On her first tumbling pass, she bounds cleanly across the floor, rocketing skyward in an elegant stag jump to channel her extra energy. It works beautifully: she looks powerful, strong, and in control of every movement. She dances toward another corner of the floor, polishes off two precise leaps, then dives straight into a second excellent tumbling pass. As I watch her prance, pirouette, and flip, I get a chilling sense of excitement. This is one of the most gorgeous routines I’ve ever seen from her. Something genuinely special is unfolding here—this is a determined athlete at her peak.
After Hallie executes her third tumbling pass seamlessly, something in her posture shifts. By this point in a floor routine, even the fittest gymnasts can start to look a little sluggish or out of breath. But Hallie looks even lighter and more buoyant than ever. With fifteen seconds left in the routine, she bursts forward into a triumphant fourth tumbling pass, landing easily on her feet. As she sinks into her final dramatic pose, her face crumples with joy. She holds the position just long enough to give the end of her routine a real sense of gravitas, and then bounces to her feet to salute the judges. The minute she’s done, I see her eyes glistening with tears of joy. She claps one hand over her mouth and waves to the crowd with the other. The audience roars in applause.
She lingers on the floor for a few seconds longer than necessary, soaking up this once-in-a-lifetime moment. The judges are still deliberating over her score, so for the next few precious seconds, this is all that matters—she delivered the hell out of a routine that challenged her, scared her, and forced her to grow into a better athlete. Soon, her fate will be sealed, but for now, I can tell that she’s happy with herself. That’s a rare feat in this sport.
She bounds off the floor into my waiting arms.
“I’m so damn proud of you,” I repeat over and over.
Ryan joins us for a group hug. “You were phenomenal. Incredible. The best I’ve ever seen,” he says.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” she says, breathing hard.
Suddenly, she freezes. Her score appears on the scoreboard: 15.100, pushing her into second place. Even though there’s one more gymnast left to perform on floor, it doesn’t matter what score she’ll receive—she won’t knock Hallie out of the top four slots.
“I made it, I made it, oh my god, I made it,” Hallie sobs.
Ryan and I break away to look at the scoreboard, then turn back to her in awe.
“Oh my god, Hallie!” I say, voice breaking.
Watching her recognize that her lifelong dream is coming true is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing. I can’t help the tears coming. I don’t mind. We’ve all worked hard enough to justify them.
“I knew it,” Ryan says. Even his voice is shaking. “You’re going to be an Olympian.”
“We did it,” Hallie says, sounding stunned. “I can’t believe we did it.”
Not her. Not Hallie and Ryan. Us. All of us.
In my own time as a gymnast, there were so many ecstatic moments, like when a gold medal was draped around my neck or the day I qualified for Olympic Trials. But truthfully, nothing quite compared to this victory. I feel as if I could burst from bliss.
* * *
The medal ceremony is a happy blur. In the end, Emma takes the top spot, as everyone knew she would. Hallie is the surprise dark horse in second place, followed by Olympic veteran Delia, with Kiki rounding out the team in fourth. The girls confer for seconds before they announce their team name: the Fantastic Four, superhero reference very much intended. Madison Salazar and Taylor O’Connor are named alternates.
There’s no avoiding it—I feel terribly sad for the girls who didn’t make the cut. But if I can come back to this sport years later as a coach and make a real difference, they can, too. There’s life for all of us after our gymnastics careers end. It just might take some time to figure out exactly what that means.
Hallie’s parents have stumbled, dazed and overjoyed, from the bleachers into the main part of the arena, where they shower their daughter with hugs.
“Let’s give them some space,” I whisper to Ryan.
It’s crowded in the center of the arena, anyway—gymnasts, families, judges, photographers, reporters.
“Good idea,” he says. “Come with me to get something to drink? I’m thirsty.”
“Sure,” I say.
We walk by the bench with our bags so Ryan can grab his wallet, then wander down a maze of hallways until we find a vending machine, chattering the entire way about the highlights of Hallie’s performances.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get over that floor routine,” Ryan says with a note of awe in his voice. “I mean, it was perfect from start to finish. She’s never been better.”
“I can’t believe we pulled that off,” I say, feeling giddy.
“We? No, that was you,” he insists. “I’ll take full credit for hiring the best floor coach on the planet, but that whole routine was all you.”
The vending machine is stocked with Gatorade bottles lined up in bright, color-coded rows. Ryan tilts his head.
“Berry or Fruit Punch?” he asks.
“Berry all the way,” I say.
“I’ll get two, then,” he says.
He feeds dollar bills into the slot and presses the right buttons. I lean against the side of the machine as it whirs to life, retrieving the plastic bottles and dropping them down with two solid thunks. It’s cool and quiet here. After today’s whirlwind, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Tonight, I’ll sleep easily in the luxe hotel bed, and tomorrow we’ll all book our flights to Tokyo. This doesn’t feel real. It’s unbelievable, somehow, that after all these years, I’m finally going to the Olympics. Everything is falling into place. Or, rather, almost everything.
Ryan bends down to pick up the drinks and hands me one, interrupting my train of thought.
“Thanks,” I say.
He starts to open his bottle, but I stop him.
“Wait,” I say, reaching for his hand.
“Yeah?” he asks.
I kiss him before I can lose my nerve, sliding my arms over his shoulders and pulling him toward me. I can feel the muscles in his shoulders tense for a split second, and I lean back, but then I see a dimpled smile spreading across his face.
“Come here,” he says softly. “I like that.”
We find our way back to each other tenderly. His hands brace my hips, and soon, our lips fall into rhythm together. I’ve spent so many months aching to be close to him, and from the way his mouth moves against mine, it’s clear that he’s felt the same way. He kisses me deeply, and it just feels so right.
“I didn’t expect that,” he mumbles into my hair.
“I didn’t plan on that,” I explain.
“I’m glad it happened, though,” he says earnestly.
“Me, too,” I say.
I didn’t know it was humanly possible to feel more relief and happiness than I’ve already felt today, but I’m so glad that my gut instinct was right—he wanted that kiss as much as I did. Ryan takes the Gatorade out of my hand and places both bottles on the linoleum floor by our feet so that he can kiss me again. It’s perfect.
“Look, I know I messed up—” Ryan starts, but I shush him with another kiss.
“There’s no need to keep apologizing,” I say, wrapping my hands around his waist.
“No, hear me out,” he insists. “I never stopped caring about you.”
He speaks slowly and fiercely, giving each word the weight it deserves.
“I didn’t say it before because I was an idiot, but the past few months have made me realize exactly how I feel,” he continues.
I go very still, even as my heart races. His dark eyes search mine.
“Avery, I love you,” he says.
I feel a rush of pure joy and a ballooning sense that everything is right in the world. This moment? It’s better than a perfectly stuck landing. It’s sweeter than the view from the top of the medal
podium.
“I love you, too,” I say.
I know I’ve never stopped. This time, I’m not self-conscious to voice how I really feel. Suddenly, the significance of where we happen to be standing hits me, and I can’t help but laugh.
“What?” he asks.
“Do you remember our first conversation?” I ask.
“The night I called you about coaching at Summit?” he guesses.
“No, think—the very first time we ever spoke,” I prompt.
His eyes light up. “It was Nationals. I asked if you knew where the vending machine was.”
I smirk and lean back against this current vending machine, fingers dancing over his chest.
“Here we are,” he marvels.
JULY 2020
• EPILOGUE •
It’s competition day in Tokyo. I gasp when I enter the arena for the first time; the space is larger and flashier than anywhere I’ve ever competed, and handmade signs written in multiple languages wave in the crowd. Cameras capture every angle.
Hallie and the rest of the Fantastic Four warm up for the competition’s first rotation. They’re resplendent in matching royal blue leotards, and they work with an efficient, upbeat energy. Even though the stakes are higher today than ever before, everyone seems just so plain happy to be here. Hallie’s on floor first.
While the gymnasts get ready to compete, I stand on the sidelines with Ryan. We flew to Tokyo a few days early so Hallie could prep for the competition while adjusting to the fourteen-hour time difference, and though we’ve been working a lot, there’s also been just enough downtime to sneak out together on dates. The sushi dinner, sumo match, and Zen garden visit were amazing, but truthfully, we could’ve had just as much fun sitting in the supply closet at Summit. Since we got back together at Trials, I’ve felt so at peace. We’ve decided to keep our relationship private until after the Olympics.
A competition official signals to Hallie that she has time for one more tumbling pass, and then the warm-up will be over. Hallie nods, and I watch as she launches into a high-powered, tight double Arabian with a cleanly stuck landing. I shake my head in awe.
“Today’s going to be a good day,” I predict. “I can feel it.”
“Me, too,” Ryan says. He watches me studying Hallie on floor, then asks quietly, “Do you wish it were you out there?”
The question catches me off guard. For so long, I so desperately wanted to be in Hallie’s exact position. Losing out on the chance to compete in the Olympics was the single most devastating experience of my life—worse than surviving Dimitri’s rage, worse than watching my relationship with Tyler fall apart, worse than the time I thought I lost Ryan for good.
But the funny thing about your dream coming true is that it never quite happens the way you think it will. There’s always a twist. When I walked into the Olympic stadium for the first time, nobody cheered for me or waved signs with my name. My heart didn’t race with anticipation for my upcoming routines. Sports reporters didn’t hound me for interviews. And even stranger than all that? I didn’t care. I’m overjoyed to be here as Hallie’s coach. I’ve let go of my old dreams. My new life has replaced them.
Before I can tell him any of that, though, Hallie joins us on the sidelines for a slurp from her water bottle.
“We were just talking about how strong your tumbling looks today,” I tell her. “You’re gonna kill it out there.”
She grins and throws her arms around me. “Thank you so much for everything. I wouldn’t have made it here without you.”
She hugs Ryan, too, takes a deep breath, and walks proudly to the side of the floor with her head held high. An official booms out her name over a loudspeaker, and a hush falls over the arena. She waits patiently for the judges to indicate that she can begin. When it’s time, she salutes them and arranges herself into the starting pose I choreographed for her all those months ago. From where I’m sitting, I can glimpse the confident expression on her face. There’s a real poise to her today that she didn’t quite have when we met.
My eyes well up with tears as the first notes of her music ring out through the arena.
“No, Ryan,” I tell him. “I’m happy to be right here.”
• ACKNOWLEDGMENTS •
First, I’d like to thank you, reader, for picking up this novel. I’m honored that you chose to spend your time immersed in the world of this book. Thank you for reading!
I’m so grateful for the thoughtful, whip-smart guidance of my editor, Kaitlin Olson. This book is better in countless ways because of her creative instincts, attention to detail, and belief in these characters. From catching plot holes to sharpening dialogue, Kaitlin made this project shine.
I’m incredibly lucky to work with the same wonderful team at Atria Books yet again: many thanks to Megan Rudloff and Isabel DaSilva for ensuring this book falls into all the right hands, Tamara Arellano for her tireless copyedits, and Lindsay Sagnette, Suzanne Donahue, Jimmy Iacobelli, and Libby McGuire.
My agent, Allison Hunter, championed this idea from the moment my half-baked email landed in her inbox. Her vision for my career, faith in my abilities, and true friendship make her the best teammate an author could ask for. At Janklow & Nesbit, Clare Mao and Natalie Edwards made this process so seamless.
This book was born of my lifelong love of gymnastics. I will forever be awestruck by athletes, including Shannon Miller, Carly Patterson, Nastia Liukin, Shawn Johnson, Alicia Sacramone, Gabby Douglas, McKayla Maroney, Simone Biles, and more. Most important, thank you to my own hometown hero Aly Raisman, whose work ethic, talent, and bravery has been a source of inspiration to me since childhood.
I’m thankful for the support of all my colleagues at Elite Daily and Bustle Digital Group, including Kylie McConville, Veronica Lopez, Iman Hariri-Kia, Emma Rosenblum, and Bryan Goldberg. I always feel fortunate that I don’t have to choose between my work as an editor and as an author.
My friends were the ultimate cheerleading squad. They gave me plenty of positivity during tough writing days and celebrated with me every step of the way! Many thanks to Annie Kehoe, Morgan Boyer, Roshan Berentes, Kelsey Mulvey, Elyssa Goodman, Alexia LaFata, Dayna Troisi, Emily Raleigh, Emma Albert-Stone, and Devon Albert-Stone.
Thanks to Jerry and Eleanor Hart; Karen, Bob, and Jake Sykes; Bruce, Heather, Xander, Nathan, and Zoe Orenstein; and Jamie, Karin, Dani, and Rosie Orenstein for all their love.
To properly thank Mom, Dad, and Julia, I have to borrow my favorite word from Yiddish: when I think about how fully they’ve supported me with encouragement, enthusiasm, and so much love, I’m verklempt (that roughly translates to “overcome with emotion”). I can’t imagine a better family in the world.
More from the Author
Love at First Like
Playing with Matches
• ABOUT THE AUTHOR •
HANNAH ORENSTEIN is the author of Playing with Matches and Love at First Like, and is the senior dating editor at Elite Daily. Previously, she was a writer and editor at Seventeen.com. She lives in New York.
SimonandSchuster.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Hannah-Orenstein
@AtriaBooks @AtriaBooks @AtriaBooks
Also by Hannah Orenstein
Love at First Like
Playing with Matches
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Copyright © 2020 by Hannah Orenstein
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Orenstein, Hannah, author.
Title: Head over heels / Hannah Orenstein.
Description: First Atria Paperback edition. | New York : Atria Paperback, 2020.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020005035 (print) | LCCN 2020005036 (ebook) | ISBN 9781982121471 (paperback) | ISBN 9781982121488 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PS3615.R4645 H43 2020 (print) | LCC PS3615.R4645 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
Head Over Heels Page 27