“Pumpkin,” Toulane said, “I’m talking to you—are you listening?”
Pumpkin’s right ear pivoted toward Toulane.
Toulane smiled. “Cool!” she said.
Josie waved and started riding again, joining the line right behind Julius. He was still sitting tall, like a proud little puppet.
After about half an hour, Julius and the other young riders began dismounting while some older, more experienced riders entered the arena. I saw Cowboy Bob lead Dusty into the arena, too. He was walking the horse without a saddle, probably to get him used to being around a few other horses and riders. Josie was still on her horse, riding just behind Logan—the teenage boy who was such an amazing rider, even though he couldn’t see.
Suddenly, something caught my eye from across the arena. A side door swung open, and in blew a tumbling page of newspaper.
Dusty, his eyes showing white, started prancing sideways, but Cowboy Bob held the rope.
“Oh no,” I said under my breath.
The sheet of newspaper lifted on the air and touched down, then lifted again, as if it were a ghost chasing after Dusty. The horse tossed his head, reared, and bolted, all in a flash. Not even Cowboy Bob could hold on to him!
As Dusty raced around the arena, Shannon stepped up to the platform and took charge. “Halley,” she said in a loud but calm voice, “try to help Bob with Dusty.”
Halley walked slowly toward Dusty, but he turned and ran again, back past Pumpkin and Josie. Pumpkin jumped sideways, spooking, too. Josie leaned forward, clutching the saddle desperately.
Hang on, Josie! I willed her, gripping the fence railing in my hands.
The newspaper billowed again and blew toward my edge of the arena. Shannon’s eyes were on the paper, too. “McKenna,” she called to me, “can you reach it?”
I didn’t waste a second. I knelt down and reached below the fence. I grabbed the newspaper and squashed it down into a ball in my hands.
Dusty stopped in place. His nostrils flared and his flanks heaved, but that crazy-scared look was gone from his eyes. I felt as if I’d just performed a magic trick!
When I looked back at Josie, she was no longer riding Pumpkin. She was lying in a heap on the sand with Britta kneeling beside her.
Toulane and I gasped at the same time. I raced toward the gate, but by the time I got there, Shannon and Josie’s mom were already helping Josie sit up, and she was smiling.
Shannon glanced toward me. “McKenna and Toulane, can you please bring Josie’s wheelchair here?”
I was happy to have something to do, and by the look of relief on Toulane’s face, I could tell she was, too. She pushed the wheelchair while I opened the gate.
“Josie!” I exclaimed as we got closer. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Josie said sheepishly. “It was an adventure!”
“You’re so brave,” Toulane said. “Can I borrow some of that courage for team tryouts?”
“All you want,” Josie said with a grin.
Shannon and Josie’s mom helped Josie into her wheelchair, and Josie let me wheel her out of the arena. Before we left, Cowboy Bob stopped me. “Hey, cowgirl, good thinking back there,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said.
He lifted his cowboy hat and rubbed his forehead. “I sure thought we had Dusty spook-proofed,” he said, “but we hadn’t tested him around newspaper. Looks like we have some more work to do.”
While Toulane and I waited for Josie to turn in her helmet and check out, Toulane said, “That was pretty exciting.”
I still felt a little shaky about it all. “Yeah, I’m so glad Josie didn’t get hurt,” I said.
“Me, too,” Toulane agreed. And I could tell by the tone of her voice that she really meant it.
Two weeks flew by, and I worked extra hard at the gym, building strength—and confidence. Team tryouts were now only nine days away, and the tension was skyrocketing. Toulane, Sierra, and I were more focused than ever, and Coach Isabelle was, too. On Thursday afternoon, she pulled us aside.
“Girls,” she said, “I’ve always emphasized fun, but from now until March-fest, I want you to take every bit of energy you have—mental and physical—and really push yourselves. There will be girls from other gyms competing for spots on the team. I’d love to see each of you move up to the competitive team, but only you and your performance can determine the results.”
Standing beside Toulane, I saw the muscles clench in her jaw. Like an old-fashioned clock, she was winding up tighter and tighter, to the point where I thought she might break. But at least she wasn’t taking her stress out on me. Ever since our last time at the riding center, things had been easier between us.
Coach Isabelle whispered, “I believe in you girls. Now believe in yourselves, too! Let’s go!”
Then we set off to perform our routines, cheering one another on.
When the compulsory music started, I began, determined this time to do the round-off back handspring without Coach Isabelle’s help. If I needed help at tryouts, I’d get a deduction, and my score would be lower. But if I could do the move successfully on my own, I’d get extra points. All I had to do was keep my upper arms extended as I completed the element.
My ankle was getting stronger with each practice, but I still felt it and thought about it with every move. Halfway through my routine, I pivoted in the corner and headed across the mat, where Coach Isabelle waited for me—just in case. I stretched my body into the round-off, but as I attempted the back handspring, my arms bent again. I crashed down, squashing my face against the mat.
“Ummpph!” I scrambled to my feet to finish my routine.
Coach Isabelle stood nearby. She must have figured I was okay, which I was—just so, so frustrated. I tried again. When the music stopped, I was still finishing. I struck a pose and then saluted—arms up.
Next up was Toulane. She performed her floor routine brilliantly! But instead of joining us afterward, she bolted—just like Dusty had at the arena—straight toward the bathroom.
After another teammate finished her routine, Coach Isabelle said, “McKenna, will you please check the bathroom and see if Toulane is okay?”
With a nod I dashed across the gym and around other groups of gymnasts. I slowed to a walk as I passed the lockers and headed into the restroom. “Toulane?” I called, expecting her to be in a bathroom stall. But to my surprise, she was sitting on the tile floor under the hand-dryer. She was clutching her knees to her chest like a frightened little kid.
I dropped down beside her. “Oh, Toulane! What’s wrong?” I asked, searching her face. “Do you have the flu?”
She shook her head. Her face was pale as eggshells, her eyes red from crying.
My heart leapt out of my chest. “You’re really stressed, aren’t you?” I asked, touching her shoulder.
Toulane nodded. Then, gulping air, she sobbed, “I’m so…so stressed that I’m…I got sick to my stomach.”
“Oh!” I said, jumping up to grab a paper towel. I wet it under the faucet. “Here, try this on your face,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said. She sniffled and pressed the damp towel against her face. “I don’t know what happened out there,” she said, her voice muffled. “I was doing fine until I started thinking about team tryouts, and then I just…freaked out.”
I sat against the wall beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “You know how Dusty freaked out about that newspaper?” I asked.
Toulane nodded, her chin trembling.
“We all freak out sometimes,” I said. “I mean, nobody is completely spook-proof, right?”
Toulane’s shoulders shuddered with a jagged breath. “I just feel like I have to be a big success for my mom,” she said. “I’m scared I’m going to let her down. What if I freeze up next week right in the middle of a routine?”
I didn’t say that if anyone should be afraid, it should be me. After all, I was the one overcoming an injury. I was scared that my ankl
e might give out and that I’d fall—and maybe even hurt myself all over again.
“You could freeze up,” I said. “I could, too. But I don’t think we will. We’ve practiced so much, over and over…”
Toulane nodded her head and blew her nose. “The thing is, McKenna, I’m not even sure I want to be on the competitive team anymore,” she said.
My stomach dropped. “What?” I said, wondering if I’d heard her right. “Are you serious?”
“Well, if I could choose,” Toulane said, staring at the bright lights above the sink, “I’d do rhythmic gymnastics instead.”
I caught my breath. “You would?” I asked. “But I thought—”
Toulane waved off my concern. “Don’t worry, McKenna,” she said. “My mom would kill me if I changed sports.”
I was speechless. I’d always assumed Toulane wanted to do artistic gymnastics more than anything in the world. But maybe I’d been wrong. The thought of not practicing with Toulane at the gym left me feeling shaky. No wonder she’d struggled when she thought I was pulling away.
I wanted Toulane on the competitive team, but if she wasn’t happy…As her friend, I wanted to support her. I said, “Maybe you need to tell your mom how you feel.”
Toulane shook her head. “No way. I told you, I can’t change sports now.” She started to stand up.
I reached up to grab her hand. I couldn’t let her step back into the gym looking so sad. “Whatever you do, I’ll support you,” I said softly.
For just a moment, I thought Toulane might start crying again, but instead, she smiled. “Thanks, McKenna,” she said, her eyes still red. “You’re a good friend.”
Then I thought of a way to cheer her up. “Repeat after me,” I said. “Purple in, in, in.”
Toulane chuckled. Then she repeated, “Purple in, in, in,” and inhaled deeply. I did the same.
“And?” I asked teasingly, holding my breath.
We exhaled hard and exclaimed, “Gray OUT!”
I stood up and we hugged—long and strong—and, together, returned to the gym.
On Saturday, after working out hard at the gym, I was happy to go and help at Hearts and Horses. It was the center’s open house and a chance for people to come and see what the center was all about. It gave the riders a chance to show off their new skills, and it gave me a chance to think about something other than gymnastics for a few hours. Team tryouts were now only one week away, and my mind kept running over every detail of my routines.
I’d invited Toulane and Sierra to join me at the open house, so after practice, Grandma Peg drove us to the riding center and dropped us off.
After grabbing a few bags of popcorn, we met up in the arena with Josie, her purple helmet in her lap. She pointed to a rider at the far end of the arena. “You’ve gotta watch,” Josie said. “That’s Devin—she’s fifteen—riding English.”
On a tall, prancing black horse, a teenager rode in a saddle without a saddle horn and with thin steel stirrups. She rode her horse in circles at a walk and then a trot, and then she cantered the horse gracefully around the outer edge of the arena.
“She’s really good!” Sierra said.
I agreed. If Devin had a disability, I didn’t see it. All I saw was a skilled horse and rider.
Toulane leaned forward, mesmerized, and said, “Sometimes I forget that there are other sports besides gymnastics.”
After several minutes, I glanced at the clock. “We’d better head to the kitchen,” I said. “Visitors will be coming soon.”
In the center’s kitchen, we helped by making huge coolers of punch, taste-testing a few cookies, and setting out napkins and plates. When we finished, we searched for Shannon and found her on the mounting platform in the arena. “What can we do now to help?” Josie asked.
“I love that question,” Shannon said, smiling. “I was hoping a couple of you could stay up here on the mounting platform to explain the wall chart to visitors. Would you mind?”
“Not a bit,” Josie said.
“I’ll help you,” offered Toulane. Josie nodded and gave her a warm smile.
When Shannon asked if I could help fill popcorn bags, I happily agreed. As we walked out of the arena, Shannon said, “McKenna, I’m so impressed with how you’ve helped some of the riders with balance and breathing. You’re really good with them.”
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s been fun.”
“So, I’m wondering, would you consider volunteering here a few hours a week to keep working with some of our riders on balance and to help out in other ways, as needed?”
I hesitated. I wanted to spend more time at the center—I really did—but if I made the competitive gymnastics team, I wasn’t sure I would have any free time left over. “I can’t say for sure,” I said to Shannon, “but I want to. Can I think about it and let you know?”
“Of course,” Shannon said. “Keep me posted, alright?”
I nodded.
As I filled paper bags with warm popcorn, my head spun with the smell of salted butter and thoughts of everything that had been happening lately. Team tryouts were only seven days away! Questions popped through my mind like corn kernels exploding.
Would my ankle hold up during tryouts? Would I make the competitive team? If I did, would Toulane be there with me—and did she still want to be? Would I still have time to come back to the center with Josie? And even more time to volunteer with young riders? I just didn’t know. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop…
Something changed Thursday at the gym.
I stood at the edge of the mat, ankle taped, ready to try my round-off back handspring—again. Coach Isabelle was kneeling, ready to spot me. But it dawned on me that I had been so focused on my weakened ankle that I’d forgotten about the rest of my body. The handspring required my arms to be strong, too. And they were, after months of push-ups and rope climbing during practice.
I closed my eyes and visualized my arms holding the weight of my body off the mat. I saw myself completing the element perfectly—no wiping out or “kissing the mat” this time. I not only pictured the move, I believed I could do it.
Then I opened my eyes, gathered speed, and threw my body—smooth and strong—into the round-off back handspring. This time, without help, I landed it!
Coach Isabelle held out her hands toward me. We low-fived, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Then I practiced over and over, until my body memorized the move.
The night before March-fest and team tryouts, I went to bed at nine o’clock, but I didn’t fall asleep until after eleven. And then, as if a rooster were crowing in my head, I woke up at three, four, and five. I fell back asleep for what seemed like only a second before Mom nudged me to get up at seven-thirty.
My stomach turned like a bolt—tighter and tighter—but I made myself eat scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast, knowing that I’d need energy.
Before heading off with my family, I taped and re-taped my ankle, making sure the tape was tight enough but not too tight. Then I pulled my warm-ups on over my leotard and hurried out to Grandma’s Jeep.
The parking lot at Shooting Star Gymnastics was packed with cars. As we walked into the gym, I was overwhelmed by the noise and the rainbow of colors of different teams in their matching warm-ups and leotards. At the far side of the gym, Shooting Star’s competitive team clustered around Coach Chip. I felt a little dizzy.
I spotted my family in the front row of the viewing area. Josie was parked beside them, at the end of the row of chairs. They all waved, and I forced a smile and waved back.
Breathe, I reminded myself as I felt my shoulders rising and tensing.
Girls hovered near tables by the entry door selling March-fest sweatshirts, T-shirts, and caps. There were leotards for sale, plus posters of famous gymnasts, and lots of hair accessories.
“Look, candy!” Maisey exclaimed, pointing toward a table.
“Those are ‘Candy Congrats,’” I explained. Candy Congrats were blank notes attached to candy. Families who bought the can
dy could write notes that would be read to gymnasts over the loudspeaker during the competition.
My family took turns wishing me well and kissing my cheek. And then they sat back down.
I spotted Toulane and Sierra by the lockers. We were the only ones from our Level 4 group trying out for the competitive team, but girls from other clubs were trying out, too. Coach Isabelle said there would be seven girls competing for two spots. Yikes.
If I didn’t make the team, I hoped the spots would go to Toulane and Sierra. But I had no idea how good the girls from the other clubs might be.
I stood beside my locker and pulled off my warm-up jacket. Then, as a surprise, I pulled from my backpack three matching braided bands of pink, orange, and yellow. “Friendship bracelets,” I said, handing them to Toulane and Sierra.
“Oh, McKenna,” Sierra said, her eyes bright.
“I gave one to Josie, too,” I said. “She’s here to cheer us on!”
“Cool,” Toulane said, studying her bracelet and then meeting my eyes with a smile. “I wish we could wear them right now, but we’ll have to wait till after we compete.”
“That’s right,” Coach Isabelle said, joining us. And then she reminded us of what to expect of the tryouts. “You’re competing against each other today, but you’re still teammates. You need to encourage each other and help each other have fun!”
Her last word must have stuck, because Sierra, Toulane, and I broke into smiles as we set off after her. Heads high and shoulders back, we strode past the viewing area, packed with spectators. No matter how I perform, I reminded myself, I’m happy to have family and friends who support me. Plus, I was proud to be here after my ankle injury. I’d worked hard to heal and catch up.
A basket of butterflies trembled inside me.
All the gymnastics teams spread out on the mats to stretch for a half hour. Off to the side, I led my teammates in front splits while someone read Candy Congrats over the loudspeakers.
“For McKenna Brooks,” I suddenly heard. “You’re our shooting star. We love you! Your family.”
McKenna, Ready to Fly Page 6