by Leddy Harper
“No.” He gave me his infamous look, the one that could make a grown man flinch.
I stood my ground. This was my future and I had to fight for it. As much as I would miss my current gym, they were no longer useful to me. There were only so many extra hours of conditioning and private classes I could take. Advancement in this sport required the proper training, and I wasn’t going to get it at Palm Beach Gymnastics.
“Transferring to another gym isn’t unheard of. A lot of families send their gymnasts to train at a better facility.”
“Adrianna Marie Rossi!”
“Just hear me out! Please.” I was on the verge of tears. My mother would no doubt sniff them in the air and be on me in seconds. Tears showed weakness, and a Rossi never showed weakness–at least according to her.
Dad didn’t respond, instead he just stared right through me.
Blowing out a loud, aggravated breath, I stood up and peered out the window. His office overlooked the expansive, lush lawn in our backyard. Over to the right, the late afternoon sun reflected off the pool. Our home was located on the prestigious Palm Beach Island. We had everything money could buy. Everything except a great one-of-a-kind gymnastics coach and a world class gym.
Turning back to my dad, I took in the flare of his nostrils and flexed jaw. He had become eerily calm. I knew this side of him, and it wasn’t pretty. This was a side that nobody dared to test. The room grew cold and goose bumps broke out on my skin.
I had pushed too far.
“Go,” he said. “Now.” His voice was a growl before dismissing me to return to his work.
I fled his office and retreated to my bedroom, slamming the door just as the tears started to fall.
Gymnastics was my everything. It was my heart and soul, the air I breathed. I've rotated between eating, sleeping, and flipping for as long as I could remember. The competiveness, the challenge of mastering a new skill. The way I defied gravity–my heart soaring, the sound of applause, and the gasp from the audience–made the sacrifice worth every bit of pain and manipulation my body went through. Nothing could take that feeling away.
It was the one thing that allowed me to be me. To express myself creatively in the way I chose, not how someone else decided for me. It was the one place I could be free from the restraints of my family’s name.
My name is Adrianna Rossi. I’m fifteen, and a competitive gymnast. Elite gymnast, to be exact. Or I would be, as soon as the new season started.
To become an elite gymnast, you had to compete in all ten levels and qualify for the title based on scoring. Last season, I competed at level ten and won numerous awards. It was only a matter of time before I claimed the title. I trained day in and day out for this. My days consisted of four hours of training in the gym a day, a tutor to homeschool me, and a private chef to prepare my calculated caloric meals. I couldn’t be more ready.
As I fell onto my bed, devastation hit me hard. The rejection crushed my heart and it felt like my dreams were being ripped away.
The Olympics, like most hungry gymnasts, was my ultimate goal. But unlike most, I could achieve it.
If I charted the training along with my age, I could possibly compete in my first Olympic Games by eighteen. Possibly, being the key word. While fifteen was young in the real world, it was considered the prime age in the gymnastics world. It wasn’t unheard of to compete in the games at that late of an age. One of my favorites, Svetlana Khorkina, competed until she was twenty-five years old and in three Olympics, the first being when she was seventeen. Another gymnast, Oksana Chusovitina, competed in six Olympic Games, also starting when she was seventeen. So my goal wasn’t completely farfetched. I just needed the proper training. I was good, but I wanted to be great.
Though I was young, I wasn’t naïve. I knew I needed to crack down and be pushed. Knew what kind of mental and physical abuse my body would go through in order to reach that level. I needed a drill sergeant with a sharp eye.
Needed it, and wanted it.
Honestly, I didn’t understand why my dad objected to me leaving. I knew he thought gymnastics was more of a hobby, but he'd always done anything to placate me. He never told me no and usually threw money at what my heart desired. It wasn't like he spent much time at home. Frank Rossi was too occupied with expanding and maintaining his real estate empire. Rossi Enterprises was one of the top developers, with properties worldwide. He left my mom in charge of raising us kids, which was a joke.
When I first began at three years old, my mother used to sit at my practices and attend my meets. It was all about appearances back then, but I was also young so she really didn't have much of a choice. However, the older I got, the less of an effort she made. I think the last meet she came to was when I was twelve years old. Mom was usually too busy with her charity work or trying to keep my older brother, Xavier, out of the media.
At first it bothered me, the little interest they showed. I wanted them to want to be there, to watch me tumble and flip and balance on the beam. To watch me move up to another level or stick a dismount without wobbling. I craved their attention like all children did with their parents, but after years of begging for it, I eventually gave up and learned to adapt to their disinterest. Nowadays, mom rarely came to practice, and either of my parents attended very few competitions. Except the ones worth being seen at.
Their actions forced me to be independent and learn to do things on my own, something I quickly learned to value. That being said, I refused to give up. Nothing or no one would take my goal away from me.
I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I heard a faint knock on my door. I cracked my eyes opened and was surprised to notice the darkness surrounding me.
Another louder knock sounded and I prayed it wasn't my mom.
"Yeah?"
"Ana?" Relief coursed through me at the sound of my dad’s voice. "Can I come in?"
Huffing loudly, I sat up on the edge of my bed. “Come in.”
Dad opened the door, flipping on the light switch as he walked in. I glanced in the mirror on the adjacent wall and pulled back in shock. My face was blotchy and swollen from crying. Hair lay stuck and matted to my face. I looked like shit, but I didn't care. I was upset.
I glanced at my dad. The sorrow in his eyes was heavy. It was clear he was remorseful over his decision. The last time I'd seen him, he was dressed in a clean, crisp shirt and tie. Now the tie was gone, a few buttons were undone, and his sleeves were rolled up. He looked disheveled and worn out, and I suddenly felt bad that I was the cause of that. I acted like a spoiled brat and argued with him, something I always tried to refrain from. Usually it was my older brother who caused so much turmoil for my parents, not me.
"Yes, Daddy?" I tried to lighten the tension. A soft smile charmed his face. I was a daddy's girl through and through, and he knew it.
"May I sit with you?"
I nodded, and he sat next to me, causing the mattress to dip a little. He moved the tangled hair from my cheeks and eyed me carefully.
"You look like you've been crying, which can only mean that I'm at fault."
I flattened my lips and cast my eyes down. "I may have been."
"I apologize, sweetheart." He ran a tired hand down his face. "About the gymnastics..."
"Yeah?"
"Listen, it's not that I don't want you to do it, it's that I don't want you moving so far away on your own. You're still very young and the world is a dangerous place. What if something happened to you? I wouldn't be able to get to you fast enough."
My heart ached. "Dad, you're always traveling for work." He winced, and I instantly felt terrible for stating that fact. But it was the truth, and I had to get my point across. "What would be the difference?"
He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "You're right, I do travel a lot for work, and I'm sorry that I'm not around enough, but the difference is that I'm an experienced adult and you're not."
I slouched in defeat. "You're right. I was just hoping you'd give it s
ome thought. It's not like I'd be completely alone. I’d live in a dorm with other girls and a den mom. And other moms are typically there."
"Not your mom, though. I don't even know those women, Adrianna. You're my daughter, I can't trust them with you."
I gave him a serious look. "Dad, we both know mom isn't the kind of mother to do something like that for me." The kind of mother who gives and does anything for her children to see them thrive, Joy Rossi had much better things to do.
My dad sighed. "You put up a good argument and I have thought about it.” I perked up. “I have a business associate on the West Coast who happens to coach gymnastics. Let me give him a call and see what he says."
My jaw dropped and my heart skipped a beat. "The West Coast, Dad? You'll send me all the way to California, but not New Hampshire?"
"Not California, the west coast of Florida. Cape Coral. You know, three hours max from here? Not fifteen hundred miles."
I paused, pursing my lips together. "You have a friend who's a coach? How did I not know this?"
"You met him when you were younger, though you probably don't remember. He bought some real-estate from me many years ago and we've always stayed in touch. Every so often we'll flip a house together, or he'll ask for advice on property. His name is Konstantin."
The name didn't ring any bells. "What level does he coach?"
"That, I'm not sure of. I only know that he's a former Russian Olympian and is good at what he does."
Hope sprouted inside of me to the point where I couldn't contain my smile. Russians were crazy, their gymnastic training, even crazier. But I wouldn't complain, I was willing to take what I could. Beggars couldn't be choosers.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me this sooner."
"His past doesn't come up because it's never been part of our business transactions. It's never been of use to me or on my mind. I didn't know you weren't happy at your current gym," he countered. "If you had told me your coaches weren't cutting it, Konstantin could've stepped in sooner."
Touché. "When are you going to call him? Can you call now? Please?"
He chuckled at my eagerness, the light in his pale eyes returning. My dad and I had the same exact shade of green eyes. In fact, I resembled him the most. From my dark hair to my long legs and skin tone, we were very similar. And just like my dad, when I got excited about something, my eyes turned a brilliant jade color. Although, I wasn't sure where the deep red tones in my hair or freckles came from.
Enthusiastically, I shook his arm and jumped, bobbing on my knees. "Dad!"
He sighed, restraining a smile. "Come into my office and I'll give him a call now."
"Really?" I shrieked. When he nodded, I threw my arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Oh, thank you, Dad! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
He patted my back lovingly. "I can't make any promises, sweetheart, but I'll try my best."
I jumped from my bed, trailing closely behind. Once we were back in his office, I plopped down into a studded leather chair in front of his desk once again. This time I placed my hands under me so I didn't fidget while my father got situated.
And by situated, I meant pouring himself a glass of bourbon.
"All right, remind me again what level you are, what the goal is you want to achieve."
Sadness crept inside me. I wish he knew without me having to remind him. The man could spout off twenty different business transactions from the top of his head, but he couldn't retain a few facts about his daughter.
"I'm a level ten, but I need an elite coach so I can compete at the elite level next season."
He nodded and dialed a number, enabling the speakerphone. The phone rang a few times until a deep voice picked up.
"Allo?"
My brows creased together. A-low?
"Konstantin, my friend, Frank Rossi here. How are you doing?"
"Frank, it is good to hear your voice. You are just the man I wanted to speak with actually." Dad mentioned he was Russian, and his heavy accent confirmed it.
"Is that so? Did you happen to get my Christmas gift? I sent a bottle of my favorite vodka to you and that pretty girlfriend of yours."
Konstantin paused, laughing lightly. "I will have to ask Katja when I get home. Her appetite for vodka is just as voracious as mine. I hope she did not drink it all without me." He chuckled, as did my dad. "Thank you in advance. That was very kind of you."
"How is Katja doing? Have you decided to settle down yet?” Dad asked, swirling his glass tumbler of bourbon. As much as I liked that he was catching up with his friend, I was anxious for him to get on about me.
"Ah, not yet," he responded."It is not for her lack of trying though... All in good time."
Dad chuckled and my heart started to beat faster. "I have a question for you. Are you still coaching gymnastics?"
"Funny you should ask. I am, and I just happened to buy World Cup from the previous owners and was thinking about expanding on it and wanted your expertise."
"Ah…” Dad's brows lifted, a sparkle twinkling in his eyes. I knew that look. It was his chance to dabble in something look. "How perfect the timing is, then. Do you recall telling me when my precious daughter was ready to switch to give you a call?"
He paused. My heart stopped. "I do."
"She came to me earlier and wanted to transfer to some gym in New Hampshire. Do you know of any gym over there?"
"Not one worth remembering."
Dad's eyes bore into mine. He raised a pointed brow and smirked. "Well, she said it's one of the best gyms on the East Coast. But I can't imagine anyone being better than you."
Konstantin chuckled. "You flatter me. I had no idea that your daughter was still training. Tell me, what level is she."
I held up two hands to remind him of my level.
"She’s a level ten, but she said that her gym doesn't have an..."
"Elite coach," I whispered.
"Elite coach, which is what she's telling me she needs," Dad said.
"How old is she?"
"Fifteen."
"Hmm. She can't be just a level ten, that's quite old for elite. Is she training for college now?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure what she plans to do, or can do. I just know that she wants to train at a top notch gym."
That hurt my heart, like a knife to the chest. I'd just told him a few hours earlier what my plans for the future were.
"All right.” He cleared his throat. "I have a dinner meeting I need to get to right now, can I give you a call in the morning and we can go over this?"
"Perfect, sounds like a plan. I look forward to hearing from you. While we're at it, we can also discuss your expansion idea on your gym."
"Even better."
When Dad hung up the phone, I didn't feel any better over this call. I frowned. It didn't sound like a sure thing once he heard my age. I almost wished he hadn't been on speakerphone, now.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. There isn't anything I can't make happen now."
* * *
Chapter 2
Staring out the window, I couldn't see beyond my transparent reflection as we passed another mile marker. My heart fluttered and a small smile curved my lips thinking about how long I'd been waiting for this moment. In fact, I couldn't remember a time when I'd been this happy. Anxiousness was swirling through me at breakneck speed and the knots in my stomach pulled even tighter.
I took a deep breath and rested back against the cold leather seat praying that it wasn't much farther.
Two months later, Dad had come through and got me into World Cup Academy of Gymnastics, which happened to be one of the top rated gymnastic training centers in Florida. With my heart set on finding the best gym, and coming across the one in New Hampshire, it never dawned on me to look anywhere else once I'd found that place.
I'd done a little research and found out that World Cup wasn't just any gym. Previously owned by former Olympians, it was renowned for their training and ability to take athletes to
a new level. Apparently the coaches were very particular, elite were handpicked, and it took natural born talent and dedication to be one of its members. Some of the best gymnasts had come from this gym, trained by a group of intense coaches who pushed the limits with their level of training. I found an article on the internet stating that a couple of years back there had been a media spectacle regarding the unethical and extreme techniques used in the past after a few retired gymnasts got together and wrote a tell–all. I was skeptical about those tell-alls because the truth can be stretched and exaggerated to fit the situation. In my eyes, anyone who trained there was there because they wanted to be, because they knew it was the best.
From what I gathered after talking with my dad, he made a generous donation to World Cup, therefore allowing me the opportunity to train at the facility. This was the one—and only—time I was truly happy about coming from an affluent family. It didn't hurt that my dad did business with this Konstantin guy either.
However, I was a struggling athlete desperate to reach the next level. Sometimes, just sometimes, you had to use your connections. I didn't want to rely on my dad and his business relations, but if it helped get closer to my dream, then so be it. As my dad had always said, "You use your connections." I was ready to do whatever it took.
Being an Olympian was a pipe dream. It was so close yet still so out of reach, but with the right coaches, I knew I could do it.
It seemed like hours had passed by the time we veered to the right, finally exiting the Florida turnpike. Curving around and following the snake-like bend down the street, we pulled up to a gray building with dark tinted windows a couple of minutes later.
The chill in the air caused me to shiver within moments of stepping out of the warmth of the truck. Florida was having one of its rare cold fronts that most of us dreaded.
"So this is what you want?" my father asked as he made his way around the Escalade. He placed his hands into the pockets of his expensive tailored pants as the wind billowed against him while he surveyed the place.
"More than anything," I replied, unable to hide the smile on my face. It was as though I'd been rendered speechless while I stared at the large structure before me. This was what I wanted for the past year, and now it was mine. Happiness hit me hard, and my smile grew larger.