Tumbling (21 page)

Grace shrugged. “No,” she said. “Why would I
care?”

Leigh smiled. “Good,” she said.

“Can I ask you something?” Grace said.

“Look, Grace, I'm just not ready to tell anyone else, okay? I know if it doesn't matter to you, it shouldn't matter to anyone. But it will. It'll matter when people say I'm a bad role model or whatever. Even though those are stupid, ugly people, it'll hurt when they say that. But it'll matter in the good ways, too. I mean, when people say I'm the first lesbian on the USA national team, right? People will make a big deal about that in both ways, you know? I won't be able to be all gymnast anymore, ever, when that happens, and I'm not ready, so you have to keep it a secret, okay?”

“Yeah,” Grace said. “That's okay. I get it.”

“Oh,” Leigh said. “So what's the question?”

Grace bit her lip. In some ways she thought her question would be even more embarrassing and revealing than Leigh's confession had been. “How do you know?” Grace asked.

Leigh raised her eyebrows. “Know that I'm a lesbian?”

Grace nodded.

Leigh said, “Because I like girls.”

And Grace nodded again. But inside she panicked. Grace didn't like girls. Grace didn't like boys. Grace had never liked anyone. Was something wrong with her?

“I promise I won't say anything,” she'd said.

• • •

Grace had almost broken her first promise to Leigh. The first one she ever made to any friend.

She hadn't meant to do that. As usual, she hadn't meant to be mean. She was only trying to have a little bit of power, a modicum of influence on the world.

“You could have trusted me to keep your other secret, too, you know,” Grace said. “I was mad you didn't tell me.”

“Didn't tell you
what
?” Leigh demanded. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Your vault. You had a TTY.”

Leigh sat. “Oh,” she said.

“I figured it out,” Grace said. “That's why you messaged Dylan. That's why you were whispering about him all day.”

“What?” Leigh said. “What does Dylan Patrick have to do with my vault?”

“Everything has been some scheme!” Grace yelled. “You messaged Dylan last night to get me to think about him instead of asking about the meet. You were keeping, like, two whole points in your back pocket so you could be sure you'd beat me.”

“What?” Leigh said.

Grace sat on the bed. She looked away. She wouldn't answer.

“Grace, come on. I wouldn't do that. I wasn't even thinking about vault last night. I was trying to have fun with
you.”

“Then why, Leigh? You never even mentioned you had started training a TTY, let alone that you were going to debut it! You never said anything. You aren't supposed to sneak up on me. You're the one person I talk to. I even stayed friends with you when you beat me, but when you're keeping secrets—”

“Grace!” Leigh said. She stopped. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to not tell you. It's just—I'm not always thinking about gymnastics when we talk.”

“You're not?”

“No!” Leigh shook her head back and forth quick-quick. “I don't think about the gym when I'm not at the gym.”

“Really?” Grace asked, shocked.

Leigh nodded. “For God's sakes, really! I wasn't even planning to do the TTY but then I was in seventh place and I had to do something to make sure I'd make the team and I was so nervous and I didn't think I'd land it because I only land it, like, 40 percent of the time in practice but then I did land it and . . . I thought you'd be happy for me.”

Grace's breath caught. “I'm sorry.”

Leigh deflated immediately and climbed into bed, though they still had twenty minutes before Lights Out. She covered her face with the sheet. Grace wondered if she was crying.

“Leigh, that's why Katja didn't mention you tonight. You're going to be on the team. She's not worried about
you. That's it. I mean, I think she only mentioned me to warn me about being consistent.”

Leigh didn't move.

“And you like girls. So what?”

Leigh still didn't move. Grace was desperate to have her back. The prospect of going to bed without any more words was terrifying. She kept talking. “Even if Katja figured it out, it wouldn't matter. Or whenever you decided to tell everyone, it won't matter. It has nothing to do with gymnastics.”

Leigh snorted.

“Well,” Grace said. “It shouldn't.”

“Yeah, sure,” Leigh said, her voice muffled in the covers. “Thanks.”

Grace hated how hurt Leigh looked, how scared she must have been. She hated it now, even though it had been her exact goal a few hours ago.

Grace sat on the side of Leigh's bed. “I'm really sorry,” she said. She wasn't sure how she always forgot what happened when she tried to wield that kind of control. Her influence always struck in the wrong ways. “I wasn't trying to hurt you.” Even though she had been, sort of.

“Why are you acting all afraid of me, then?” Leigh's voice demanded through the sheet.

Grace's face pinched. “Afraid of you?” she said. “I'm not afraid of you.”
I'm better than you. I'm still better than you. I'm not afraid of you.

“You came out of that bathroom so wrapped up
it was like you thought I'd do something awful if I saw one square inch of your skin. I'm not attracted to
you
, Grace. Just because I like girls doesn't mean I like
you
.”

Grace's eyes went wide. The towels? This was about all the towels?

“Dylan probably isn't really attracted to you, either,” Leigh added. “You're not, you know,
like that.
”

The words stung Grace's skin.

“That wasn't . . . I'm not afraid of you. . . . I was . . .”
afraid you'd see how far my collarbone is sticking out today, afraid you'd notice that my legs are like twigs growing out of the hotel carpet.
“Cold.”

She put her hand on the back of Leigh's neck to prove it.

“Really, that's all,” Grace said.

Leigh's face peeked out of the sheets, a little pink now like she was embarrassed. “Oh,” she said.

Grace rubbed her back.

“But, look, you really can't tell anyone. Even if you're mad at me or I beat you or something. You can't do that again,” Leigh said. “You have to wait until I'm ready.”

Grace nodded.

“This is important. More important than gymnastics.”

Grace sighed. Nothing was more important than gymnastics, but she didn't want to argue. “I won't. I won't hint at it again. I promise.”

They froze like that. Leigh under the covers barely breathing. Grace's palm still on Leigh's back.

“Maybe Dylan Patrick could be your beard anyway, though,” Grace tried.

Leigh giggled. “My beard.”

Grace felt a little better. She went back to her own bed and grabbed another handful of ice from the bucket. There were only scraps left now, floating in the frigid water. Grace liked the way the cold felt against her fingers, reminding her that she was alive, she was here.

“Grace?” Leigh said.

“Hm?”

“Do you ever think you'd maybe like yourself better if you weren't a gymnast?”

Grace turned to her friend, startled.

“If I wasn't a gymnast?” she said. It was like she was mimicking another language.

Leigh's voice sped up, defensive. “I'm not saying I'd be happier or anything,” she said. “I'm saying, you know, I'm . . . I kind of think I'm a bitch in the gym.”

Now Grace laughed. “You? A bitch?” she said. “I don't think so.”

They were quiet again. Leigh sighed. Grace crunched.

How could Leigh be a bitch when it was Grace who almost outed her on national TV, who started the whole Wedgie Queen thing, who was hating all the girls whom Leigh had invited into their room a few minutes ago? Would Grace's brain be this messed up without the gym?

Grace said new words quietly, staring at the ice cup. “I think I might be
happier.”

Now Leigh was the startled one. She sat up and stared at her friend. “If you weren't a gymnast?”

Grace didn't respond.

“Then why are you one?” Leigh asked.

Grace sucked a piece of ice, thinking, until she said, “Because I might be happier, but I wouldn't be me.”

Leigh nodded against her pillow.

Not being a gymnast would change Grace, but being a gymnast didn't. It made no sense. And something about it was terrifying.

Leigh got up to wash her face. They pretended the conversation had not happened.

But later, after they had climbed into their side-by-side beds, after Leigh had called her parents to say good night and Grace had called Max, after their assistant coaches had stopped by the room to ensure the girls were there and in bed, after they had said good night to each other and Grace had snuggled under the duvet and dug the side of her head as far into the pillow as it would go, Leigh spoke again.

“Grace?” she said quietly, like she didn't want to wake her up if Grace was already sleeping. Grace thought about not answering, but she wanted to be friends with Leigh again. This evening had been too lonely.

“Hm?”

“Grace . . .” Leigh said, trailing off until Grace propped up her head and looked at her. “What about when we aren't gymnasts?”

Grace's blood sounded like the ocean in her ears as she pictured her last dismount. Not her last dismount from tonight, her last dismount ever. It was the worst thing she could possibly think about right before the biggest step of her life: the fact that this big step would also be a giant leap toward the end of this life. “I don't ever think about that,” Grace said. “It's scary, isn't it? This is probably going to be our only Olympics.”

“Yeah,” Leigh said, turning back to face Grace. “What will we do after we retire?”

“I don't know. I hate it that it has to happen.” Grace sighed. “When I do think about it, I decide maybe I'll coach for my dad or take the test to be a judge or something. After college, I guess.”

Leigh nodded. Grace felt like the conversation was missing the point somehow, like Leigh wanted something else out of it, something deeper. After what she had done tonight, Grace owed it to Leigh to keep it going.

“What about you? What will you do?” Grace asked.

Leigh rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “I don't know,” she said. “Something completely different. Something cheerful like teaching elementary school or being a personal stylist.”

Grace chuckled.

“I don't want it to feel like my whole personality is changing just because gymnastics is over, you know?”

“No,” Grace said, suddenly serious. “Of course it will. Everything will change. Everything about you.
And me. It has to.”

Leigh didn't answer. After a few minutes, Grace heard Leigh's heavy sleep-breathing. She fell asleep without answering.

Maybe she hadn't cared.

Maybe she would never be able to care about Grace, to trust Grace, as much as she used to. Maybe Grace had messed up that much.

Grace folded herself into her sheets, imagining her long, lean lines for tomorrow, her perfect, small body flipping around the bars and beam and vault and floor.

Maybe Grace didn't deserve Leigh's secret in the first place. After all, she'd never even thought about telling Leigh
hers.

Daytime Limbo

WILHELMINA

When the alarm between their beds beeped, Wilhelmina stretched her arms over her head and sat up without yawning. Despite being attacked publicly last night, she'd slept soundly. She woke feeling rested and peaceful.

It had been the confirmation. It was everything she needed to know.

First, Katja hated her. But she hated Katja back, too, now.

Second, fourth place wasn't good enough. She had to come in third. Or maybe even second. She had to come in third or second, and she couldn't think about trying to come in third or second because she couldn't control what happened to anyone else. That was the hardest part.

That's what she'd told Monica when she had followed Wilhelmina back to her room to offer comfort.

“I'm not sure what to say,” Monica had said. “That was really gross. What she did.”

Wilhelmina had almost teared up. It took serious
guts for any gymnast to speak ill of Katja. It took knowing beyond a doubt that you were right.

And yet, it was so touching to have someone on her side. To have someone
get
it. How she'd been screwed over. How she'd never been given the chance the rest of them had.

“I'm okay tonight,” Wilhelmina had said. And Monica had started to walk away, but Wilhelmina had called after her. “But . . . if I don't make it . . . come find me tomorrow. After. Okay?”

Now, Wilhelmina watched Camille as she groaned and pulled her pillow over the massive brown bun in the back of her head. Camille curled farther into her bed.

What's her problem?
Wilhelmina thought.

Camille groaned again and flipped over in the bed.

Wilhelmina said it out loud. “What's your problem?”

Camille mumbled a “good morning” back, then buried her face back in the pillow.

“Cut the crap, okay?” Wilhelmina said. “You're here at the Olympic trials again. You get a second chance to be a star when most people only get one. Whatever's going on with you, just hide it from me, okay?”

Camille emerged from the pillow and said that weird thing again. “You really want to go.”

This time it was a statement, not a question, so Wilhelmina just stared at her.

“I want you to go, too, okay?” Camille said. “Look, you don't have to win. I think if you beat two of them, Katja will have to choose you. She's definitely going to
take Leigh, Grace, and Georgette. It'll look really weird to everyone if you come in second and she doesn't take you. She'd have to take three gymnasts you beat, then. Do you think you can come in second?”

Wilhelmina's head was tilted so far, she might have strained her neck. What was Camille talking about? Why was she acting like she was on Wilhelmina's side? Didn't she realize that Wilhelmina could see right through this?

“It's going to be hard to beat two of them now that Leigh is the best vaulter,” she bit back.

Camille collapsed back on the bed. “Pick one,” she whispered. “You can't be mad at me for both.”

“Huh?” Wilhelmina said.

“Pick one,” Camille said. “You can't be mad at me because it seemed like I was going to be the best vaulter, and then be mad at me because I'm not. Do you realize that Leigh vaulting like that means maybe I won't get chosen?”

“Uh—” Wilhelmina said. She hadn't thought of that. Her face was starting to burn. But Camille cut her right off again.

“And if I don't get chosen, Leigh becomes the best vaulter. That means there's another spot open. And maybe the team would be all all-arounders. And that would help you.”

“Why are you talking about me?” Wilhelmina asked. “You're at the Olympic trials, too.”

Camille sighed. “You can't be mad at me for both,”
she said again. But she didn't say it angrily. She said it quietly. It was a surrender.

Wilhelmina wasn't supposed to be thinking about these things today. She wanted to try it a new way, to pick a goal that only involved her own gymnastics.

“I'm not mad at you at all,” Wilhelmina lied. Then she stormed into the bathroom.

She brushed her teeth with ferocity. She couldn't believe she'd gotten herself back into that kind of conversation with Camille. That was it. She was done. She wouldn't be angry at her or Leigh or Grace or anyone else. Wilhelmina wouldn't let anyone into her head today. She needed control. She needed a new goal.

If you're really here today,
she texted Davion,
watch out for this. This is what I'm going to try to do.
Don't fall
would be too easy for her. But Monica had the right idea. Maybe if Wilhelmina focused on something specific, something totally within her control, she'd be able to approach the meet like Kerry wanted her to.
9.5 or better execution score,
she texted.
Four times in a row. If that happens, I promise I'll be happy.

Don't think about the team
, she told herself.
Just think about nine-point-five.

You can do that,
he texted back.
And you don't have to promise me anything.

Wilhelmina laughed through the toothpaste in her mouth when she saw that text. She had taught him well. She'd told him time and again that she couldn't
promise him anything. Not yet. Not until after the Olympics.

The promise is to myself,
she wrote back. And it was. Those 9.5s could, mathematically, put her in at least third place, with a fighting chance at second. She was pretty sure Camille was right. Second place would mean the Olympics. Third was a toss-up.

But she couldn't control third, second, fourth. She had to stop thinking about the math.

His reply came quickly:
Can't wait to see you soar. Live. Because I'm here.

Still don't believe it. ;-)
, she replied.

A short time later, the girls gathered for a quick breakfast in the same ballroom where they'd been fed last night. Wilhelmina noted that, like yesterday, the food was correct but the amount was ridiculous. They would eat before heading directly to the gym for some light conditioning and training. They would need a few nutrients to coat their muscles, but no one would want to fill up her stomach completely before running it around in circles and flipping it upside down. After their workout, they'd get to eat a more substantial meal, take some time to nap or rest or ice or get athletic massages, then they'd prepare for the early-evening conclusion to the meet. The hotel had set out enough food to feed a dozen football players, which equaled about one hundred gymnasts.

Wilhelmina watched the younger girls stare at the food from afar like they were afraid it would attack them. She tried not to see the way Grace was pacing back
and forth in front of the table without touching anything. She tried not to think about Grace's full tray after dinner, her bony legs last night. There was nothing Wilhelmina could do to help her. Even if there was something wrong, no one would believe Wilhelmina was anything but jealous of the winner.

Grace was probably fine.

Wilhelmina grabbed a granola bar and an apple. Shedding that fear of food was one advantage of being a veteran for Wilhelmina.

When Kerry sat down next to Wilhelmina and said, “So, what's the plan today?” Wilhelmina smiled at her. She knew it would sting if she managed her four 9.5s and still, at the end of the meet, had to watch Leigh and Grace and Georgette and Camille and whoever else celebrate their positions on the team knowing that she could have helped them win the team gold if she were given a chance. Even with four 9.5s she'd be hard-pressed to come in second and might not make third. She was already in the hole. And Grace and Leigh and Georgette all had higher all-around DODs if you added up their potential on each apparatus. So there was nothing she could do but her best.

“I think I finally get it,” Wilhelmina said. “That thing about only worrying about what I can control. About doing what I can and hoping the committee does the rest.”

Kerry nodded and took a bite of her peach. “And?” she said.

“I have a goal—”

But another body cast a shadow across their table before she could say any more. Wilhelmina looked up to see Katja Minkovski's wrinkled face looming over them. She looked hard, like she was carved out of stone. She carried a plate brimming over with all the breakfast foods gymnasts could never eat: french toast and syrup, bacon, and doughnuts.

“I thought you would only be competing vault, Miss Parker,” she said in her thick Russian accent. In more relaxed moments, Wilhelmina had heard her accent sound like a simple personality flare, like something charming to remember her by. But right now she seemed to be using it to wield intimidation.

Thank goodness, Kerry spoke up in response.

“We entered the meet in the all-around,” she said calmly.

“Yes,” Katja said. “But based on what I'd seen at camp, I expected you to only look to compete on vault. Now, you are hoping to compete the all-around? In the Olympics, no? Wilhelmina?”

Katja stared at her. Kerry turned to look at her, too. Wilhelmina felt herself shrinking. She managed a tiny nod.

“You are a talented gymnast,” Katja said. “But that is a huge request to come through the gymnastics world at the last minute.”

“Gymnastics world” equaled Katja Minkovski and Katja Minkovski alone, and all three of them knew it.

“You know we do not like to have things shaken up so close to the Olympics,” Katja said. “I'm sure your hopes are not too high. I know you're not going to make this difficult for me. I assure you that will backfire.”

Kerry was shaking her head. “We only do our best, huh,” she said.

“Your best may have been enough to put you on the team, Miss Parker, if I had known about it before now. At this point, I don't know you. I can't possibly trust your gymnastics after seeing it for only two days. There's no more time for you to convince me you belong on the team. Enjoy today, Miss Parker. But don't expect it to get you anywhere.” She paused and studied Wilhelmina's face. Wilhelmina was barely managing not to cry. “And again, don't make this difficult. I only want to do what's best for our country.”

There was the answer. Wilhelmina felt her body get smaller and her eyes get larger. A hot fire burned in her gut and she swallowed to keep the anger there. Gymnasts are not supposed to be angry.

But she was sick of it. Apparently, this was her last day as a gymnast. She was going to be herself.

“I understood your concerns after the interview last night,” Wilhelmina said.

“What?” Kerry asked.

Katja gasped. “I . . . I . . .” she faltered.

Wilhelmina didn't know what to do. She'd never seen Katja at a loss for words before.

“What interview?” Kerry said.

“I gave an interview with espnW last night.” Then Katja turned to Wilhelmina. “Did you see it?”

“Yes,” Wilhelmina said quietly.

Katja's face didn't look so hard anymore. Her accent softened.

“Did all of you see it?”

Wilhelmina nodded, confused.

“Oh,” Katja said. “Well. I suppose you and I are clear now.”

Then she walked away.

Wilhelmina filled Kerry in on everything that had happened the previous night.

Kerry patted Wilhelmina's back and leaned toward her ear so she could speak in the lowest possible voice. “I'm so sorry, Mina-Mina. I was not expecting this. I know you can help the USA win the Olympics. . . . You are one of the most skilled gymnast in the country, the world, but . . . if that's not enough . . . what could I do for you?” Wilhelmina nodded, but Kerry kept talking. Almost like she was convincing herself. “If you had been to all of those camps, if you had been competing the all-around for all of these years . . . you'd be so tired. You would have—”

“I would have broken,” Wilhelmina interrupted, letting her coach off the hook.

“You are such a fantastic gymnast. I am so sorry,” Kerry said.

Wilhelmina nodded. If Kerry thought it was over, it was over. DODs and math and strategy. They were all
over. If Katja hated her this much, Wilhelmina didn't have a chance.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her heart. She forced her words past the black disappointment that was infiltrating the front of her brain. “I want an execution score of nine-point-five on each event. That's all I'm looking for. If I do that, I'll be happy,” she whispered to her coach.

I'm not going to the Olympics.
She tried to not let it take over her body. She had the rest of her life to be disappointed but, before that, she had four more routines to execute. Her last four.

Kerry nodded. “Good girl,” she said. “That's a huge goal, challenging goal. But one you can accomplish, huh?”

Wilhelmina loved to see Kerry smile like that, like Wilhelmina was something special to be around.