Tumbling (17 page)

Was this flirting?

“I'll prove it to you,” he said.

“Really?” she said. Was he in the hotel? It was exciting, but not allowed. She couldn't see him now. “How?” she asked.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I'm going to give you the biggest hug ever. I've never hugged an Olympian before.”

Wilhelmina sighed. “I might not be one, you know.”

“So?” he said. “You better be ready for it because I'm gonna hug you either way, Parker. I'll hug you like you've never been hugged before.”

Maybe there could be advantages to retiring . . .

When the door swung open again, Wilhelmina hit “cancel” without even saying good-bye. She wanted to keep that voice to herself.

The figure in the doorway was only little
Monica. She climbed up the side of the tub and sunk her own legs into the ice.

“Hi,” she said.

Good-bye, alone time.

Wilhelmina hated her instantly.

MONICA

Monica picked up a cube of ice and watched it melt slowly into her palm while avoiding the eyes of the superstar gymnast beside her. She had been hoping to get a minute alone. That was the reason she hadn't wrapped her ankles in ice packs and had instead come down to the ice room in the first place: to get away from Kristin for a little while.

Kristin hadn't known it would hurt, what she said. Or maybe she had. Well, it didn't matter. It did hurt.

I only look bad because you were beating me.

I only look bad because you, Monica, were beating me.

I only look bad because you, Monica, suck.

Monica wasn't the right kind of gymnast. She was the kind whose success only destroyed others—Kelly Moss, Kristin, Leigh almost—instead of counting for something on its own. So at least, in this cold, dark room, her company was someone consistently higher than her on the scoreboard.

Now I know
, she thought as she watched the ice turn into a puddle and drip off her palm. Why Kristin always roomed with her. Why Leigh changed from nice to mean so quickly. Being lowest on the scoreboard had been easier on her social life.

At least that's not me
, she thought.
At least when I was the one losing every meet, I was gracious to all of them. At least I'm not that ugly.

“So . . .” Monica said.

Wilhelmina scooted a bit farther from her. It stung in her heart.

Monica used to be Wilhelmina's biggest fan. But she was here now. She couldn't be a fan.

• • •

Five years ago, the National Championships had been held an hour outside of Monica's hometown, and two weeks after her birthday.

Monica had expected a gift on the breakfast table as usual that day, but instead she'd found only a card. Inside there were three tickets.

“Can you believe we get to go?” her mother had cooed. “Can you believe it's so close to home? I thought it was the perfect gift! Because one day you'll be there! One day little girls and their moms will be buying tickets to see you.
My
little girl.”

Monica's eyes were wide. “This is a real meet?” she'd squealed. “With real gymnasts? Ones who could be in the Olympics one day?”

Her mom's smile got a little sadder. “Well, I wanted you to be able to bring a friend. And it was sort of expensive. So I only got tickets to the juniors event. But still. They'll be the best fifteen-year-olds on the planet.”

Monica ran at her mother and smothered her in a hug. “One day it'll be you,” her mother whispered. “It will.”

Monica shrugged that part off. Even all of those years ago she didn't like the pressure her mom heaped on her to be better than Monica felt she was. At ten years old, she was already training forty hours a week. She was working on routines that would qualify her for elite status one day. She was hoping to make the national JO team the next year. She was gymnast through and through. But, even at ten years old, Monica knew she wasn't the best.

So Monica had been in the crowd when Wilhelmina was crowned the junior national champion for the first time. Wilhelmina was the first full-time gymnast Monica had met in real life. And she was so nice. After the meet, they lined up to shake her hand and get her autograph.

“I'm a gymnast, too,” Monica had said.

Back then, Wilhelmina seemed so much older than her. Like an almost-grown-up.

“Really?” Wilhelmina asked, even though there was a line of other little girls waiting to meet the new junior champion. “What's your favorite event?”

“Bars!” Monica said, at the same time her mom said, “Floor is her best.”

Wilhelmina had smiled. “Yeah, the best is not always the most fun.”

They giggled together, and then, even though Monica was only one of dozens of girls going gaga over Wilhelmina Parker's double Arabians and DTYs, she stood up, crossed the table, and gave little Monica a hug.

• • •

Monica hadn't even been able to dream that she would one day compete against that gymnast.

It was amazing that Wilhelmina Parker had lasted this long, that she was still here five years later and still in great shape. She was the girl who Teeny Gymnast Monica had swooned over those years ago, and here she was, right now, sharing ice with Current Monica. The Nobody.

This morning this whole thing would have made her happy. But she couldn't be happy now. What was the point of being so good today, of getting as high as fourth on the scoreboard, just to fall on her butt on the last rotation and have everyone hate her anyway?

“I bet you're making it hard for Katja Minkovski to sleep tonight. She loves new gymnasts like you.”

Monica shrugged. Wilhelmina sounded nothing like the girl five years ago who stood up and walked around a table just to hug her.

“Seriously,” Wilhelmina said. “Katja loves young and skinny
gymnasts.”

But Monica felt like a failure. She hadn't met her number one goal. She hadn't even factored into the Olympic conversation enough for Ted to say anything to her about the fall; he'd actually said that it didn't matter. Kristin had said the same thing.

“I fell on vault,” she said quietly.

Then Wilhelmina did something shocking. She threw her head back and laughed.

Monica lowered her eyebrows. She might not be the best gymnast there, but she was sick of everyone acting like her performance was nothing. Even this girl she barely knew was laughing at her.

“Sorry,” Wilhelmina said, straightening out her face when she saw Monica's angry look. “But your vault doesn't matter. You know that, right?”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Nothing mattered. Her whole life Monica's gymnastics had almost—but not quite—mattered.

“To me,” she said, trying to sound strong but instead squeaking like a mouse. “It matters to me.”

Wilhelmina nodded. “Yeah, get ready for it,” she said. “Lots of things will matter to you that don't matter to anyone else.”

Now Monica was mad enough to talk with some actual volume.

“I know I never had a chance. I know it seems like I should be happy with three good performances. Or that I should be happy just to be alive. But I'm not. I wanted
to get through the day without falling and I'm sick of everyone telling me to be happy. You wouldn't be happy if you fell.”

Wilhelmina stared at her. Monica gripped the side of the metal tub and braced herself to endure a lecture about gratefulness: be grateful you're young and healthy and did an amazing bars routine. Be grateful you're not old and you might have other chances. Be grateful you're not me for one reason or another.

When other gymnasts said these things to her, they were always secretly grateful they weren't Monica. It's not like she didn't know that.

Wilhelmina said, “No chance? You think
you
have no chance?”

Monica shrugged. “I never really had one. Then I fell on vault.”

Wilhelmina shook her head. “That's not what I meant,” she said. “I didn't mean
you
don't matter. Your
vault
didn't matter because we wouldn't need you to vault. Between Leigh and Camille and Olivia and me, I guess, we have plenty of vaulters. You know, there are only three vaulters in the Olympics.”

Monica squinted. What was this girl saying?

“You wouldn't ever vault there anyway.”

Monica nodded. Of course she wouldn't. She wasn't going. But Wilhelmina did have a point. There were going to be five people on the team and only three performed on each apparatus. So Leigh's crazy-high-scoring vault had made everything easier for her and Samantha
and Maria and Annie and . . . oh, God, it
still
didn't matter. She was never going. There were too many of them.

“You're young and fresh and tiny and great on bars and amazing on floor. You are exactly what the committee is looking for. Believe me. I've been around long enough to know.”

Monica smiled. Wilhelmina was wrong, but Monica was sure she meant it because no one gave fake compliments while sounding that angry.

“It's just,” Monica said. “I—I don't care that much about Katja and them. I didn't want to fall.”

Wilhelmina's face softened. She squinted at Monica, but she didn't say anything.

“You're doing great, though,” Monica said.

Wilhelmina sighed. Then she sighed again. Monica could almost see the walls coming down behind her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “No,” she said. “For me vault is all that matters. And now I'm in third on it.” She shook her head and took a deep breath like the next thing she was going to say would be close to impossible. “I've been trying and trying, adding up scores and refiguring them, but I'm in fourth now and I'm scared I'll stay there. So . . . Look, don't tell anyone. I'm trusting you, okay? You're like the only gymnast here young enough to still be a real person.”

“Okay,” Monica said.

“So . . . if I do come in fourth, if I can't beat Grace or Leigh or Georgette . . . I think they'll name me alternate.”

“No,” Monica said. “There's still another spot open. You don't have to beat one of them to make the team.”

It would be really hard to beat Leigh or Grace or Georgette. The three of them had taken the top three spots in every meet this summer.

“It's not going to go to me,” Wilhelmina said. “Even if I come in fourth. Katja is mad at me. She'll make me alternate to spite me . . . and if she does, I think I'm not going. I think I'll retire. If I can't beat one of those three, tomorrow's my last day.” Her voice cracked. “Last day as a gymnast.”

Monica's eyes went wide. She felt suddenly large, like a hippo balanced on the side of this tub. Big and important. Why would this gymnastics superstar choose to confide in her?

“I think . . . Well, I don't think it'll happen . . . but I'd
like
to be an alternate,” Monica said, selecting these new words carefully.

“Yeah, I get that,” Wilhelmina said. “But then what would you do afterwards? After the Olympics.”

Monica shrugged. “Keep training.”

Wilhelmina nodded slowly. “See. I can't do it. I can't hang on another four years.” She shook her head. “I'm only nineteen, but I'm so old.”

“What about college gymnastics?” Monica asked.

Wilhelmina shrugged. “I gave up my eligibility years ago.”

Monica stared. Of course she had. Wilhelmina
had been a huge star, on the brink of a World Championship until that Chinese gymnast beat her by under a point. The endorsement deals probably came knocking in full force before they fell away. So she took endorsements and went pro. Which would mean no NCAA. But Wilhelmina hadn't made it; she wasn't a big enough star to make more money than she'd eventually have to spend on college tuition. Monica knew that was rare. Wilhelmina had probably given up her eligibility for nothing.

“Besides,” Wilhelmina said. “I'm tired. All I've wanted is the Olympics for so long, for like six years. Longer than that, but I thought I had a real chance for six whole years. I don't think I could stand the smell of a gym anymore after I miss that goal.”

Suddenly, Monica
was
grateful. Grateful the Olympics had never been everything to her. Grateful that she'd be back in the gym on Tuesday no matter how tomorrow turned out.

They were both quiet for a minute, their eyes studying the ice at their thighs, but there was a buzzing energy in the silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” Wilhelmina said. She didn't wait for Monica's response. “How do you even do this when you don't think you have a chance?”

The Important Hippo Monica nodded and tried to take her new role seriously, being the sounding board for this kind of an athlete. She thought about her answer carefully. She turned the question over in her mind like
a precious stone. But all she came up with was “I try not to fall.”

Wilhelmina squinted at her, so she kept talking.

“I mean, I set a goal like that. One that I can achieve no matter who else is at the gym that day.”

Wilhelmina nodded. But she said, “You shouldn't.”

Monica raised her eyebrows.

“You should set the goal of beating everyone. Everyone you can beat, mathematically, at this point. You could easily climb above some of us if you perform top-notch tomorrow. And when they factor in who is winning on beam, bars, and floor combined without vault—and they will—it's you. It could be, anyway.”

Monica shook her head. She couldn't think like that. It made her brain spin and her heart ache because no matter what goals she set, she knew the Olympics wasn't in her future. She wasn't good enough.

She didn't want it to hurt too badly when her name wasn't called tomorrow.

“Why don't you decide that, then?” Monica asked.

Wilhelmina shook her head. “It's complicated for me.” she said. “But when you're in the Olympics, I'm going to cheer for you.” She reached across the ice to knock Monica on the shoulder with her fist. “You're the only girl here I actually like.”