Tumbling (22 page)

So, it would be enough. It had to be.

Life had never been fair. She was used to it by now. She could make herself used to it again.

And, tonight, as soon as the cameras and newscasters disappeared, as soon as the gymnasts were officially divided into the team and the losers, she could kiss Davion. She would. She'd wrap her arms around him and press her lips to his. He'd be so surprised, but then, after a millisecond, they'd be making out and Wilhelmina would enjoy it more than all the other times that she had seen his adorable smile and been tempted
to pull his face close to hers. Because she'd waited until it was over, until she had gone out with a bang, until she was ready to break up with gymnastics and find a new love.

Hopefully, one that wouldn't hurt her as badly.

LEIGH

Leigh did her back handspring back tuck. For what felt like the thousandth time today, she landed crooked: one foot half off the beam to the right, the other to the left, her torso out of sync with her hips and legs. She swung her arms behind her head to attempt to keep her balance, then gave up and hopped off the beam. Over and over again this morning, she'd failed to complete that series. The hollow banging of the beam between each hit kept knocking her in the brain.

“Leigh,” Phil said too loudly. “It's not difficult. Stay on the beam.”

Leigh turned to stare at him. It
was
difficult. Everyone who had talked about or participated in or even watched one gymnastics meet one time knew that staying on the balance beam was the hardest thing these girls had to do.

Phil was getting frustrated with her. That didn't happen often.

“Get back on there, Leigh!” he said.

She was tempted to start thinking cruel things
about him, to start calling him names in her head. She was tempted to say something back that would hurt his feelings
.
But Leigh was going to try something new today: she was going to be nice. She was sick of being parceled up into Gymnast Leigh and Regular Girl Leigh.

Last night Grace had said, “Everything will change.” She had said that nothing would be the same once the gymnastics life was over. But Leigh didn't think she could handle changing completely just because this part of her life was over.

She wanted the Olympics. She was willing to give up so much to get there—dates and friends and vacations and the chance to try other sports. And anonymity. She had even begged to give up high school. Leigh was willing to give up so much of her present and past. But she didn't think she could give up her future, too. So when Leigh had closed her eyes last night, she had made a promise to the Gods of Gymnastics or the Universe or whoever was in charge out there.
Tomorrow, I will be me, and I will still win. I will win while being nice.

“Do it right,” Phil grunted. “If you want a chance to compete in the all-around in Rome, you have to nail the beam tonight. Nail it. Now.”

Leigh made her face be still. She put her hands on the beam to hoist her linebacker body the four feet back up.

“Leigh,” Phil said again.

She hopped off the beam as quickly as she'd pulled herself onto
it.

Phil came over to the side of it and stood right in front of her. He said, “I'm sorry for yelling. That doesn't help. It can be hard to remember, but I know that.”

Leigh nodded. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

Her coach was nice. She was lucky to have found a coach who was successful and still nice. Why did she have such a hard time balancing those things?

“But you have to tell me,” he said. “What's going on?”

Leigh wanted to answer but she didn't know. It had been easy enough to be nice at breakfast. She'd taken a seat with Kristin and Annie and talked to them about
Pretty Witches
, that guilty-pleasure show all the gymnasts watched. And she'd even managed the next part. When they were heading out of the ballroom, Leigh had caught sight of the GymCade crew and pulled on Monica's sleeve to ask her to stay back a minute. Then she'd apologized. Monica had nodded, her dull brown ponytail swinging behind her head. And, for the first time, Leigh had wondered if she was maybe more like Monica than she was like Grace. Monica's hair was neat but not in some superslick fancy style like Grace's. Monica had a crumb from her granola bar stuck on her knee and the left strap of her practice leo was twisted. Maybe it would be good for Leigh to have another gym friend, one who wasn't so perfect all the time.

Conditioning had gone fine this morning, too. While they ran and did leg lifts and handstand drills and all
the rest, Leigh had managed to smile at each gymnast. (Well, except for Camille. And that wasn't cruelty. That was shyness.)

But then there was the beam. The sound of it. It had gotten into her head. She didn't know how to force herself to focus, to force her brain to ignore her size and the constant banging, without forcing all of that niceness down.

“What's going on?” Phil demanded again.

“I don't know,” Leigh said finally.

Phil sighed. “Is it the same thing?” he'd asked. “The noise?”

Leigh had to remind herself that his frustration might not be with her, it might be with that
Sports Illustrated
reporter who had called her the linebacker and whom he'd called an asshole. He'd called him an asshole just for hurting Leigh.

“Only partly,” she said.

“What else.” He said it like a statement, not a question. He said it like Leigh had better hurry up and tell him so she could get her butt back on the beam, because she had the four most important routines of her life coming up in a few hours.

Leigh pretended the black strap of her practice leo needed straightening so she wouldn't have to look at Phil when she said it. It would sound so stupid coming out of her mouth.

“I want to be a nice gymnast,” she
said.

“What?” he almost shouted.

“I want to go to the Olympics being me.” She didn't think it was as stupid as it sounded. And part of being herself probably meant being herself with Phil.

Phil raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice. He looked scared. “You know, kid, I always said I'd respect your decision on when to tell the world. And I will. But . . . you know . . . distraction is . . .”

He stopped. Leigh was shaking her head frantically. There were too many people around and she was terrified that if he kept talking he'd out her accidentally. Even though it seemed like it shouldn't matter. Her gymnastics had nothing to do with her sexuality. It was the secret of it that got twisted up into her brain.

“I'm not talking about that,” Leigh said. “I mean there are going to be young kids who look up to me, if I go to the Olympics, you know? And I don't want to be the gymnast who only cares about herself for hours. I want to be a nice gymnast. A role model.”

Phil sighed and it seemed like he was almost going to laugh. “Girls,” he said. Like that answered everything. Like being nice and being a role model had more to do with your gender than your personality. “Okay,” he said. “I don't know what to do about that. I think you're plenty nice. But I have an idea about the other thing.”

He looked around the gym, swinging his head back and forth. “Grace!” he shouted. He said it so loudly, Leigh jumped before finding her friend with her eyes. Grace
was standing beside the bars, watching Monica. Grace and Ted turned to Phil, and Monica stumbled on her dismount.

“Christ, Phil,” Ted said. “What do you need Grace for?”

“Just a favor,” Phil called back. “Help out a friend.”

Ted shook his head. “She's training,” he said.

Leigh knew that's what Ted would say.
There are no friends on the gym floor.

Grace stared at her toes. Leigh and Phil looked at Ted, and Ted looked at Phil, and Monica looked at Leigh, and Grace looked at her toes.

“I'll help.” The voice was behind Leigh, close. It was smooth and it danced across her skin. “What can I do?”

Leigh turned and there she was. Camille.

“Uh . . . Can you do a back handspring back tuck on beam?” Phil asked.

Camille nodded. “Think so,” she said. “It's been a while, but it'd be fun to try.”

“Are you sure?” Phil asked.

Leigh almost said the same thing. Was Camille crazy? She was going to climb up on beam in the middle of the Olympic trials and try a back handspring back tuck when she hadn't competed beam in years. Did she
want
to get hurt or something?

“Sure, I'm sure,” Camille said.

She performed the series easily on the line taped to the floor.

Camille wanted to help her? Camille wanted to help Leigh so much that she would risk her own Olympic
trials? Leigh's heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she was sure Camille would be able to see it moving through her leo. She was trying to keep her crazy-person smile under control, but she was sure she was failing.

“You don't have to do that, you know,” Leigh said. “I mean, I don't want you to get hurt or anything. Not that you would, I mean. Because you could do it right on the floor, so why wouldn't you be able to do it on the beam, right?” Leigh felt her cheeks getting hotter and hotter as the words refused to stop walking out of her mouth. “But you know, I mean, I don't want you to, like, get hurt. Just in case you get hurt. Or, like, in trouble—”

“Will your coach mind?” Phil said.

Leigh had never been so grateful to be interrupted.

Of course he will, but let her do it, anyway, Phil. Let her help me.

Camille shrugged. “Don't think so. We're still waiting for Wilhelmina to finish up on vault. I said she could have a few more minutes.”

Leigh was so excited, her skin was practically vibrating.

Phil nodded. “Okay, then. Hop up there.”

Leigh watched the contours of Camille's legs stretch and retract as she hoisted onto the beam. She was mesmerized. She wanted to watch Camille's muscles and curves turn upside down and right-side up again.

But Phil made Leigh sit beneath the beam with her eyes closed. “Listen,” he said.

And she heard it:
bang-ba-bang-bang.

It sounded just like her. Of course it did. Camille was a big gymnast. She was built like Leigh.

But Camille was also gorgeous.

And talented. Crazy talented.

And popular with the fans.

And beautiful . . .

Leigh opened her eyes. Camille was standing on the beam, staring down at Leigh. Leigh's heart was in her throat.

Leigh hated this crush. It was unfair—Dylan might have distracted Grace yesterday, but Leigh was the only one with hormones that would let her actual competitors distract her.

Leigh also loved the crush.

She'd have to find success on the beam now that Camille helped her.

Camille hopped down and started jogging toward the vault. Leigh managed to call out a thank-you after her.

Phil squatted in front of her. “Leigh,” he said. “Everyone makes noises on the beam. Everyone.”

Leigh nodded.
At least all the big girls do. All the girls like me do.

“You know what
does
happen because you're bigger?”

Leigh shook her head.

Phil nodded across the gym to where Camille was now sprinting down the vaulting runway. “Watch her. Watch Camille. Study her Amanar.”

Leigh's breath caught as Camille's body spun and
twisted high in the air. Her Amanar was stunning. She was beautiful.

“You know what happens because you're bigger?” Phil said again.

Leigh didn't say anything. She watched Camille bounce back down the runway with an ache in her chest.

“You fly higher.”

Leigh gave him a smile. He was trying. She looked from his face to the beam and told her heart to save its crush for later.

“I hate those noises,” she said.

Phil sighed. “Look, I get the role model thing. I don't want you to think about that right now, but I can't tell you what to think. And I do understand. So, you can be nice to all of your competitors and to the other coaches and the judges and the selection committee and all the little girls in the stands. But . . . can't you be mean to the beam?”

Leigh laughed.

The beam would not defeat her again. The beam would not win. She would pound it with her hands and feet. She would make it scream. She'd focus so hard, she could burn the four-inch surface with her retinas.

Leigh hopped back onto the apparatus and smiled at her coach. Phil had given her the key. The way to win while being nice.

Back handspring back tuck.
BANG.
Perfect.

CAMILLE

Camille was seriously considering not going over the vault that night.

That was the answer. She'd let Leigh be the best vaulter. She'd take the question of whether she'd make the team out of her brain.

She'd keep her NCAA eligibility. But would any school actually take her on their team if she quit in the middle of the Olympic trials?

Somehow this debate was working for her. She was nailing Amanar after Amanar without a step. Gymnastics is all about muscle memory and her muscles were doing their job without the help of her brain.

Skip it. Step onto the podium, signal the judges, and step off. Don't go over the vault.

Bobby would be watching from home. And if he saw her quit mid-meet, he'd think it was the most romantic thing ever. He'd greet her tomorrow with flowers and plans for them both to attend NYU in the fall.

NYU. With no gymnastics team.

Camille's hips knew how to twist her body the full two-and-a-half rotations in the air. Her wrists knew exactly when to flex against the horse to propel her off it. And her feet were perfect at squeezing the mat when they landed in order to keep her upright and in one place.

Her brain had no idea what it was doing.