Tumbling

by Caela Carter

  Still, it was stupid that Grace couldn’t eat at that table. That she couldn’t sit down right next to Leigh and keep punishing her. Why did Leigh do that? Why would she hide something so huge from Grace? Just to win? Leigh was acting like . . . like . . . Grace. It was something Grace would do—keep a major trick in her back pocket and not even tell Leigh she was planning to use it. But Grace hadn’t. Grace was desperate to beat Leigh, but she’d never even thought of trying to fool her. Trying to destroy her. In fact, Grace had spent today trying to destroy someone for Leigh.

  Was this what all the Dylan Patrick stuff was about, too? Was Leigh trying to distract Grace last night so that she didn’t ask about new tricks, about strategy? So that she went into the meet blindfolded?

  Grace was desperate to win the meet, to beat Leigh. But she’d believed her best friend when she had said that all she wanted was for the two of them to get the top two spots, to make the team and qualify for the individual all-around. Could it be that Leigh was just as desperate to beat Grace? Desperate enough to fake friendship? Desperate enough to hide huge point potential and distract her with a cute boy?

  It was worse than that. Leigh had given Grace hope. Hope that someone else might eventually like her. Hope that there was a space for her outside the four walls of her dad’s gym. Leigh didn’t know what that hope had meant to Grace. She already had so many other friends. She already had a life.

  Grace plunked her tray down across from her dad and tried to give him a smile.

  He glanced at her food but didn’t comment on it. Grace relaxed a little bit.

  She was going to eat. It felt weird, but it would actually be good for her gymnastics. It would make it so her heart didn’t jump and split like that anymore. Grace picked up her fork and forced a chunk of tomato into her mouth.

  One meal will not make you too heavy to fly, she told herself. But she sucked in her stomach before biting down.

  “Listen, I’m not mad at you, Gracie, okay?” her dad said.

  Grace looked up sharply, so shocked that the thoughts of food were actually gone from her mind. “About what?” she asked.

  “Your fan page. I saw it. And it’s okay.” He smiled a rare smile. Well, rare for Grace. Max got his smile all the time. For learning to tie his shoe or repeating a joke he didn’t quite understand. Max—Grace’s adorable little brother who chased their awful mother away just by being born with Down syndrome—usually got all of their dad’s soft side. But Grace could see a little of it in his eyes now, and it was pointed to her.

  “I can’t be mad at you because your supposed friend took advantage of your vulnerabilities,” her dad said. “That’s not your fault. You didn’t message that singer guy.”

  “I didn’t!” Grace said. “I swear!”

  She was so distracted by this real family moment, she took a bite of cucumber, chewed, and swallowed. Almost without thinking.

  Her dad actually chuckled. “I know,” he said. “I believe you. You would never spend your meet thinking about some stupid boy.”

  Grace nodded. She managed another bite. Maybe this conversation would get her through a whole meal.

  “I followed the whole thread, Grace, from your fan page to that Dylan boy’s to Leigh’s. Leigh started the whole thing. Leigh. Your so-called friend. She did it to distract you.”

  Grace paused mid-chew. That’s what she had just thought of, minutes ago. Was the whole Dylan Patrick thing a part of Leigh’s strategy?

  She had to be careful now, with her words, with her bites.

  “She . . . Leigh . . . she said we were just having fun.”

  “Oh, Gracie,” her dad said. “What have I always told you about friends in the gym?”

  But this was in the hotel room.

  Grace didn’t say anything.

  “You have to be cautious. Especially when you have so-called friends as worldly and educated as Leigh. Leigh spends half her time outside the gym. She knows how to be a typical teenage mean girl in a way you just don’t.”

  That was true, Grace conceded.

  “But how do you know she was doing it to distract me? How do you know she knows more about being a teenage mean girl than a teenage nice girl?” Grace asked. There had to be some of the nice kind, too, somewhere out there.

  “Well, did she tell you she had a triple twisting Yurchenko?”

  Grace dropped her fork. “No,” she said.

  “Listen, don’t let all of this get to you. If you spend tonight thinking about Leigh or thinking about some boy, her plan will have worked. You two are both going to be on the Olympic team. You can figure out if you want to be friends with her after the trials are over. Don’t think about her tonight. You can’t get distracted. You have to do better tomorrow, Gracie,” her father said. “I was hoping you’d have more of a lead by now. We don’t want this to be like the second day of Nationals.”

  Grace nodded. She barely heard him, though. She was forcing the cube of turkey to squish between her molars.

  “Now, that girl, she had a good day,” her dad said. Grace followed his eyes to the door where Monica was walking in, smiling at Kristin.

  Grace forced herself to swallow. “You mean Monica?” she said.

  He nodded. “She impressed me today,” he said. “Did you see how she flew on bars? And her legs are so long and straight and perfect? You see, you always have to watch out, Gracie. She’s our own and she still came out of nowhere. There will always be younger, newer, talented girls on your heels.”

  Grace watched Monica load a plate with chicken and vegetables and fruit like she wasn’t even thinking about it. At once she was hating Monica’s skinny frame and wishing she hadn’t interfered, wishing that Monica was still beating Leigh.

  Grace flashed back to herself two years ago, at fifteen. She’d still been growing a little bit and with the workouts she was doing, her body would churn up all her calories almost as soon as they hit her tongue. At fifteen, Grace would not have been terrified by this buffet, either.

  But would her dad understand that? Would he respect the fact that she’d pared herself down to three hundred or five hundred calories a day just to be able to keep up with the skinnies like Monica who were waiting in the wings? Could he possibly understand that in the past year, since Worlds, her body had slowed down and she couldn’t speed it up? That if he kept talking about how high the skinnier girls in her gym flew and how perfect their lines were and how graceful their legs looked, Grace might stop eating completely and then she’d never be able to stay on the bars?

  “She’s fifteen,” Grace said. It was a start.

  This whole meal would be better without Monica. Normally, as in back-when-she-was-eating, Grace had enjoyed sitting with her father when the competition was over. He’d let his guard down a little and they would laugh at something silly a fan had written on a poster. They’d talk about Max and all the funny things he and his babysitter had yelled out from the bleachers that day. They would giggle at the girls who were so clearly gunning for her but who had no chance. But her coach couldn’t morph back into her dad tonight because Monica was there and she’d have to eat with them as well.

  So, in two words, Grace tried to explain the obvious. Yes, Monica was smaller. She was also younger. Two and a half years younger. Max, who was eight, was also smaller than Grace, but her dad didn’t hound her about that.

  “And she fell on vault,” Grace blurted before she could stop herself.

  Just then a tray tapped down beside her. Monica sat and began arranging her napkin and utensils and water bottle and pretending she hadn’t heard Grace, even though Grace knew she had. Her face burned.

  This time she hadn’t meant for Monica to overhear. Now that she was wishing Leigh would disappear, Grace wanted to build Monica up, not tear her down. The other girls probably thought Grace was mean, the way her dad thought Leigh was mean. But that wasn
’t quite the truth for Grace. It didn’t have anything to do with Monica when Grace talked about her behind her back. It wasn’t about being mean: it was about being in control. Monica wouldn’t understand that.

  Grace looked at her food. How could she touch it now with this skinny mini next to her and her dad smiling at the gymnast who was not his daughter? It was hard to eat in the best circumstances. Now it would be close to impossible.

  Monica shoved a huge bite of chicken into her mouth, and Grace’s father said, “I was just telling Gracie how impressed I am with your performance today.”

  Monica nodded.

  “You did a great job, kiddo.”

  Grace’s jaw dropped, but it didn’t matter. Neither of them was looking at her.

  She couldn’t believe that silly little Monica was able to pull a compliment out of her father after that average performance. How long had Grace yearned for a sentence like that? One that wasn’t followed up with “but” or “just watch.” One that was purely a good job? And the little pipsqueak even got a nickname?

  Monica didn’t look happy. Instead, she looked a little angry, eating wide-eyed, bite after bite like it wasn’t a big deal, like a perfect day in the gym isn’t the same thing as eating the perfect amount and no more.

  “I fell on vault,” Monica said finally, between bites.

  Grace’s dad shrugged. “That doesn’t really matter. You were almost perfect outside of that.”

  Monica went back to her food. Grace’s stomach churned. She didn’t know if it was because she was hungry, or because eating that one bite of turkey after so many months of not eating any kind of meat had turned her stomach inside out.

  Her father was still talking about how great Monica was. Monica, Monica, Monica.

  Grace stared and stared at her food, taking bites of lettuce to her lips but only eating every third one.

  Then another burst of laugher erupted from the table across the room. Grace turned to look, to see who Leigh was buddying it up with now. She knew that half of the girls at that table would love to be eating with their families. She knew that most of them hated the way gymnasts were kept separate from all spectators for the duration of a meet, even if it lasted several days. But Grace didn’t care. She was jealous of them: both for getting to eat with each other and for having parents who gave them a break from the gym.

  Leigh was staring daggers at Grace while laughing with Maria. How did she manage to do both things at once? Maybe she was a mean girl.

  “I’m getting distracted,” Grace told her father. “Can I eat this upstairs?”

  He nodded.

  In the hallway, Grace almost bumped right into Wilhelmina, who was coming from the bathroom. “Hey,” the girl said.

  “Hi,” Grace answered quietly.

  She wondered how long she was obligated to stand and talk to her. It wasn’t like the two of them were friendly. And Grace’s hands twitched, wanting to be rid of the food between them, wanting to be alone with her phone and the Internet.

  “Are you okay?” Wilhelmina asked, her eyes on Grace’s salad.

  Grace looked up quickly. That was a weird question. Especially from someone Grace hardly ever talked to. “I had a good day,” she said. She didn’t need Wilhelmina’s pity. She was beating her.

  “I-I know,” Wilhelmina stammered. “You did. I just meant, um . . . where are you going?”

  Grace shrugged. “Eating in my room,” she said. She hoped her voice didn’t waver. She had to get out of here, get out of this, whatever this was. “Bye.”

  Grace darted past Wilhelmina and didn’t turn to see if she was being watched as she stepped into the elevator.

  In her room, Grace ate five bites of lettuce and half a chunk of tofu while she played with the message on her screen, writing it and rewriting it until it was close to perfect. She could write back now. Her dad wasn’t mad at her. Her dad was on her side. Leigh was against her. If her dad found the reply, she could say Leigh wrote it while Grace was sleeping. He’d believe it.

  She swallowed the second half of her tofu chunk just as she hit “send.” Chills ran through her chest.

  Thanks for the messages today. It means a lot to know someone is watching me. Especially someone as cute as you.

  Then she ran to the bathroom and flushed the rest of her food down the toilet, making sure it was completely gone before Leigh came back to the room.

  When she got back to her phone, she already had a reply.

  WILHELMINA

  Don’t be there, Wilhelmina pleaded as she walked down the hotel hallway after dinner. She was hoping Camille would be in Samantha’s room watching TV or somewhere, anywhere else. She wanted a minute alone to call her mom and dad, to text Davion. To figure out her strategy for tomorrow.

  She didn’t want to hear about all the reasons fourth place might not be good enough. Wilhelmina couldn’t let Camille get in her head again.

  Don’t be there.

  But she was still two doors away when she heard Camille’s voice floating into the hallway. “It’s a stupid fan page, that’s all,” she heard Camille say. “It doesn’t matter who writes on it.”

  Wilhelmina froze. Was Camille’s boyfriend upset because some random Out of Touch boy messaged his girlfriend? How did these people have time to worry about things like that?

  “It’s not a big deal. I don’t even like Out of Touch that much,” Camille’s voice whined.

  Wilhelmina shook her head. It hadn’t occurred to her to be concerned about Davion getting jealous over whoever might have written on her fan page. Davion didn’t even have the official “boyfriend” title, and Wilhelmina was still pretty sure he wouldn’t be jealous over some stupid one-sided online flirting. It was disappointing: Wilhelmina never knew Camille was so full of drama.

  She couldn’t face her. Not the whiny voice on the phone. Not the manipulating voice from earlier today. She marched to the end of the hallway. Ice would be good on her knees and ankles anyway.

  The USAG had set up an ice bath in a room on Wilhelmina’s floor. A volunteer sat in the hallway with a clipboard to sign the girls in and make sure they didn’t stay long enough to get frostbite. After chatting with her briefly, Wilhelmina went into the room and breathed a sigh of relief to find it empty. She sunk her legs into the ice, leaned her butt against the metal rim of the tub, and took a deep breath, sucking in the solitude around her. Thank God she was alone.

  She reached to her bag on the table behind her, pulled out her phone, and began scrolling through the texts Davion had sent today.

  After vault: You are such a badass.

  After bars: Your routine was the bomb. You’re the best.

  After floor: I don’t care what the judges say. You’re winning. I’m sure I know more than the judges.

  He was there, in the stadium, eleven hours away from their home. He’d driven all that way just to see her. Mina.

  She tapped the phone against her upper lip, wondering what to write back.

  • • •

  Davion had been Wilhelmina’s friend and neighbor since they were little kids. That was the only way she was able to meet him, since she had been homeschooled since seventh grade. Davion had been a playmate before the gym ate away all her free time. They’d spent hours playing basketball and hide-and-seek with Davion’s brothers when she was eight and nine and ten. After that, even though they lived on the same street, it felt like Wilhelmina did not see Davion for years.

  Until he appeared on her stoop.

  Wilhelmina had swung open the door, frozen, and stared. He was wearing a red T-shirt that showed off the richness of his brown skin and the muscles in his arms and chest. His eyes were so bright they were almost gold. His smile was adorably crooked. He held a pile of misdelivered mail in the fist by his hip.

  Wilhelmina had furiously patted at her short hair, hoping it wasn�
��t puffy, hoping her elbows weren’t ashy and her forehead was pimple-free.

  “Wilhelmina,” he’d said, almost whispering, almost reverently. And that’s when she’d realized that he was staring back. His voice was deeper than when they were children.

  It was only a second before his smile and eyes turned goofy. “You know, there’s an ice-cream place up the road.”

  Wilhelmina tilted her head. “I know,” she said. They’d both lived on the street her whole life.

  “I haven’t see you there in about eight years is all,” Davion said. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t catch amnesia and forget the best ice cream in town is only a quarter mile from your doorstep. I’m there after dinner almost every night, so I’m sure you haven’t been recently.” He’d raised his eyebrows, handed over the mail, and left.

  It was only after the doorstep had been empty for a full minute that Wilhelmina started laughing.

  She was nervous. But she’d marched her butt to that ice-cream parlor after dinner that night and sipped on the Gatorade she’d bought despite all the delicious-looking ice cream. After a few minutes that felt like hours, Davion came through the door with his brothers and sister. The smile on his face told her she’d read his clues right.

  “Well, look who it is,” he’d said. “Our street’s long-lost gymnast. I was beginning to think you were more of a legend than a person. You know, like the Loch Ness Monster.”

  He’d asked her out then and there and, a few days later, they went to a movie. She let him buy her a ticket, but she had to turn down the snacks because she had practice the next day. He asked if she wanted to go to pizza after the movie, but she had to rest before getting up to train in the early morning. He was funny and cute and Wilhelmina’s heart felt soft and warm around him, but she had the rest of her life for dates and cute boys and swooning over crooked smiles.

  She had only a few months left to be a prospective Olympian.

  Before they said good night he asked her out for the next weekend, but she had a meet to go to. He’d asked about the weekend after that, but she wasn’t sure what her training schedule would be then.