Tumbling (34 page)

“Hold on! Hold on!” Camille shouted back. Wilhelmina shut up. Camille was in a hospital. She probably shouldn't be yelling at her.

Wilhelmina pulled her legs up onto the window ledge where she was sitting. She was in the bathroom closest to the locker room and it was a public bathroom, too. One that was supposed to be open to anyone in the stands. But Wilhelmina had dead-bolted the main door to the outside so the row of metal stalls and the two sinks and the window in the back were all hers. It was selfish. But she was only going to be selfish like this for a minute. Sometimes you need to take care of yourself.

“Now,” Camille whispered. “What happened?”

“I won. So Katja had to name me to the team.” Wilhelmina had been dreaming about saying this very
sentence at the outset of the meet, yet now she felt miserable. “She was forced to.”

“Why do you sound so upset?” Camille asked. “You told me you really wanted to go. Now you get to go.”

“I wanted to get there on my own. Without anyone falling. I wanted to get there fair and square. And I want it to be good once I'm there. Instead, if I go, Katja is still going to hate me the whole time.”

“So?” Camille said.

Wilhelmina felt like punching her. “So, nothing has ever been fair for me, okay? Last Olympics I would have gotten to go but then the FIG said I was too young. By four days. Only four days!”

“That happened to a lot of girls,” Camille pointed out. “All over the world. That wasn't just you.”

“But—” Wilhelmina couldn't say what she wanted to say.
But I was the best.
It would sound snobby but she wasn't being snobby.

“But what?” Camille asked. “Go to the Olympics. You want to go, you go. Don't let Katja stop you.”

“But it's all unfair again,” Wilhelmina said. “I wish I could be like the rest of you. I wish things had happened the way they were supposed to for me.”

And Camille laughed. A huge, loud, insulting laugh.

“Don't laugh!” Wilhelmina pleaded. She was finally being honest. She didn't need to be laughed at.

“No,” Camille said. “Listen.”

Wilhelmina had never heard Camille sound this serious. She nodded, stupidly.

“You think things were fair for me? You're right that this was my second trials. And four years ago, I made the team, too, like you did today. But I didn't go, because my mom got into a stupid fender bender, and she'd kept me on such a strict diet I slipped right out of the seat belt and broke my back. In some accident that should have been nothing. Was that fair?”

“No, but—”

“And what about Leigh?” Camille said. “Leigh was winning the Olympic trials. She made a mistake, yes. I guess that was her fault. But not all mistakes mean you're injured during the Olympic trials. That's not fair, either.”

“I know it's not fair, what happened to Leigh,” Wilhelmina said.

“And Grace, she has to deal with her dad. You can't say
that's
fair. And how about Georgette? She's always third to those two all-stars, always listed third. And now today is finally the meet in which they both mess up—and then you come out of the blue and steal it from her.”

Wilhelmina's eyes were wide. Her heart was going wild. Camille was right.

“And even Monica,” Camille said.

“Monica?” Wilhelmina said. That was one she was sure gymnastics was fair to. Yes, she had Ted as a coach but he wasn't nearly as cruel to her. And she was young and fresh and Katja loved her.

“Monica worked her butt off and now she's an
alternate. But if she had one more year, if the Olympics were next year—”

“She'd be a star,” Wilhelmina cut Camille off. “So you think I'm crazy,” she said.

“No,” Camille said. “I know what you mean. Katja isn't fair to you, that's true. She's worse to you than anyone else who was there today. But that's not what this is about.”

“It isn't?” Wilhelmina asked.

“No,” Camille said. “This is about you. You did what you set out to do. You got to the Olympics your own way, and you still can't enjoy it. At some point you have to stop blaming other people and look at yourself . . . Sorry, that was harsh,” Camille interrupted herself suddenly. “I'm trying to learn to speak up but . . . that was too much, maybe.”

“No,” Wilhelmina said. “You're right.”

“Katja might be unfair to you in particular,” Camille said. “But gymnastics? Gymnastics isn't fair to anyone.”

Wilhelmina's eyes were huge. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was exploding.

Camille was right. What was the point in proving Katja wrong if she didn't go to the Olympics after all? Now Wilhelmina had made the team. Katja couldn't stop her anymore. The only person who could stop her now was herself.

Thank God for her old friend Camille.

“Mina?” Camille said.

“Camille . . .” she said. “I'm sorry.”

Camille laughed and Wilhelmina knew she wouldn't
get it. But she still had to apologize for thinking the worst about Camille yesterday. And for thinking her life had been perfect.

“I'll be okay,” Camille said. “I'm going to try for the NCAA. I think one of the coaches or teams might listen to me. They might not ban me forever for quitting during the trials if I can tell your story about how you had to defy Katja and deal with her hating you openly just so you could go. But in order for me to do that, you have to go!”

“I'm going,” Wilhelmina whispered. “I'm . . . I'm an Olympian.”

“Go for the gold, baby!” Camille cheered. Then she said, “Oh, sorry,” to someone else. “Look, I gotta go. Go celebrate, okay? Text me as soon as you find out the whole team, okay?”

“Okay,” Wilhelmina said.

And now she was laughing and crying and spinning and squealing in her private bathroom. Wilhelmina splashed some water on her face and snuck back out the bathroom door. She had to get back to the locker room. She had to explain where Camille was and she had to find out who else was on the team.
Her
team.

The hallway was still deserted. Everyone in the crowd was glued to their seats, awaiting the announcement of the Olympic team. Wilhemina felt sort of guilty for making them wait so long, but she knew she needed to do it this way. She'd needed to come this close to quitting, to be
okay
with quitting, in order to truly do her best out there.

“Mina?” She was steps from the locker room when she heard her name behind her. It was a boy who said it.

She turned.

Davion.

He looked so good. He was wearing a black T-shirt and one of the sleeves was rolled up a little bit. It wasn't on purpose, but it gave Wilhelmina a glimpse of his muscle, almost as toned as her own. He was smiling. He was rushing at her.

“You won! You won! I can't believe you won!”

Then she was in his arms, and he was spinning her around, her feet off the floor, her head right next to his face. She could feel his jaw muscle against her ear as he said it over and over. “You won! You won!”

When he put her down, she looked at him, smiling.

Her heart was in her mouth, her lips. Her heart was pulling her toward him, yanking on her feet and shoulders and chest.

Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him.

Her whole body was chanting.

She took a step closer, so there was no distance between them, so his black T-shirt was brushing up against her Team USA warm-ups. She could smell his cologne and his hair oil.

She tilted her head up toward his face. She stood on her toes. She was going to do it.

His eyes went wide for a second and then he closed them like he knew what was coming.

She was almost there. Her lips were just a centimeter away from his. She could feel his breath on her mouth.

He flinched.

“It's okay,” he said. “I . . . I can wait.”

Wilhelmina's eyes were wide. He didn't want to kiss her? He drove eleven hours to watch her gymnastics meet and he didn't want to kiss her.

Her face was burning. She took a step away from him and hunched her shoulders. She wished the stadium would swallow her whole and spit her back out in Rome.

“It's not that I don't want to,” Davion said. “It's just that there's still the Olympics . . . And I know everything you said. I don't want to distract you.”

Wilhelmina brightened and stepped toward him again. “No, it's okay. I learned a lot of stuff today.”

Davion leaned in again like he was going to let their lips touch.

But then he shook his head. “I'm sorry. It's just . . . what if you were right before? It's too much. I want to kiss you more than anything but . . . this is the Olympics. I can't mess that up for you.”

No. No. NO
, Wilhelmina was screaming, but only inside her head.
I figured it out. I know how to be more than just a gymnast now.

Davion's eyes looked sadder than she'd ever seen. “You'll be back in a month,” he said. “We'll see what happens then. It's been a year. What's one more month?”

Nothing. Everything. Both.

MONICA

The selection committee was back too quickly. Monica didn't want to hear the final name. It would be Grace, obviously, and Monica didn't want to deal with Kristin being inconsolable to be on the same level as Monica herself. She stayed frozen on the bench as the committee took their places.

The gymnasts were separate now. Ten links of a busted chain. It happened so quickly. Monica would always miss that hope they had all shared through their interlocking fingers a few minutes earlier, but it was gone forever.

As soon as she thought that, there was a hand squeezing Monica's shoulder. She looked up and found Wilhelmina standing behind her.

“You okay?” Monica whispered.

Wilhelmina nodded. “Yeah. I'm . . . I'm good. I'm going. To be an Olympian. After all.”

Monica smiled.

“You really helped me,” Wilhelmina said. “You and Camille. I came into this meet hating everyone, but I couldn't have done it without you two.”

“No,” Monica said. “You—”

Wilhelmina interrupted her. “You did. You might not think so, but I needed to talk to you last night in order to have a day like today.”

“You're the one who helped me!” Monica said.

Wilhelmina laughed. “Well, let's not argue about it,” she said.

Monica relaxed. The next few minutes would be easier to get through with this new friend at her side.

“This was not an easy decision,” Katja said finally. “We have to think about who can perform best where and how to put the team together. And we have to consider that this is the Olympics. That the athlete we choose could potentially compete for several days, several competitions back-to-back. She must have stamina. She must be continually improving. She must show growth. She must not have already hit her peak.”

Around her, the other gymnasts and coaches were nodding. They were half-listening. But Monica listened carefully because the committee did not usually explain decisions. Such a long explanation probably meant they weren't going with her teammate, the obvious choice, but also, the gymnast who had fallen apart halfway through the second day of every important meet all year. And Monica braced herself. If it wasn't Grace, Grace would crumble.

Monica felt something she hadn't ever felt for Grace before: empathy.

She turned to look at her teammate. Grace's face was frozen in anticipation and dread, her whole body leaning toward the committee like if she got close enough to them, maybe they'd remember her.

“The new alternate will be Annie Simms. And . . . the
fifth member of the Olympic team is,” Katja began.

If it wasn't going to be Grace, then it would either be Kristin or—

“Monica Chase.”

And now the joy exploded out of her, tears streaming out her eyes, her feet jumping up and down. She knew that her teammate was disappointed and that there were brokenhearted gymnasts everywhere, but she also knew that she deserved this. That she was the best choice for the USA. That she would be an Olympian and make herself proud. And that as much as she hated hope when it first came for her, when she first saw those Olympic rings in a hazy version of her future, this moment would never have happened if she hadn't hoped for it like she did.

Then she was hugging someone. She was being swung back and forth by someone else who was crying her own tears onto Monica's shoulders.

“I told you you could do it,” Wilhelmina whispered in her ear. “I told you.”

She craned back to look at Monica. The two were mismatched in every way: an old gymnast and a young one. An experienced gymnast and a rookie. A powerful gymnast and a classical one.

“So, roommates? In Rome? At the Olympics?” Wilhelmina asked.

Monica nodded and they laughed and jumped and let the joy seep out of them.

She turned to find Grace, to say something to make it better . . . but Grace was already walking toward the
back door. For a second Monica's heart clenched, worried, but, just before they disappeared from the locker room, Monica's teammate turned and waved at her. Her look was sad, but genuine.

So that's her real smile
, Monica thought.

CAMILLE

Camille held her phone between her palms and smiled. She hadn't known she could speak to someone so forcefully, but in the end that seemed to help Wilhelmina. Camille couldn't make decisions only because they'd make someone else happy, any more than Wilhelmina could make decisions only to spite someone else.

Then, too quickly, Camille remembered where she was, that this was not a place for smiling. And there was someone else a room away who probably wouldn't want to see a smile. But when she walked back into the hospital room, Camille swore Leigh's face brightened.