by Julie Cross
“The American Cup in April could be a trial run for her,” one of Nina’s sidekicks said.
“We needed another five–tenths of difficulty for the team beam score at Pan Am championships,” the other one said. “I thought we’d have to upgrade everyone’s jumps and turns, but she just racked up seven–tenths for us with one move.”
“Which would also be fantastic for Worlds next fall,” Nina said.
Oh my God, Mom is going to freak when she hears this!
I stood at the end of the beam, completing the full turn right before my double pike dismount, but suddenly reality hit and glued me to my spot. The fog of adrenaline melted. I tried to draw in a breath but couldn’t. The end of the beam blurred in front of me.
No, not this again. Not now.
Tears trickled down my cheeks. My legs collapsed underneath me. I sat right down on the beam, my forehead hitting my knees, the room swaying around me.
“Karen?” Stevie. It’s Stevie.
“Are you okay?” And Blair.
“I can’t breathe,” I whispered.
Stevie pulled me down to my feet and before I even realized what was happening, she and Blair were leading me into the training room.
“I think she’s hyperventilating,” Stevie said.
I am? How did that happen?
“God, Karen!” Blair said. “What happened? You were doing so amazing. Did you hear them talking?”
Sweat trickled down my neck and back. I lifted myself onto the table, feeling nothing but panic as air refused to enter my lungs.
“She’s white as a ghost,” Bentley said, rushing in with the team doctor. “Karen, is this like what happened to you before? Or is it something else?”
Through the panic, I knew what he was asking—Is this like the time I saw the urns or do I actually have medical problems that need 9–1–1 assistance?
“It’s like before,” I managed to say.
I clutched my chest, knotting my leotard between my fingers, willing myself to take a breath. After a two–second glance at Coach Bentley’s worried expression and my teammates’ near panicked faces, I passed out.
And with that, I proved to Nina and the rest of the committee that mentally, I wasn’t anywhere near ready for a major international competition in the future.
What could have ended as my best training camp ever, turned out to be the worst ever. Not just for me, but for my entire team and Coach Bentley.
***
February 15
Mom,
Thank you for being the kind of mom that wouldn’t have been angry or disappointed at me for screwing up royally at a very important moment. That’s why I fell apart this weekend. I used to always know that I could text you from camp and tell you everything, good or bad, and you’d make me feel better. The way you would make fun of Nina Jones or me for always being so serious about everything. I think Dad would, too, if I gave him all the details I gave you, but I always want him to think I’m unbreakable, even if I’m not.
Love, Karen
Coach Bentley and I walked through the front door of his town house, exhausted and defeated. Neither of us had been in the mood to talk for the last seven or eight hours. He carried my suitcase up the stairs and I trudged after him.
“What the hell,” Bentley muttered. “Jordan!”
Jordan’s bedroom door flew open and he stepped into the hallway, grinning at me. “Like it?”
I finally got a glimpse of what Bentley was shouting about. My bedroom furniture had been exchanged for Jordan’s mismatched twin bed and dresser. The twin bed in my new room was covered with the blanket I had been using in the closet. There were no more boxes lying around. My clothes were hanging in the closet, all of the trophies and various items from my old room were nowhere to be found.
I stared at Jordan, my eyes wide. He knew. Something I said the other night must have tipped him off.
“Fix this now,” Bentley boomed. “What were you thinking?”
“It’s all right,” Jordan said. “Karen agreed to this. She lost a bet. I won her furniture fair and square.”
“He’s right.” I stepped into the room inhaling deeply and feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. “A deal’s a deal.”
Bentley shook his head as if to say he had enough to worry about without adding Jordan’s interior design projects to the list. Then he left us to go and chat with Mrs. Garrett downstairs. Jordan came into my room and shut the door behind him.
“How did you know?” I asked immediately. I closed my eyes, breathing in deeply again and smelling something brand new. A new start.
“I came in to tell you something the other night and you were sound asleep in the closet,” he said. “And then when you told me on the phone, about memories being haunting, I just thought… It smells like home to you, right?”
I nodded my answer, afraid to test the steadiness of my voice. I had held so much in since having a panic attack during last night’s workout. Everyone had looked at me like I belonged in the loony bin, so I hadn’t wanted to break down in sobs to add to the rumors.
The fact that Jordan had managed to bring my spirits up after that horrible ending to camp was just amazing. I moved closer and wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him in the middle.
“Thank you,” I whispered. This time I had actually said it out loud rather than in a letter I’d never send.
But hugging a boy was very out of character for me, so of course I let go and backed away before he even had a chance to return the hug.
“What happened at camp?”
I sat down on the bed. “The National Committee…they were talking about me, in the middle of my beam routine. Basically the beam routine of my life. They went on about how valuable I would be to the Pan Am team and maybe the World team.”
He joined me on the bed, putting a decent amount of space between us so we could turn and face each other. “And then you fell off the beam, or what?”
“I just froze. It was probably the single greatest moment of my entire life and…and . . .” I sucked in a shaky breath, holding back tears. “It hit me that I didn’t have anyone to call and tell the good news to.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And needless to say, when they announced the three girls who would represent the USA at the American Cup in April, none of Coach Bentley’s girls made the cut.” Honestly, I hadn’t expected to get picked anyway, but they had dangled the possibility in front of me and I wanted it. For a few minutes, I wanted it so bad.
I flopped onto my stomach, pressing my face into the pillow. “I really screwed up, Jordan. I might not be able to convince them I’m anything but a mental disaster.”
“What did my dad say?”
“Nothing. He’s hardly spoken ten words to me since last night. I don’t think he knows what to say. It’s not anything he can fix or help me through, you know? That’s what therapy is supposed to do.”
He was quiet for a minute, then he grabbed my ankle and tugged on it. “Get up. Put on some clothes that aren’t made for comfort.”
I raised my head. “Why? Where are we going?”
He grinned at me. “To a party.”
“I just want to go to sleep for twenty hours and forget about this weekend.” I put the pillow over my head, but Jordan yanked it off.
“Come on, Campbell, don’t be a baby,” he said. “You’ll just end up lying in bed crying all night instead of finding a healthy distraction.”
I sat up and glared at him. “Where is this party, anyway?”
CHAPTER NINE
“What kind of celebration is this?” I asked Jordan after prying my fingers off the seat of the car and forcing my eyes to open. We were parked in front of a huge house, practically a mansion.
“It’s a high school party.” Jordan reached across me to open my door. “No specific purpose other than the absence of parental control.”
I climbed out of the car and looked down at my outfit—skinny jeans, a green V–neck sweater,
and black boots. I had even put on a padded bra. That didn’t give me cleavage, though. I felt the sudden urge to button my jacket all the way up so my lack of boobs wouldn’t be the first thing everyone noticed.
“Do I look okay?”
“You look fine.” Jordan grinned at me. “There might be drinking here, so don’t tell my dad.”
We had sort of told Coach Bentley we were going to get low–fat nondairy pizza and then shop for toiletries at Walmart. Then we planned to add on to the story, saying that the wait for a table at the pizza place was an hour, buying us three to four total hours of freedom.
“I might need to have a few drinks,” I said. “Just to loosen me up. I’ll need some liquid courage for all those rounds of spin–the–bottle and twenty minutes in heaven.”
Jordan burst out laughing before leading us toward the door of the party house. “Twenty minutes in heaven, huh? That could get crazy.”
We stepped through the door and entered the world of loud music, beer kegs, and random hookups. Part of me was totally petrified, the other part, fascinated. I just wanted to watch and see what normal looked like.
“Hey! Bentley!” someone shouted from the back patio.
I jumped and then realized Jordan was also Bentley…Jordan Bentley. I let out a breath of relief. He bumped fists with a stocky dark–haired guy whose eyes swept briefly over me and then back to Jordan, one eyebrow raised. “Who’s the cute redhead?”
“Tony, this is Karen,” Jordan said, nodding toward me. “This is Tony’s house.”
“Are you a freshman?” Tony asked, then he snatched a cup from the counter and handed it to me. “You must be a freshman. Three’s your limit, maybe two. You look like a lightweight.”
I started to take a sip, but Jordan stopped me, leaning in to sniff the cup. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine,” I told him. Despite my lack of social experiences, I had drunk alcohol before. I had developed an early taste for wine and my parents had let me drink a glass sometimes. If they weren’t home, Blair and I had been known to sneak another glass.
The drink tasted like iced tea and lemonade…with a kick. It felt warm going down, which was good because Jordan led me outside to stand around a bonfire with about twenty other kids. “I have a confession to make,” he whispered into my ear before we got too close to any of the others. “I did have some selfish motives when I invited you tonight.”
“Like what?”
“There’re two girls I’m trying to avoid, and the best way to do that at a party is to bring another girl.”
I laughed really hard. “You’re kidding. You should have brought someone a little more intimidating than me.”
He grinned down at me when I looked over my shoulder. “No one knows you. The mystery in itself is intimidating enough. Trust me.”
“What do you want me to say?” I asked, half panicking and half looking forward to the challenge of helping Jordan for a change. “If anyone asks who I am?”
Two girls were already striding in our direction, fake smiles plastered on.
“Tell them anything you want,” he said before moving beside me, rather than behind me.
“Hey, Jordan,” the girls said together.
He introduced me without explaining my presence at all, then seconds later, he left to go talk to some guys on the other side of the bonfire. I wasn’t sure whether to be scared or ticked off by Jordan’s departure, but the girls were on me before I had a chance to decide.
“So,” one of the girls said to me, “you must be a freshman, right? I thought you looked familiar.”
I downed about two–thirds of my drink and placed it on a table. That would be just enough alcohol to loosen my tongue, but not enough to tip off Bentley when we got back home.
“How do you know Jordan?” the other girl asked.
“Well…we’re…uh,” I stammered.
They both nodded, looking impressed. “That’s so great you guys are together,” one girl said, holding her hand to her heart as if Jordan was a close relative or something. “I’ve been telling Jordan forever that he needed to get a girlfriend and quit messing around.”
I coughed loudly, nearly choking on the alcohol still burning my throat from thirty seconds ago. “Right…well, it’s only been two dates. It’s not like we’re living together.”
“Two dates is progress for him,” the girl on my left said, rolling her eyes. “Trust me on that.”
“Thanks, guys,” I heard Jordan say. He moved right behind me, resting his hands lightly on my shoulders. “Why don’t you just tell Karen everything you know about me?”
“Whatever,” they said together.
Jordan steered me in the other direction, where Tony and a couple other guys were standing. “Sorry about that.”
“This is our second date, by the way.”
“So our first date was buying tampons? That kind of sucks.”
I shrugged. “That’s what you get for dating a freshman.”
“Are you even in a grade?”
“Technically, I’m a senior like you, but the age of a junior. And apparently the inevitable size of a freshman.”
He dropped his hands from my shoulders and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “But a freshman dating a senior, that makes you pretty freaking cool.”
His breath tickled my neck, giving me goose bumps all over and tugging at my stomach in a weird, unfamiliar way. I held my breath, waiting for it to pass and shaking off the shiver that threatened to run down my spine.
No way could I get a real crush on this boy.
“Are you in, Bentley?” Tony asked, pointing toward the huge hill behind the house.
Jordan scratched the back of his head, glancing at me for a second. “Not tonight.”
“Come on!” another guy said, then he tugged on my coat sleeve, demanding my attention. “You have to see this guy sled down the hill. It’s unbelievable.”
Jordan laughed. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I made fifty bucks last time. I’ve got a video game addiction to fuel,” the guy said.
“What’s the trick?” I finally ventured to ask.
Tony grinned at me. “See? The little girl wants to see you perform, Bentley.”
Little girl?
Tony glanced at my face and then backtracked, trying to fix his insult. He held his hand up waist height. “I just meant short…shorter…”
“Tony’s part ogre,” Jordan said, glaring at his friend. “Everyone looks small to him.”
“Anyway,” Tony said, changing the subject back to Jordan’s infamous trick. “See all those trees at the bottom of the hill?”
I looked down the steep surface and saw virtually no opening for a sled to go through. “Wow, there’s no avoiding hitting something, is there?”
“Sure there is.” Jordan smirked at me. “If you’re quick enough.”
And that was all it took for Coach Bentley’s son to accept a challenge he had originally refused. Or maybe that was part of the game—get everyone begging you to do it. Because that’s exactly what happened.
Ten minutes later, all the party people were lined up on the snowy grass beside the hill chanting Jordan’s name while he trudged up the hill, an orange plastic sled under his arm.
“I’m getting a video of this,” someone beside me said, pulling out a cell phone. “I’ll get twenty thousand views on YouTube by tomorrow morning.”
“A hundred thousand if he doesn’t make it,” another voice said. “Can you imagine the awesome bloodshed if his head slams into a tree?”
My fists clenched into balls as Jordan hopped onto the sled, standing up and riding it down the hill like a surfboard. I’ll admit, I let out a small gasp as he came within a couple feet of a tree, but he jumped off quickly and rolled sideways in the snow. It was a cool trick, but from where I stood, it didn’t look that difficult to time the jumping–off part.
Everyone cheered as Jordan stood up and ran back over to us. I folded my arms over my chest, watching him b
ump fists with Tony and the other guy who had originally egged him on. Jordan gave me a small bow, looking cocky as hell.
“What’d you think, Karen? Pretty awesome, huh?”
“Looked pretty easy to me,” I said.
We got several “ooohhhs” from his friends and Jordan’s cocky grin fell from his face.
My eyes stayed focused on the hill, forming a plan. The blood was already rushing to my head, making the tips of my fingers tingle. But this time, unlike the tucked back full on beam, I could do something that wouldn’t cause me to miss my parents more than ever.
“Tony,” I said, looking right at him and not at Jordan. “Fifty bucks says I can do a little better than Jordan. I’ll get a foot closer to the tree before I jump off.”
“No way,” Tony said.
The other guy laughed. “That’s cute. How much did you let her drink, Bentley?”
“You know how freshman babies get at their first party,” Tony said. “They end up in the ER getting their stomachs pumped.”
“You’re not drunk, are you?” Jordan asked, dead serious.
I flashed him my best “judges smile.” “Nope, not drunk at all.”
Then I took off to retrieve the orange sled. Of course Jordan jogged after me. “Is this gonna be like the triple back?”
“No, because your dad’s not here to yell at me,” I said, heading up the hill. “Besides, what did you call my routines again? Clean and safe?”
He laughed and kept following me. “Okay, okay! Forget I ever said that. You sure you want to do this?”
“Positive.”
When we got to the top of the hill, I almost chickened out after seeing how steep it really was and estimating the speed I’d generate halfway down. But I didn’t want this awesome rush to fade. Not yet. Jordan gave me a few pointers about when to shift my weight at certain points on the hill. I think most of the kids watching thought I was pulling some corny girlfriend move, sending Jordan off with a kiss or something. So I’m sure there were plenty of shocked faces when it was me who took off, surfing down the hill.