vault or where Grace and Leigh and Georgette were. It didn't matter who was ahead and who was the star and who was the Comeback Queen and who was the most famous. Right now, as Wilhelmina did a triple full twist, then dropped to the ground and pushed herself back up on her hands, the entire place was watching her. They were cheering for her. Their hearts were beating with hers, their hopes were flying with her as she soared in an Arabian double back at the end of her second tumbling run. She was the star.

Wilhelmina danced to the middle of the mat and
pointed both fingers to the top of the crowd as she spun in a triple full turn. Again, the cheers rained down on her.

She somersaulted into a handstand and cartwheeled out of it so that she landed in the corner. She did her dance positions, then paused momentarily before her final tumbling run. She was memorizing the moment. She was holding on to it. She had to. She needed these moments to get her though the rest of the meet. The unfair parts. The awful parts.

And then she flipped her way back across the floor, saluted the judges, and bathed in the applause.

I dare you not to love that surprise
, Wilhelmina said to Katja in her head. Kerry had to be right. Camille was just trying to scare her.

There was no way Katja wouldn't want that floor routine on her team.

LEIGH

Even though her body had been finished competing for more than twenty minutes, Leigh's heart still beat wildly in her rib cage as she stood next to Grace and smiled at the NBC Sports reporter who pointed a microphone at their mouths.

“So, you did the impossible,” the reporter said, smiling at Leigh. “You beat the Queen of the Vault, scoring higher than Camille Abrams on her signature event. How did that
feel?”

These questions were so stupid. How did that feel? It felt right. It felt like destiny.

It felt like relief. Because the vault had the highest point potential, her triple twisting Yurchenko more than made up for her screwups on beam and bars.

Beating her crush had been exactly what Leigh was thinking about as she stood on that vault runway. Proving to herself that she was the best by squashing the score of the girl who gave her electric jolts and goose bumps.

But, of course, she couldn't say any of that. She had to be sweet for the public.

“Camille is an amazing vaulter,” Leigh heard herself saying with a sheepish giggle. She hoped that Grace and the reporter didn't notice the way her cheeks turned pink just from saying Camille's name out loud. “Of course I didn't set out to beat her. I was just trying to do my best.”

“Well, you certainly did that.” The reporter smiled through too much sticky-looking hot-pink lipstick. “So, how did it feel?”

That stupid question again.

“Fun,” Leigh said. “The higher you jump, the more fun it is.” She laughed again.

Leigh felt all puffed up and powerful and, even though Grace was still winning (for now), she felt superior. But she was giggling shyly.

Apparently That Girl was also a liar.

“So, you two find yourself in pretty much the exact
same positions you were in after the first day of Nationals,” the reporter's raspy voice went on. “Leigh, will you be gunning for Grace tomorrow? Grace, what will you be doing to try to put some space between the two of you? Or would you both just be happy to make the team?”

“Oh, no,” Leigh heard herself continue to lie. “It doesn't really matter.”

She wanted to beat Grace. She wanted to beat everyone.

“Grace?” the reporter said. “It must be difficult to always be competing when you two are so close.”

Grace laughed one staccato
ha
that was so out of character, it made Leigh turn and pay attention to what she was saying. “Well, we're friends. But we aren't
close
-
close.
If you know what I mean. There's nothing . . . like, scandalous or anything going on here.
I'm
not like that.”

It was like a hammer hitting Leigh in the stomach.

Grace's face flinched into a nasty look and just as quickly it melted back into a sugary-sweet smile.

“We're best friends,” Leigh blurted. Although she didn't feel like they were at the moment.

She narrowed her eyes at Grace, trying to make them say,
What are you doing? Why would you try to destroy me right in the middle of the Olympic trials?

“Yes,” Grace said. “We're best friends . . . we're only
friends
. Nothing more.”

Leigh almost choked. It was like being stabbed in the back right in front of her face.

“Okay . . .” the reporter said slowly.

What had happened? Only a few minutes ago they were working together to trip up Monica. That whole plot had been Grace's idea and entirely for Leigh's benefit. Now, suddenly, Grace was trying to destroy Leigh?

“Well, you're on top now, Grace,” the reporter said, trying to get her bearings. “What's your strategy for tomorrow?”

Leigh barely listened as Grace muttered the standard things about hard work and focus and doing her best.

It was a crock. Grace didn't only try to do her best. She tried to keep every other gymnast down.

“Thanks so much, ladies. Best of luck tomorrow,” the reporter said, and the two of them waved identically perky waves at the camera.

As soon as it disappeared, Grace rolled her eyes at Leigh. “I hate those questions,” she said. “Especially the
how do you feel
question.”

She smiled.

Leigh's jaw dropped. “What was that?” she demanded.

“What?” Grace said, innocent.

“Why the hell would you say that? ‘We're not
close-close
,' ‘
I'm
not like that'?”

Grace shrugged, wide-eyed, smiling.

Leigh was going to slap her. If it weren't for the cameras still in the vicinity, her hand would be imprinted on Grace's face.

“What's wrong?” Grace said, too high, too nasally, too fake. “We
are
only friends, right?”

She started to walk away. Leigh reached out and caught Grace's wrist with her palm, spinning her too hard so that they would be face-to-face. “Explain,” she spat.

“We're only friends,” Grace said. “We aren't even best friends, I guess.”

“What?” Leigh asked. “Why?”

“You should have told me,” Grace said.

“I did tell you,” Leigh said. “You're like the only person I've ever told. And you just said it to that reporter—”

“Not that. God, no one cares about that, okay, Leigh?”

Leigh lowered her eyebrows. She told Grace everything. Everything except her crush on Camille. But there's no way Grace knew about that.

What was Grace talking about?

It was for only an instant that the best friends stood like that, staring and unseeing. Then a shadow fell across their tension. They looked up to see Ted standing above them, his hand on Monica's shoulder.

“Get your things,” he said. “You'll eat with Monica and me.”

Had her dad found the Dylan Patrick messages? Was Grace mad now, a whole day later, that Leigh had tried to have a little bit of fun?

It didn't make any sense. Leigh had sent that message to Dylan last night, last night before the trials even started, last night when they were . . . friends, when she was just . . . Leigh.