by Caela Carter
“Aha,” Jim said. “And are you talking about someone in particular now?”
Katja nodded slowly. “There is one athlete I am the most concerned about on this topic,” she said.
“Any chance you’ll tell us who?”
Monica’s jaw dropped as she watched Katja pat the reporter on the arm and fake a giggle. “Oh, Jim,” she said. “You are bad. You know I can’t do that.”
But Monica knew.
Her eyes traveled across the hotel room until they landed on Wilhelmina’s sunken face.
And her heart broke for her old hero, her new friend. She had seemed so down and bitter in the icing room today. Enough that it was almost annoying to Monica. But that bitterness came from somewhere real.
Wilhelmina’s fear had come true: tomorrow would be her last day as a gymnast.
GRACE
The girls sat in silence for several minutes after Katja’s interview concluded.
Finally Maria said, “Well, that was bullshit,” and a few gymnasts chuckled nervously.
They all seemed angry. Why did Grace feel proud?
“That wasn’t about us, guys,” Samantha said, standing up and stretching her hands over her head. “Take it from the fogies. That was some effed-up stuff, but that wasn’t about us. That was Katja fighting with the USAG. Playing tug-of-war over the rules.”
“And using us as the rope,” Maria added. “Of course.”
There were some uh-huhs and some of courses and some more curses, and then the girls were gone.
Leigh flipped the TV to an old rerun of SNL and vanished into the bathroom without saying anything. Grace chewed her cheek. There was something wrong with her. There was something broken about the way her brain worked, she decided. Why was Grace the only one on her phone searching old e-mails for the lists of camp attendees over the past few years while the rest of the girls seemed to get angry and/or heartbroken that one of them—any of them—had been singled out like that? Of the three gymnasts who had been mentioned by name, why was Grace the one no one even glanced at? Why did she seem to be the only one who was happy to be called out like that instead of mortified? What was Grace missing?
Grace had found the name easily. The gymnast Katja was talking about. The one she’d just told the whole world she didn’t want on the team. Grace knew who it was. The last camp had been mandatory, so they’d all been there, but one of the athletes in today’s all-around had only trained on vault at camp. And that same athlete had missed the two camps before that. And that same athlete had only competed on vault at Nationals.
So, Katja was rooting against Wilhelmina. And Katja hated the USAG. Grace didn’t mind her name being used to send them a message. She wanted to be the first gymnast mentioned in any conversation ever.
(Though she did catch Katja’s warning that she’d better do as well tomorrow as she had today. Grace knew that warning was for her and not Georgette, who had been consistent all season. But that was okay. It was only a warning telling her to do what she already planned to do.)
“Are you happy?” Leigh demanded when she came back into the room in her shorts and T-shirt.
“No,” Grace lied. She was back to herself, which felt close to happy. Back to being sure she could win, even if Leigh had other secret tricks up the sleeve of her USA leotard.
“She didn’t even mention me. After that vault she didn’t mention me. You give that weird interview, and then she didn’t mention me. So the last thing that will be said about me all night long is how you and I are only friends, how we aren’t close-close, how you aren’t like that. So there you go. You win, Grace. Good job.”
Then Grace remembered what she’d done.
• • •
A year-and-a-half earlier, at the February camp, Leigh and Grace were alone in their cabin after the afternoon workout and before dinner. They were both still in shorts and leos, hunting through duffel bags searching for matching shirts to wear to dinner. It was Grace’s favorite part of the day, though she knew it shouldn’t be. The time of the day that had nothing to do with gymnastics. The time of day that she got to put friendship, Leigh, first.
Leigh tossed a bright pink shirt with blue writing onto the bottom bunk. “What about this one?” she’d said.
“Okay!” Grace said. It was a shirt from camp the year before. They both had it.
She was sitting on the bottom bunk, leaning into the duffel bag, scanning for flashes of pink.
“I have to tell you something,” Leigh said.
Grace looked up, but Leigh said, “No, keep looking for your shirt. I . . . it’ll be easier if I’m not looking at you.”
“Okay . . . ?” Grace said. She pulled her bag onto her lap and found her shirt right away. But she pretended not to. She kept her eyes in her bag, like Leigh asked.
“I have a crush,” Leigh said.
Then Grace couldn’t help but look up. “Oh no!” she said.
Crushes were not good. Crushes were distraction. Not every coach said that, but her dad did, all the time.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Leigh said. “I’m not going to do anything about it.”
And Grace remembered to look back at her bag. Leigh’s face was almost as pink as the T-shirt.
“Look, it’s not a big deal. I’ve had crushes before, too, okay? Lots of crushes. At least, I hope it’s not a big deal to you because it shouldn’t be, but it’s a secret, okay? And I’m trusting you because you’re my best friend and—you just can’t tell anyone ever, ever, ever.”
“About the crush?” Grace said. She kept her eyes in her bag. She didn’t dare move. Leigh had never told her a secret before. No one had ever told her a secret before.
“About what I’m about to say next. Promise, Grace. You have to promise.”
“I promise,” Grace said.
“Look at me now,” Leigh said. “Look at me and promise.”
Leigh was being weird, Grace thought. But she looked up. She said, “I promise,” as sincerely as she could. This moment was about Leigh. It was not about Grace. And that was okay, because this moment was about a crush and not about gymnastics.
“Look away again, okay?” Leigh said. She was standing over Grace, fidgeting with her fingers, tapping her toe. She looked more nervous than she did during any meet. “So . . .” she said. “When I have a crush . . . it’s . . . on a girl.”
“Oh,” Grace said. Her eyebrows raised. Her eyes stayed glued to the inside of her bag.
“Yeah . . .” Leigh said. “That’s it. I like girls.”
“Oh,” Grace said.
Leigh sat next to Grace on the bunk and Grace took this as permission to look at her friend.
“Do you care?” Leigh asked.
Grace shrugged. “No,” she said. “Why would I care?”
Leigh smiled. “Good,” she said.
“Can I ask you something?” Grace said.
“Look, Grace, I’m just not ready to tell anyone else, okay? I know if it doesn’t matter to you, it shouldn’t matter to anyone. But it will. It’ll matter when people say I’m a bad role model or whatever. Even though those are stupid, ugly people, it’ll hurt when they say that. But it’ll matter in the good ways, too. I mean, when people say I’m the first lesbian on the USA national team, right? People will make a big deal about that in both ways, you know? I won’t be able to be all gymnast anymore, ever, when that happens, and I’m not ready, so you have to keep it a secret, okay?”
“Yeah,” Grace said. “That’s okay. I get it.”
“Oh,” Leigh said. “So what’s the question?”
Grace bit her lip. In some ways she thought her question would be even more embarrassing and revealing than Leigh’s confession had been. “How do you know?” Grace asked.
Leigh raised her eyebrows. “Know that I’m a lesbian?”
Grace nodded.
Leigh said, “Because I like girls.”
And Grace nodded again. But inside she panicked. Grace didn’t like girls. Grace didn’t like boys. Grace had never liked anyone. Was something wrong with her?
“I promise I won’t say anything,” she’d said.
• • •
Grace had almost broken her first promise to Leigh. The first one she ever made to any friend.
She hadn’t meant to do that. As usual, she hadn’t meant to be mean. She was only trying to have a little bit of power, a modicum of influence on the world.
“You could have trusted me to keep your other secret, too, you know,” Grace said. “I was mad you didn’t tell me.”
“Didn’t tell you what?” Leigh demanded. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Your vault. You had a TTY.”
Leigh sat. “Oh,” she said.
“I figured it out,” Grace said. “That’s why you messaged Dylan. That’s why you were whispering about him all day.”
“What?” Leigh said. “What does Dylan Patrick have to do with my vault?”
“Everything has been some scheme!” Grace yelled. “You messaged Dylan last night to get me to think about him instead of asking about the meet. You were keeping, like, two whole points in your back pocket so you could be sure you’d beat me.”
“What?” Leigh said.
Grace sat on the bed. She looked away. She wouldn’t answer.
“Grace, come on. I wouldn’t do that. I wasn’t even thinking about vault last night. I was trying to have fun with you.”
“Then why, Leigh? You never even mentioned you had started training a TTY, let alone that you were going to debut it! You never said anything. You aren’t supposed to sneak up on me. You’re the one person I talk to. I even stayed friends with you when you beat me, but when you’re keeping secrets—”
“Grace!” Leigh said. She stopped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to not tell you. It’s just—I’m not always thinking about gymnastics when we talk.”
“You’re not?”
“No!” Leigh shook her head back and forth quick-quick. “I don’t think about the gym when I’m not at the gym.”
“Really?” Grace asked, shocked.
Leigh nodded. “For God’s sakes, really! I wasn’t even planning to do the TTY but then I was in seventh place and I had to do something to make sure I’d make the team and I was so nervous and I didn’t think I’d land it because I only land it, like, 40 percent of the time in practice but then I did land it and . . . I thought you’d be happy for me.”
Grace’s breath caught. “I’m sorry.”
Leigh deflated immediately and climbed into bed, though they still had twenty minutes before Lights Out. She covered her face with the sheet. Grace wondered if she was crying.
“Leigh, that’s why Katja didn’t mention you tonight. You’re going to be on the team. She’s not worried about you. That’s it. I mean, I think she only mentioned me to warn me about being consistent.”
Leigh didn’t move.
“And you like girls. So what?”
Leigh still didn’t move. Grace was desperate to have her back. The prospect of going to bed without any more words was terrifying. She kept talking. “Even if Katja figured it out, it wouldn’t matter. Or whenever you decided to tell everyone, it won’t matter. It has nothing to do with gymnastics.”
Leigh snorted.
“Well,” Grace said. “It shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, sure,” Leigh said, her voice muffled in the covers. “Thanks.”
Grace hated how hurt Leigh looked, how scared she must have been. She hated it now, even though it had been her exact goal a few hours ago.
Grace sat on the side of Leigh’s bed. “I’m really sorry,” she said. She wasn’t sure how she always forgot what happened when she tried to wield that kind of control. Her influence always struck in the wrong ways. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” Even though she had been, sort of.
“Why are you acting all afraid of me, then?” Leigh’s voice demanded through the sheet.
Grace’s face pinched. “Afraid of you?” she said. “I’m not afraid of you.” I’m better than you. I’m still better than you. I’m not afraid of you.
“You came out of that bathroom so wrapped up it was like you thought I’d do something awful if I saw one square inch of your skin. I’m not attracted to you, Grace. Just because I like girls doesn’t mean I like you.”
Grace’s eyes went wide. The towels? This was about all the towels?
“Dylan probably isn’t really attracted to you, either,” Leigh added. “You’re not, you know, like that.”
The words stung Grace’s skin.
“That wasn’t . . . I’m not afraid of you. . . . I was . . .” afraid you’d see how far my collarbone is sticking out today, afraid you’d notice that my legs are like twigs growing out of the hotel carpet. “Cold.”
She put her hand on the back of Leigh’s neck to prove it.
“Really, that’s all,” Grace said.
Leigh’s face peeked out of the sheets, a little pink now like she was embarrassed. “Oh,” she said.
Grace rubbed her back.
“But, look, you really can’t tell anyone. Even if you’re mad at me or I beat you or something. You can’t do that again,” Leigh said. “You have to wait until I’m ready.”
Grace nodded.
“This is important. More important than gymnastics.”
Grace sighed. Nothing was more important than gymnastics, but she didn’t want to argue. “I won’t. I won’t hint at it again. I promise.”
They froze like that. Leigh under the covers barely breathing. Grace’s palm still on Leigh’s back.
“Maybe Dylan Patrick could be your beard anyway, though,” Grace tried.
Leigh giggled. “My beard.”
Grace felt a little better. She went back to her own bed and grabbed another handful of ice from the bucket. There were only scraps left now, floating in the frigid water. Grace liked the way the cold felt against her fingers, reminding her that she was alive, she was here.
“Grace?” Leigh said.
“Hm?”
“Do you ever think you’d maybe like yourself better if you weren’t a gymnast?”
Grace turned to her friend, startled.
“If I wasn’t a gymnast?” she said. It was like she was mimicking another language.
Leigh’s voice sped up, defensive. “I’m not saying I’d be happier or anything,” she said. “I’m saying, you know, I’m . . . I kind of think I’m a bitch in the gym.”
Now Grace laughed. “You? A bitch?” she said. “I don’t think so.”
They were quiet again. Leigh sighed. Grace crunched.
How could Leigh be a bitch when it was Grace who almost outed her on national TV, who started the whole Wedgie Queen thing, who was hating all the girls whom Leigh had invited into their room a few minutes ago? Would Grace’s brain be this messed up without the gym?
Grace said new words quietly, staring at the ice cup. “I think I might be happier.”
Now Leigh was the startled one. She sat up and stared at her friend. “If you weren’t a gymnast?”
Grace didn’t respond.
“Then why are you one?” Leigh asked.
Grace sucked a piece of ice, thinking, until she said, “Because I might be happier, but I wouldn’t be me.”
Leigh nodded against her pillow.
Not being a gymnast would change Grace, but being a gymnast didn’t. It made no sense. And something about it was terrifying.
Leigh got up to wash her face. They pretended the conversation had not happened.
But later, after they had climbed into their side-by-side beds, after Leigh had called her parents to say good night an
d Grace had called Max, after their assistant coaches had stopped by the room to ensure the girls were there and in bed, after they had said good night to each other and Grace had snuggled under the duvet and dug the side of her head as far into the pillow as it would go, Leigh spoke again.
“Grace?” she said quietly, like she didn’t want to wake her up if Grace was already sleeping. Grace thought about not answering, but she wanted to be friends with Leigh again. This evening had been too lonely.
“Hm?”
“Grace . . .” Leigh said, trailing off until Grace propped up her head and looked at her. “What about when we aren’t gymnasts?”
Grace’s blood sounded like the ocean in her ears as she pictured her last dismount. Not her last dismount from tonight, her last dismount ever. It was the worst thing she could possibly think about right before the biggest step of her life: the fact that this big step would also be a giant leap toward the end of this life. “I don’t ever think about that,” Grace said. “It’s scary, isn’t it? This is probably going to be our only Olympics.”
“Yeah,” Leigh said, turning back to face Grace. “What will we do after we retire?”
“I don’t know. I hate it that it has to happen.” Grace sighed. “When I do think about it, I decide maybe I’ll coach for my dad or take the test to be a judge or something. After college, I guess.”
Leigh nodded. Grace felt like the conversation was missing the point somehow, like Leigh wanted something else out of it, something deeper. After what she had done tonight, Grace owed it to Leigh to keep it going.
“What about you? What will you do?” Grace asked.
Leigh rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” she said. “Something completely different. Something cheerful like teaching elementary school or being a personal stylist.”