by Julie Cross
I laughed. “How’d that work out for you?”
“It cost me two hours of sleep last night,” he said with a yawn. “Sara’s not exactly the studious type, so it was left to me to finish the assignment. Lesson learned, right?”
“Somehow I doubt that.” I stuck my hand out in front of him. “Can I see your cell phone?”
When he handed it over, I typed quickly into the phone before returning it. “There. Now you have my number. If you’re ever studying again, you can text me and I’ll wait outside the door in the cold if I have to, but I won’t interrupt.”
“That’s kind of you,” he joked.
“No,” I said, turning serious again. “It’s kind of your dad to let me stay with you guys. I just want you to know that I’m not going to forget that I’m a guest in your house.”
Jordan was silent for a couple minutes, staring at the road ahead of us. “I think I need to see this new release move of yours. I heard Stevie’s back in the gym again?”
I didn’t need to ask what he meant by that. The intentions dripped from his tone. I threw him a disgusted look. “So, you make out with Sara for fun, have a weird fantasy about Stacey who happens to be married, lactating, and way too old for you, and now you’re obviously interested in seeing Stevie in a leotard. Are all boys like this?”
“First of all,” Jordan said. “Guys, not boys. Second…yes, I’m pretty sure we are all like this. Unfortunately. But if you promise never to share this information, I could let you in on a little secret.”
“I promise.” I turned my body toward him and away from the view of the road.
“Most of what guys say is all talk,” he admitted. “Not always intentional exaggerations, either. Just us chickening out. So, if you want to know what a guy is really like, my best advice for you is to pay attention to what he does, not what he says.”
I mulled over that advice as we pulled into the parking lot but couldn’t respond due to Jordan’s interruption.
“Oh shit,” he said under his breath. “He’s home.”
My heart raced as I looked down at the two large grocery sacks at my feet. “Should I leave the bags in the car?”
Jordan pulled into a parking space and threw me a weary look. “Still feeling bold, today?”
“Why?”
“I think your best escape is to tell him the truth.”
“I can’t do that,” I said. “I can’t even believe I told you. I don’t talk to boys. Ever. And now I’m buying tampons with one.”
I ignored the heat in my face because I realized Jordan might be right. I’d had a streak of boldness this entire day, starting with my afternoon workout. Maybe this was a PMS symptom?
Jordan’s cell phone rang as we opened the front door to find Coach Bentley standing in the living room, holding his own phone to his ear. He snapped it shut immediately. “What—?”
I glanced at Jordan for a split second and he nodded expectantly toward his dad. “I’m not really sick,” I said. “I didn’t want to tell Stacey the truth.”
His arms folded across his chest, face not revealing any anger, but I was sure it had to be in there somewhere. Elite gymnasts were known for their obedience. I was no exception to this rule. “But where have you two been?”
“Buying tampons at Walmart,” I blurted out, holding up my two sacks. “You can alert the media now. I’m no longer at risk for osteoporosis.”
I stayed in the living room just long enough to see his mouth hang open, then I jetted up the stairs. I might have been feeling more outspoken than usual, but not enough to want to watch Bentley stumble to find something to say.
January 30
Grandma,
Do you miss Mom as much as I do? Can we just talk about it instead of reading books? We spent thirty minutes on the phone today and I didn’t ask any of the questions I really wanted to ask you. Are you so sad you can hardly breathe? Are you so sad you want to stop breathing? Sometimes I feel like that, but I can’t tell you because I’ve accepted it and I’m adjusting well.
Love, Karen
Coach Bentley,
Why didn’t you tell me there was something wrong with me? How can you read those reports and not tell us about them?
––Karen
P.S. I’m still really, really grateful that you let me stay with you and I promise to work hard to make the National Team.
Jordan,
I’m sorry you don’t know your dad very well. I wish I could help.
––Karen
***
After taking a very long shower, I trudged down the steps in my pajamas and grabbed my hat, coat, and boots before heading out the back door to sit on the patio chair half–covered with snow and ice. Coach Bentley must have been in his bedroom, which was at the opposite end of the kitchen on the first floor.
Blair,
You’re still my best friend. But I’m jealous of your family. I can’t help it. I’m going to call you and tell you my news, but I’m hoping you don’t invite me over or talk about your mom being annoying. She’s still here. Be happy about that.
Love, Karen
While bravery still swam in my veins, I dialed Blair’s number, knowing I couldn’t keep today’s events from my best friend. After Blair, I’d call Grandma and let her know, too. Especially since I’d just charged over fifty dollars to her credit card at Walmart.
Then I’d go to bed in a closet, hoping the scent of my parent’s ghosts wouldn’t envelop me in my sleep, invading my dreams.
CHAPTER SIX
January 31
Dad,
Would you call me a baby if you knew I was sleeping in the closet? Or would you let me fall asleep and then carry me to my bed, like you did when I was little and would conk out on long car rides? I know you expect more from me. I’m trying.
Love, Karen
“I finished the assignment you gave me,” I told Jackie at the beginning of our second session on Thursday.
She took a minute to carefully look over the list I had set on her desk. “Have you had a chance to talk with Coach Bentley or Jordan since Tuesday? Anything beyond the basics of who’s going where and when?”
“You could say that,” I muttered under my breath, thinking of the weird night with Jordan. We hadn’t spoken much since then, but there also hadn’t been much opportunity either. It was a mutual and comfortable living relationship. Much better than I could have hoped for.
Jackie’s face broke into a grin. “All right, spill. What’s the situation behind the blushing? Your secrets are safe here.”
Apparently therapy had turned into gossip hour. But perhaps this would keep us from talking about the one subject I was here to discuss. Especially since the panic attacks hadn’t returned. I made an immediate decision to not tell her about crying over my leotard or Jordan’s blunt mention of my orphan status, and how much lighter I had felt, speaking the truth out loud. But I did tell her everything else. Everything.
Jackie listened carefully and I could tell she was very surprised by my progress over the past two days. These answers were nowhere near scripted.
“So, yeah,” I said, concluding the story. “I’m pretty sure I scared Coach Bentley off. He’s probably going to avoid one–on–one conversation for a while. I think I should let him, you know?”
“It’s probably not as bad as it seems,” Jackie said. “You made a good choice not continuing to lie to him. It would have just added more stress to your life and I doubt you need that right now with your meet season beginning soon.”
“True.” I chewed on my bottom lip, debating a new question. “I know you’re not a medical doctor, but do you think it’s a problem that puberty is just kicking in for me? And is it possible that getting my period and bigger boobs, which will probably be next on the list given my family history—” I froze for a second, wishing I hadn’t brought family into the conversation. Jackie didn’t seem to react or show any kind of desire to switch topics, though. “Is it possible all this could be helpi
ng my gymnastics? I really think it might be. Yesterday, I did the best tumbling and beam I’ve ever done in my life and then Stacey started teaching me drills for Arabians on beam, which she’d never even considered before. I mean, it’s so hard and risky—”
Jackie waved a hand to stop me. “You have to translate gymnastics terms. I’m sadly deficient in this area.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “An Arabian is like a half–turn in the air to a front flip. But you do it standing with no lead–up skill. It takes tons of leg power.”
She was quiet for an agonizing forty–five seconds before saying, “I think a lot of things could contribute to your recent success, but let’s hold off on that question for a while, okay? See if things change or continue as they are now.”
“Sure.” I sank back in the armchair, slightly disappointed that she didn’t have a magic grown–up answer for me. We’d talked about my online classes, but we hadn’t talked about college. I sat there for several seconds considering asking her if she thought I should head for NCAA fame in June or keep training here and push for elite goals. Goals my mom had been so afraid I’d work for and not achieve. She was afraid of my heart getting broken and me having nothing else to work for.
Jackie returned her attention to my list again. “Do you really think Coach Bentley would depend on you to keep an eye on his son?”
“Uh, I guess not?”
“But that’s the only truly personal answer you put down on this list.” She looked up at me again. “Everything else relates to gymnastics and Coach Bentley making this decision with his career in mind, rather than something personal.”
“Like what?” I asked. But I did remember one thing. The ring on Bentley’s finger. His wife was gone.
“It’s not my place to tell you specifics.” Jackie sighed. “It seems you and Jordan have more in common than you realize, and I’m sure if you really think about it, you can find the answers that you need.” She gave me a wry smile. “Teenagers are savvy like that.”
I nodded, understanding her directions but not wanting to speak them aloud. We moved on to new topics for the rest of the hour. But when I got back to Bentley’s and sat in the safety of the kitchen with no one else home, my laptop already open, I typed in, “Gymnast Henry Bentley wife died” to Google. The top result, just the headline, was enough.
FORMER OLYMPIAN LOSES WIFE, DAUGHTER, AND PARENTS IN LONDON BOMBING
Nausea swept over me, and it felt like a twenty–pound brick had just settled into the pit of my stomach.
“Oh my God,” I mumbled to myself.
Bentley never talked about anything personal. But how could I have been so self–involved that Jordan’s loss or Bentley’s never occurred to me, not even the other night when Jordan made me say it out loud. My parents are dead. His mom is dead.
I didn’t even know Bentley had a daughter. Jordan’s sister.
How did they even stand up? How did they keep going? I wanted to ask a million questions and at the same time, most of my mind was so occupied with my own loss, I couldn’t even begin to feel someone else’s.
January 31
Jordan and Coach Bentley,
I’m so, so sorry for what happened to your family. I hope that I can find the courage to tell you in person, even if it doesn’t really help.
—Karen
***
I couldn’t make direct eye contact with Coach Bentley all during evening practice. Every time I looked in his direction, the newly acquired information returned to my thoughts and shook me from the inside out. How could Coach Bentley be hiding so much under all those unreadable expressions he wore?
“How are you feeling?” Blair asked me, while in line for vault.
“Fine, I guess.”
She laughed under her breath. “Who knew periods could carry superpowers. If it’s true, then I want mine right now. What can I do to make this happen?”
I shook my head at her, not able to help the smile now forming on my face. “Move in with two guys and ask yourself what could be the most humiliating situation imaginable—then you’ll get your wish.”
“Sorry,” Blair said. “That must have been awful. I think I’d still be in my room hiding…God…So did Bentley have to drive you to the store or something? I can’t even imagine.”
“Something like that.” And yeah, I had left out Jordan’s part in the last few days, because Blair was slightly more interested in boys than I was and she’d exhaust me, asking for details. Plus, it seemed wrong to tell her about Jordan without him knowing. Maybe he didn’t want people to know about him going tampon shopping. It wasn’t only my secret to tell.
“Karen,” Bentley said from the opposite end of the vault runway. “You’re up.”
I kept my eyes on the apparatus in front of me and not on Bentley. The vault, which resembled a giant tongue from a distance, was insanely dangerous at my level. I had to focus on what I was doing or I’d break my neck. Today, we’d moved on from landing on mats stacked in the pit to real competition landing mats. I quickly visualized the Yurchenko double full vault, closing my eyes briefly, and then took off at a fast run. I had learned a Yurchenko vault when I was eight years old, but since then, it had evolved to include a layout backflip and not just one twist, but now two.
It was scary because you had to do a round–off, which is like a cartwheel, but landing with both feet together on the end of the springboard. Then you dove backward onto the vault table (aka—giant tongue). The benefit of this style of vault—going on backward—was that it allowed smaller gymnasts like me to get a bigger push off the apparatus, which meant I could get much higher, which led to more flips and twists and essentially more difficulty points from the judges.
My feet pounded the runway, adrenaline rushing through me, overtaking any trace of fear I’d had about landing on the regular mats instead of the soft safety of the foam pit. I hit the springboard in just the right spot and dove backward toward the vault table and got an awesome push, giving me all the power I needed to complete the one and a half backward flip with two twists. My knees bent at just the right time as I touched the landing mat, ignoring the sting traveling from my ankles all the way to my hips.
I held the landing, not making a single movement, my insides screaming for me to jump up and cheer, maybe run a victory lap around the gym. But I played it cool, not even looking at Bentley as I walked off the mat.
“Beautiful, Karen. Keep it up and we’ll work on adding an extra half twist,” Bentley said.
Oh my God! My mouth twitched fighting a smile. Maybe Blair was right. Maybe I had acquired some superpowers recently. Upgrading my vault difficulty was not something I needed for UCLA, so maybe this was a sign? Maybe Bentley and I were on the same page.
***
After practice, before I could get to the locker room to change, Jordan came stumbling through the gym’s front doors, red–faced and shivering.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He blew on his hands, rubbing them together before unzipping his ski jacket. “Uh, giving you a ride home except, I might not be able to do that.”
“What happened?”
“Car broke down,” he said through chattering teeth. “About a mile away. I guess my dad practices what he preaches with his rule of no cell phones on the floor. I really need to program the number for the front desk into my phone.”
“Sorry.” I glanced at the door to the conference room, sealed shut to keep gymnasts and parents out. “He just started his staff meeting. We might be hanging out here for a while.”
Blair came out of the locker room right then and I could feel her eyes on us, taking in the situation. She grabbed the strap of my leotard, yanking me into the opening of the locker room and away from Jordan. “That’s Bentley’s kid?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s so cute,” she whispered. “Like majorly gorgeous. I can’t believe you actually live with him.”
“Live with who?” Ellen asked, appearing behind B
lair. She poked her head out of the locker room and squealed. “That’s Jordan!”
I shook Blair off my arm and rolled my eyes at both of them. “Jesus, you’d think he was some boy band hero or something.”
“Proof that we all really need to get a life,” Blair said.
Ellen leaned against the wall, chewing on her bottom lip. “She’s right.”
“Yes, a life would be good,” I agreed. “And as your friend, I’m going to save you from yourselves. Do not squeal, blush, or giggle in his presence. Either walk up to him and introduce yourself or don’t. Anything in between is going to make you wish for an all–girls college, all right?”
They both nodded, serious, as if I were the coach giving them a pre–competition pep talk.
Ellen shoved me out the door first, causing me to stumble back into the lobby. “How about you introduce us?”
“How about we save it for next time,” Blair whispered, racing past me toward the safety of her mother waiting by the front doors with keys in hand.
I returned to Jordan’s side. He looked like he wanted to ask about the girl–drama that just went on, but he kept his mouth shut. “Sorry again about you walking a mile in this weather. Isn’t it like one degree with the wind chill or something?”
“It feels colder.” He shuddered and removed his icy coat.
Stevie was still in her leotard, chatting in the lobby with Sylvia, the team dance teacher and choreographer. I saw Jordan’s eyes travel in her direction. I laughed and elbowed him in the side. “Go talk to her. You know you want to.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I will.”
I waited for several seconds and Jordan’s feet stayed planted to the same spot. “That was anticlimactic.”