by Caela Carter
Grace chuckled.
“I don’t want it to feel like my whole personality is changing just because gymnastics is over, you know?”
“No,” Grace said, suddenly serious. “Of course it will. Everything will change. Everything about you. And me. It has to.”
Leigh didn’t answer. After a few minutes, Grace heard Leigh’s heavy sleep-breathing. She fell asleep without answering.
Maybe she hadn’t cared.
Maybe she would never be able to care about Grace, to trust Grace, as much as she used to. Maybe Grace had messed up that much.
Grace folded herself into her sheets, imagining her long, lean lines for tomorrow, her perfect, small body flipping around the bars and beam and vault and floor.
Maybe Grace didn’t deserve Leigh’s secret in the first place. After all, she’d never even thought about telling Leigh hers.
Daytime Limbo
WILHELMINA
When the alarm between their beds beeped, Wilhelmina stretched her arms over her head and sat up without yawning. Despite being attacked publicly last night, she’d slept soundly. She woke feeling rested and peaceful.
It had been the confirmation. It was everything she needed to know.
First, Katja hated her. But she hated Katja back, too, now.
Second, fourth place wasn’t good enough. She had to come in third. Or maybe even second. She had to come in third or second, and she couldn’t think about trying to come in third or second because she couldn’t control what happened to anyone else. That was the hardest part.
That’s what she’d told Monica when she had followed Wilhelmina back to her room to offer comfort.
“I’m not sure what to say,” Monica had said. “That was really gross. What she did.”
Wilhelmina had almost teared up. It took serious guts for any gymnast to speak ill of Katja. It took knowing beyond a doubt that you were right.
And yet, it was so touching to have someone on her side. To have someone get it. How she’d been screwed over. How she’d never been given the chance the rest of them had.
“I’m okay tonight,” Wilhelmina had said. And Monica had started to walk away, but Wilhelmina had called after her. “But . . . if I don’t make it . . . come find me tomorrow. After. Okay?”
Now, Wilhelmina watched Camille as she groaned and pulled her pillow over the massive brown bun in the back of her head. Camille curled farther into her bed.
What’s her problem? Wilhelmina thought.
Camille groaned again and flipped over in the bed.
Wilhelmina said it out loud. “What’s your problem?”
Camille mumbled a “good morning” back, then buried her face back in the pillow.
“Cut the crap, okay?” Wilhelmina said. “You’re here at the Olympic trials again. You get a second chance to be a star when most people only get one. Whatever’s going on with you, just hide it from me, okay?”
Camille emerged from the pillow and said that weird thing again. “You really want to go.”
This time it was a statement, not a question, so Wilhelmina just stared at her.
“I want you to go, too, okay?” Camille said. “Look, you don’t have to win. I think if you beat two of them, Katja will have to choose you. She’s definitely going to take Leigh, Grace, and Georgette. It’ll look really weird to everyone if you come in second and she doesn’t take you. She’d have to take three gymnasts you beat, then. Do you think you can come in second?”
Wilhelmina’s head was tilted so far, she might have strained her neck. What was Camille talking about? Why was she acting like she was on Wilhelmina’s side? Didn’t she realize that Wilhelmina could see right through this?
“It’s going to be hard to beat two of them now that Leigh is the best vaulter,” she bit back.
Camille collapsed back on the bed. “Pick one,” she whispered. “You can’t be mad at me for both.”
“Huh?” Wilhelmina said.
“Pick one,” Camille said. “You can’t be mad at me because it seemed like I was going to be the best vaulter, and then be mad at me because I’m not. Do you realize that Leigh vaulting like that means maybe I won’t get chosen?”
“Uh—” Wilhelmina said. She hadn’t thought of that. Her face was starting to burn. But Camille cut her right off again.
“And if I don’t get chosen, Leigh becomes the best vaulter. That means there’s another spot open. And maybe the team would be all all-arounders. And that would help you.”
“Why are you talking about me?” Wilhelmina asked. “You’re at the Olympic trials, too.”
Camille sighed. “You can’t be mad at me for both,” she said again. But she didn’t say it angrily. She said it quietly. It was a surrender.
Wilhelmina wasn’t supposed to be thinking about these things today. She wanted to try it a new way, to pick a goal that only involved her own gymnastics.
“I’m not mad at you at all,” Wilhelmina lied. Then she stormed into the bathroom.
She brushed her teeth with ferocity. She couldn’t believe she’d gotten herself back into that kind of conversation with Camille. That was it. She was done. She wouldn’t be angry at her or Leigh or Grace or anyone else. Wilhelmina wouldn’t let anyone into her head today. She needed control. She needed a new goal.
If you’re really here today, she texted Davion, watch out for this. This is what I’m going to try to do. Don’t fall would be too easy for her. But Monica had the right idea. Maybe if Wilhelmina focused on something specific, something totally within her control, she’d be able to approach the meet like Kerry wanted her to. 9.5 or better execution score, she texted. Four times in a row. If that happens, I promise I’ll be happy.
Don’t think about the team, she told herself. Just think about nine-point-five.
You can do that, he texted back. And you don’t have to promise me anything.
Wilhelmina laughed through the toothpaste in her mouth when she saw that text. She had taught him well. She’d told him time and again that she couldn’t promise him anything. Not yet. Not until after the Olympics.
The promise is to myself, she wrote back. And it was. Those 9.5s could, mathematically, put her in at least third place, with a fighting chance at second. She was pretty sure Camille was right. Second place would mean the Olympics. Third was a toss-up.
But she couldn’t control third, second, fourth. She had to stop thinking about the math.
His reply came quickly: Can’t wait to see you soar. Live. Because I’m here.
Still don’t believe it. ;-), she replied.
A short time later, the girls gathered for a quick breakfast in the same ballroom where they’d been fed last night. Wilhelmina noted that, like yesterday, the food was correct but the amount was ridiculous. They would eat before heading directly to the gym for some light conditioning and training. They would need a few nutrients to coat their muscles, but no one would want to fill up her stomach completely before running it around in circles and flipping it upside down. After their workout, they’d get to eat a more substantial meal, take some time to nap or rest or ice or get athletic massages, then they’d prepare for the early-evening conclusion to the meet. The hotel had set out enough food to feed a dozen football players, which equaled about one hundred gymnasts.
Wilhelmina watched the younger girls stare at the food from afar like they were afraid it would attack them. She tried not to see the way Grace was pacing back and forth in front of the table without touching anything. She tried not to think about Grace’s full tray after dinner, her bony legs last night. There was nothing Wilhelmina could do to help her. Even if there was something wrong, no one would believe Wilhelmina was anything but jealous of the winner.
Grace was probably fine.
Wilhelmina grabbed a granola bar and an apple. Shedding that fear of food was one advantage of being a veteran for Wilhelmin
a.
When Kerry sat down next to Wilhelmina and said, “So, what’s the plan today?” Wilhelmina smiled at her. She knew it would sting if she managed her four 9.5s and still, at the end of the meet, had to watch Leigh and Grace and Georgette and Camille and whoever else celebrate their positions on the team knowing that she could have helped them win the team gold if she were given a chance. Even with four 9.5s she’d be hard-pressed to come in second and might not make third. She was already in the hole. And Grace and Leigh and Georgette all had higher all-around DODs if you added up their potential on each apparatus. So there was nothing she could do but her best.
“I think I finally get it,” Wilhelmina said. “That thing about only worrying about what I can control. About doing what I can and hoping the committee does the rest.”
Kerry nodded and took a bite of her peach. “And?” she said.
“I have a goal—”
But another body cast a shadow across their table before she could say any more. Wilhelmina looked up to see Katja Minkovski’s wrinkled face looming over them. She looked hard, like she was carved out of stone. She carried a plate brimming over with all the breakfast foods gymnasts could never eat: french toast and syrup, bacon, and doughnuts.
“I thought you would only be competing vault, Miss Parker,” she said in her thick Russian accent. In more relaxed moments, Wilhelmina had heard her accent sound like a simple personality flare, like something charming to remember her by. But right now she seemed to be using it to wield intimidation.
Thank goodness, Kerry spoke up in response.
“We entered the meet in the all-around,” she said calmly.
“Yes,” Katja said. “But based on what I’d seen at camp, I expected you to only look to compete on vault. Now, you are hoping to compete the all-around? In the Olympics, no? Wilhelmina?”
Katja stared at her. Kerry turned to look at her, too. Wilhelmina felt herself shrinking. She managed a tiny nod.
“You are a talented gymnast,” Katja said. “But that is a huge request to come through the gymnastics world at the last minute.”
“Gymnastics world” equaled Katja Minkovski and Katja Minkovski alone, and all three of them knew it.
“You know we do not like to have things shaken up so close to the Olympics,” Katja said. “I’m sure your hopes are not too high. I know you’re not going to make this difficult for me. I assure you that will backfire.”
Kerry was shaking her head. “We only do our best, huh,” she said.
“Your best may have been enough to put you on the team, Miss Parker, if I had known about it before now. At this point, I don’t know you. I can’t possibly trust your gymnastics after seeing it for only two days. There’s no more time for you to convince me you belong on the team. Enjoy today, Miss Parker. But don’t expect it to get you anywhere.” She paused and studied Wilhelmina’s face. Wilhelmina was barely managing not to cry. “And again, don’t make this difficult. I only want to do what’s best for our country.”
There was the answer. Wilhelmina felt her body get smaller and her eyes get larger. A hot fire burned in her gut and she swallowed to keep the anger there. Gymnasts are not supposed to be angry.
But she was sick of it. Apparently, this was her last day as a gymnast. She was going to be herself.
“I understood your concerns after the interview last night,” Wilhelmina said.
“What?” Kerry asked.
Katja gasped. “I . . . I . . .” she faltered.
Wilhelmina didn’t know what to do. She’d never seen Katja at a loss for words before.
“What interview?” Kerry said.
“I gave an interview with espnW last night.” Then Katja turned to Wilhelmina. “Did you see it?”
“Yes,” Wilhelmina said quietly.
Katja’s face didn’t look so hard anymore. Her accent softened.
“Did all of you see it?”
Wilhelmina nodded, confused.
“Oh,” Katja said. “Well. I suppose you and I are clear now.”
Then she walked away.
Wilhelmina filled Kerry in on everything that had happened the previous night.
Kerry patted Wilhelmina’s back and leaned toward her ear so she could speak in the lowest possible voice. “I’m so sorry, Mina-Mina. I was not expecting this. I know you can help the USA win the Olympics. . . . You are one of the most skilled gymnast in the country, the world, but . . . if that’s not enough . . . what could I do for you?” Wilhelmina nodded, but Kerry kept talking. Almost like she was convincing herself. “If you had been to all of those camps, if you had been competing the all-around for all of these years . . . you’d be so tired. You would have—”
“I would have broken,” Wilhelmina interrupted, letting her coach off the hook.
“You are such a fantastic gymnast. I am so sorry,” Kerry said.
Wilhelmina nodded. If Kerry thought it was over, it was over. DODs and math and strategy. They were all over. If Katja hated her this much, Wilhelmina didn’t have a chance.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm her heart. She forced her words past the black disappointment that was infiltrating the front of her brain. “I want an execution score of nine-point-five on each event. That’s all I’m looking for. If I do that, I’ll be happy,” she whispered to her coach.
I’m not going to the Olympics. She tried to not let it take over her body. She had the rest of her life to be disappointed but, before that, she had four more routines to execute. Her last four.
Kerry nodded. “Good girl,” she said. “That’s a huge goal, challenging goal. But one you can accomplish, huh?”
Wilhelmina loved to see Kerry smile like that, like Wilhelmina was something special to be around.
So, it would be enough. It had to be.
Life had never been fair. She was used to it by now. She could make herself used to it again.
And, tonight, as soon as the cameras and newscasters disappeared, as soon as the gymnasts were officially divided into the team and the losers, she could kiss Davion. She would. She’d wrap her arms around him and press her lips to his. He’d be so surprised, but then, after a millisecond, they’d be making out and Wilhelmina would enjoy it more than all the other times that she had seen his adorable smile and been tempted to pull his face close to hers. Because she’d waited until it was over, until she had gone out with a bang, until she was ready to break up with gymnastics and find a new love.
Hopefully, one that wouldn’t hurt her as badly.
LEIGH
Leigh did her back handspring back tuck. For what felt like the thousandth time today, she landed crooked: one foot half off the beam to the right, the other to the left, her torso out of sync with her hips and legs. She swung her arms behind her head to attempt to keep her balance, then gave up and hopped off the beam. Over and over again this morning, she’d failed to complete that series. The hollow banging of the beam between each hit kept knocking her in the brain.
“Leigh,” Phil said too loudly. “It’s not difficult. Stay on the beam.”
Leigh turned to stare at him. It was difficult. Everyone who had talked about or participated in or even watched one gymnastics meet one time knew that staying on the balance beam was the hardest thing these girls had to do.
Phil was getting frustrated with her. That didn’t happen often.
“Get back on there, Leigh!” he said.
She was tempted to start thinking cruel things about him, to start calling him names in her head. She was tempted to say something back that would hurt his feelings. But Leigh was going to try something new today: she was going to be nice. She was sick of being parceled up into Gymnast Leigh and Regular Girl Leigh.
Last night Grace had said, “Everything will change.” She had said that nothing would be the same once the gymnastics life was over. But Leigh didn’t think
she could handle changing completely just because this part of her life was over.
She wanted the Olympics. She was willing to give up so much to get there—dates and friends and vacations and the chance to try other sports. And anonymity. She had even begged to give up high school. Leigh was willing to give up so much of her present and past. But she didn’t think she could give up her future, too. So when Leigh had closed her eyes last night, she had made a promise to the Gods of Gymnastics or the Universe or whoever was in charge out there. Tomorrow, I will be me, and I will still win. I will win while being nice.
“Do it right,” Phil grunted. “If you want a chance to compete in the all-around in Rome, you have to nail the beam tonight. Nail it. Now.”
Leigh made her face be still. She put her hands on the beam to hoist her linebacker body the four feet back up.
“Leigh,” Phil said again.
She hopped off the beam as quickly as she’d pulled herself onto it.
Phil came over to the side of it and stood right in front of her. He said, “I’m sorry for yelling. That doesn’t help. It can be hard to remember, but I know that.”
Leigh nodded. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
Her coach was nice. She was lucky to have found a coach who was successful and still nice. Why did she have such a hard time balancing those things?
“But you have to tell me,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Leigh wanted to answer but she didn’t know. It had been easy enough to be nice at breakfast. She’d taken a seat with Kristin and Annie and talked to them about Pretty Witches, that guilty-pleasure show all the gymnasts watched. And she’d even managed the next part. When they were heading out of the ballroom, Leigh had caught sight of the GymCade crew and pulled on Monica’s sleeve to ask her to stay back a minute. Then she’d apologized. Monica had nodded, her dull brown ponytail swinging behind her head. And, for the first time, Leigh had wondered if she was maybe more like Monica than she was like Grace. Monica’s hair was neat but not in some superslick fancy style like Grace’s. Monica had a crumb from her granola bar stuck on her knee and the left strap of her practice leo was twisted. Maybe it would be good for Leigh to have another gym friend, one who wasn’t so perfect all the time.