by Julie Cross
Impress the committee at the March training camp so that Nina Jones will name me to the Pan American team that will go to Brazil at the end of May
Place in the top 10 at Senior National Championships in August
Place in the top 8 at World trials in September so I’m chosen for the selection camp
Convince the National Committee to choose me for the World Championship team in October
Represent USA in my first ever World Championships in Spain, in October
Maintain my skills after Worlds and continue training for the new season in LA and move into the dorms at UCLA, where I will compete college gymnastics under the direction of Jim Cordes, my childhood coach, if they will still accept me a few months late
Plan C:
Some combination of Plan A and B
***
It took me three full days off gymnastics before I was well enough to practice again. Coach Bentley insisted that the fever had to be gone before I returned to the gym. By the time I saw Jackie again, we had missed a full week of therapy (girl talk) together. I knew after what had happened in Houston, I needed to get her to help me with the panic attacks, but I wasn’t sure how to dive right into Mom and Dad when I’d avoided the subject with her for so long.
“Jim Cordes was your coach before Coach Bentley?” Jackie asked me after reading the goals I’d written for my last assignment with her. It felt like an eternity since I’d jotted those down on the flight to Houston.
“Correct.”
“And he’ll be your coach again if you go to UCLA in June?”
“I’m supposed to go in June,” I said, just to force myself to remember the original plan. The plan my parents and I had all agreed to.
“You have some important decisions to make soon, then.” Jackie leaned back in her chair, hands folded in her lap. “Let’s start with Plan B. What do you think your chances are of making the top ten at Nationals?”
“I was sixth at Junior Nationals the year before last and last year I only competed bars but I won, so it’s definitely possible.” Assuming I don’t collapse on top of a balance beam or show up with clean safe routines lacking difficulty.
“What if you don’t make it?” she asked. “Does it void out all the other goals?”
I swallowed hard. “I guess it does, but it doesn’t void out Plan A.”
“Nationals are in August, so that’s past when UCLA expects you training with them,” Jackie said. “If they don’t know your status and Coach Cordes is counting on you for the team lineup, they’ll have to fill your spot. That doesn’t mean they won’t let you join later on, obviously you’d be a huge asset. But there are some NCAA rules that your elite training would violate—”
“And I’d have to wait for the following season,” I finished for her. This was something I’d thought about a lot lately. My parents and I had gone over all these rules and policies with Coach Cordes before he left.
“Okay, let’s try out a few scenarios,” Jackie said. “Let’s say you stick around a couple more months for Nationals in August and you do make the top ten. Then you go on to make top eight at World trials in September. Then you’re on the team, but not really?”
“They’ll probably send seven to Spain—five on the team, one official alternate, and one secondary alternate hanging back just in case.” I remembered what Jackie had said in a previous session about me needing to explain the gymnastics aspect. “The National Committee has to compose the best team. They don’t need every gymnast to do all four events in the team competition. Not for the final, anyway. They only need three on each event. So, winning at Nationals doesn’t mean you can help fill a void in the vault difficulty score for the team and another girl who placed much lower may have an amazing vault. They could send her just for that.”
Jackie leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the desk. “So, you’re telling me that you could win Nationals, as in first place, and still not make the World team?”
“It’s possible,” I admitted. “Not probable, but possible.”
“You’d give up a whole season of NCAA competition and then not make the final cut for World Championships. And where does that leave you? Do you start college but not join the team yet? Or do you hang around for a year?” She was quiet for a very long moment. “There’s so much here that is beyond your control. I’m a little worried about what kind of damage that can do to you. Are you setting yourself up for failure by wanting something like this?”
She didn’t get it. I knew she wouldn’t. Neither did my mom. “Of course it’s hard. If it wasn’t hard, then success wouldn’t feel nearly as great.”
“True,” Jackie said. “But there’s only about twenty percent of this equation that you can actually work toward. The rest will be determined by other people. What I’m saying is, you don’t have control over the life that is represented in these goals.”
I can’t control a shoulder injury bad enough to need surgery. I can’t control getting the flu.
“What should I write, then?” I snapped, feeling more frustrated than ever. “It’s not like I hoped for an Olympic Gold medal. I do have some grasp on reality. I just haven’t been able to let go of competing in a big international meet like Worlds.”
“Why didn’t you include the Olympics in your goals?”
“But you just said—” I stopped and let out a breath to calm myself before I started shouting at my therapist. That didn’t seem like a good way to prove mental sanity. “You’re contradicting yourself. I’m aiming too high, risking my college career, by wanting to be picked for the World team, but I’m selling myself short by not writing down the Olympics as my goal?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Karen. There’re pros and cons to both heading to LA in June and giving your elite career a longer run. I think your maturity and dedication is just amazing. I want you to know that.” She slid the goal sheet across the desk, returning it to me. “But I also want you to rewrite these, and you aren’t allowed to include anything relating to making a certain team or a specific rank number, because when it comes down to it, you can’t control those things.”
I can’t control my parents getting into a car and dying…I can’t keep the same thing from happening to me or someone else I love.
“And you need at least three goals that have nothing to do with gymnastics.”
I stared at her blankly. “Like finishing my correspondence courses on time? Or getting all As?”
Jackie smiled. “What are the chances of you turning in anything late or getting less than an A?”
“Slim to none,” I muttered, dropping my eyes to my hands. “I know this makes me sound like a deprived child, but I can’t really come up with three real non–gymnastics goals. I could just make up something, but I’m guessing that’s not really what you want.”
“No. I’d rather have one real goal from you than three made–up ones.” She sighed and I could see her debating something, contemplating tackling a more difficult subject, so I did the first thing I could think of to lessen the sting. It was time to point at this elephant that had been stomping around her office for weeks.
“My parents are dead,” I blurted out.
Jackie’s eyebrows lifted but she didn’t look nearly as shocked as I’d expected. “I know. Does that make this more difficult? Thinking about your future?”
More honesty poured out of me. It was like once I started, I couldn’t stop. And what happened in Houston had me wondering if I really did need help from a therapist. “I don’t know if it’s more difficult. I didn’t even try. These are the same goals I’ve had since before…”
“I know that, too,” Jackie said, kindness seeping into her voice. “I was hoping you’d come to that conclusion yourself.”
So she did have some shrink strategy beyond the let’s–be–friends method. “I wasn’t lying, either. I still want those things. But I’ll rewrite them for you if that’s what you want.”
“Yes, thank you.” She turned her head to the side,
like she was coming up with an idea. “Maybe your non–gymnastics goals should be something that seems almost too normal to write down, but for you it might be something you have to work at.”
“Like getting a boy to ask me on a date,” I groaned.
Jackie laughed. “You’re not going to have to work hard at that. Trust me, they’ll be lined up at your door soon enough. But you might have to work hard at feeling comfortable saying yes.”
“I can’t even imagine asking Coach Bentley if I can go on a date with some guy. He’d freak out, or schedule extra practices so I wouldn’t have any time.” I chewed on my thumbnail, looking anywhere but at Jackie’s face. I had to tell her one of my big issues, if only to exorcise it from taking up so much space in my mind. But which one? Panic attacks or Jordan? Panic attacks or Jordan? I repeated it once more in my head before finally letting my mouth decide. “Jordan kissed me.”
“Jordan? As in Jordan Bentley?”
I could only nod, and my face felt like the fever had returned.
Jackie’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “Did it make you uncomfortable? It’s okay to tell me. We can talk about ways to avoid these situations with him or we might even need to—”
“No,” I said shaking my head, predicting the talk she would suggest I have with Bentley about his kid. Not happening. No way. “It wasn’t like that.”
Relief washed over her. “What was it like, then?”
My eyes stayed focused on the piece of paper I had practically torn to shreds in my hands. “I don’t know, we talk a lot and it just happened. Then we both decided it was better if it didn’t happen again.”
“Do you talk to him about your parents?”
I nodded, feeling tears suddenly spring to my eyes. I wiped them away quickly, shaking off Jackie’s offer of a tissue. “I don’t want to feel like this. Not about Jordan. I’m trying not to. It’s one of those things, like when you really admire someone or appreciate them but they happen to be a member of the opposite sex, and something inside gets all those feelings confused.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Jackie said, encouraging me to explain further.
“I used to have a huge crush on my level nine coach, Patrick. He’s really cute and that’s all the older girls would talk about, so when he turned out to be an awesome coach who helped me through a really tough time in gymnastics, I thought I loved him or something.” I’d been completely ridiculous at eleven.
“You’re comparing apples to oranges. Coach Patrick was too old and you were too young. It was unattainable. Unrealistic. A child’s crush,” Jackie said. “Jordan, on the other hand, is your age, and you’re old enough to have that kind of relationship with someone, therefore, he’s attainable.”
I laughed under my breath. “Obviously you’ve never seen him. I mean, he’s attainable for someone, that’s for sure. He has plenty of options. Trust me.”
“It’s okay for you to like him that way,” Jackie said gently. “And it’s okay for you to value his friendship at the same time. Whether he feels the same about you doesn’t matter. Or at least, it shouldn’t change how you feel. That’s what I’m trying to get you to think about today. What you want versus what you think you can and should be able to realistically achieve. Or even what someone else has decided you should or shouldn’t be able to achieve.”
“So, I shouldn’t list ‘Marry Jordan Bentley’ as one of my non–gymnastics goals?” The absurdity of this conversation made it impossible for me to avoid sarcasm. “Honestly, I don’t really understand my feelings now any better than I did when I was eleven, so it’s probably best if I don’t act on them until I’ve got things figured out.”
“Do you think he has things figured out?” Jackie asked.
“No,” I admitted. He didn’t. He’d said exactly that last Sunday night after he kissed me. “But I know he has more social experience in this area than I do.”
Jackie’s calm expression didn’t even waver when she asked me the next question, though it made me squirm all over the place. “Like you think he’s had sex? Or done something more than kissing, at least? Is that what makes you think he’s on a different level?”
That and the hotness. “A little…but I don’t know what he’s done. He’s never had a serious girlfriend, I do know that, but it doesn’t mean—”
“Right,” Jackie finished, saving me from saying s–e–x out loud. “The reason I’m bringing this up at all is because girls your age who’ve experienced something as difficult as you have sometimes turn to reckless physical relationships. It’s a way to get close to someone without actually being close emotionally.”
Nope. Not me. I get panic attacks and ruin very important balance beam routines.
“It’s not like that with Jordan,” I said immediately. “Nothing like that.”
“Okay. Good.”
Both of us glanced at the clock, knowing time had to be up by now. Sure enough, we were already five minutes over. Jackie followed me out into the waiting room, and because my life seemed to have a way of getting more and more humiliating, Jordan was sitting in the waiting area reading a copy of Women’s World.
“Oh God,” I mumbled. Jackie heard me and glanced up at the cute boy occupying the only seat.
Jordan looked slightly concerned as he tossed his magazine onto the table. “You don’t look too excited to see me.”
“Why aren’t you in school?” I asked.
“Early dismissal.”
I could still feel Jackie’s eyes on us, though she was now conversing with the receptionist. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“Um…you’re welcome.” Jordan followed me toward the door. “You were just talking about me, weren’t you?” he whispered from behind me. “I know that look.”
“I’m always talking about you, Jordan.” I turned around to give him my judges smile. “It’s like I can’t think of one single thing to discuss that’s more important than Jordan Bentley. I’ve doodled your name on every notebook I own.”
He laughed as he held the door open for me, and when we reached his car he said, “That’s called flirting, Karen, and you’re very good at it.”
I mulled that over for a minute and smiled as I sank into the battered passenger seat. “What would my score be?”
“Nine point one,” he said right away.
When we pulled up to the house, the fun teasing expression dissolved from his face. “I shouldn’t have asked what you were talking about. It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”
Since part–truths had become my favorite pastime, I decided to use that method yet again. “We were talking about you. Mostly, the difference between you and me, socially. Jackie’s really into goal setting and she wants me to set a few non–gymnastics goals, and I completely blanked on her and couldn’t come up with any. She suggested something normal for you or other people like you, but maybe not for me.”
He turned the music all the way down and cranked up the heat, like he was totally comfortable sitting in the car with me while parked in front of his home. “Like going to a high school dance? Or a football game?”
“She’s really big on it being something that other people can’t control. I don’t have a prom to go to and it’s not football season, is it?”
Jordan shook his head.
I took a deep breath, ready to attack a goal I’d literally just created in my head. “Can I ask you something really personal? Please don’t answer it if you don’t want to. It’s none of my business, but I just want to know because—”
“Karen.” He stared at me. “Just ask.”
“Have you…you know…” More fingernail chewing. “Had sex?”
He watched me biting my index fingernail. “Yeah.”
I leaned my head against the seat, relieved he didn’t sound angry. “What was it like?”
He laughed a little and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “Quick.”
“That’s it?”
“Awkward, unromantic, inept,
gauche—”
“Okay, I get it. Enough with the SAT vocab lesson,” I laughed. “But did you feel like you knew so much more about it after? Like you’d jumped this giant hurdle and sex wasn’t a big unknown anymore?”
“I guess so, but that didn’t make me any more confident.”
“Confidence comes with practice,” I recited, and then quickly realized the insinuations of using that line with this particular subject matter. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t mean that.” My face flamed.
Jordan flashed me a dimple–filled smile. “It’s only true if you’re practicing with the same person all the time. Just because you’ve done it with someone, doesn’t mean you’re not nervous with someone else. It’s like starting over.”
“There’s been more than one person?”
He laughed again. “Two persons.”
“I’m sorry. You didn’t have to answer that.”
“You can ask me anything you want, Karen.” He straightened up and finally took the keys out of the ignition. “But it’s different for me. I’m a guy. You might not want just my perspective. Maybe find a second person to ask. A lot of girls our age are not having sex. Even some of the girls I know from school that have boyfriends and have been with them for months. And trust me, I’m getting the details from the guys, not the girls, which means whatever they say they’re doing is already blown up by fifty percent.”
“That’s good to know,” I said, keeping my face totally dead serious. “And I was just going to ask if you wanted to do that friends–with–benefits–thing, but you’re right, I should probably wait.”
I jumped out of the car and headed for the front door.
“I think you still have that fever.” Jordan jogged up beside me, laughing. “My friend Tony’s coming over in a few minutes. We’re going sledding again, if you want to come?” Jordan asked as we stomped snow off our boots inside the foyer.
“I would love to, but I’m starving and have three pounds to gain back after the flu–from–hell.” I was already on my way to the kitchen the second my coat was hung up, and Jordan followed right behind me. “And then I’ve got homework and Stevie’s picking me up in a little while. Ally wants both of us to come in an hour before practice for some physical therapy.”