by Cari Simmons
“Simon can play chess with his toes,” the cafeteria-food boy suggested.
“Big deal,” said the girl with cropped hair. “I can play the piano with my toes.”
“There’s a kid in the eighth grade with webbed toes,” another boy offered. “Two of his toes are attached with skin.”
“Enough with the toes!” Mrs. Murphy called as everyone giggled. “Let’s try for real achievements.”
I thought playing piano with toes was a pretty good achievement. I planned to try that later on Alex’s keyboard.
“Tyler Blanchi won the Labor Day running race,” another girl said.
“A local race is good,” Mrs. Murphy encouraged. “Anything else?”
“I think there’s a girl in seventh grade who’s competing in a national horse show,” Kate said. “Carly something-or-other. She owns her own horse. I heard the horse can jump crazy high.”
Everyone liked the idea of tracking down Carly for an interview and taking some action photos of her horse.
I thought about my stepmother, Carmen. She always wore those stretchy beige riding pants and talked about Buddy, her horse.
I wondered if she’d done horse shows. I wondered why I’d never met Buddy. It was weird how Dad had this other life without me.
“Wait!” Roseann called. “I have something that’s better than a local or national winner.”
“What’s better than national?” Kate asked her sister.
“The whole world.” Roseann opened her arms wide. “Did you know that we have a student at our school who is training for the Olympics?”
Everyone tried to guess the mystery student, but I’d stopped listening. I didn’t know anyone in this school. I had no chance of coming up with a feature story. My mind was still on Carmen’s horse. Dad never wanted Mom to get a dog when they were still married. What was he doing with a horse?
“It’s Molly!” Roseann cried.
“What?” I said, hearing my name. “What’s me?”
“Molly is an amazing gymnast. She’s training to be in the Olympics,” Roseann explained to the group. She rested her hand on top of mine.
“That’s incredible, Molly.” Mrs. Murphy gazed warmly at me, as if seeing me clearly for the first time. No longer was I the girl with the bag of brownie poop. I was Molly Larsen, Olympic hopeful!
“Well, that’s not it exactly.” I itched to pull my hand out from under Roseann’s. “I mean, you never know—”
“It’s a hard road to go down.” Mrs. Murphy nodded as if she understood and began to turn away.
“I mean, I don’t know about these Olympics,” I began again. Mrs. Murphy’s gaze was back on me.
“True, true,” Roseann cut in. “It can’t be this one coming up. You’re too young. But probably the next one. Isn’t it fantastic? In four years, Molly Larsen will represent the United States in a competition against the rest of the world!”
“That’s so cool!” said cropped-hair girl. “Molly definitely has to be our feature story.”
Everyone agreed.
“I don’t think . . . you have to know . . .” I took a deep breath. I had to set them all straight. The Olympics were a dream, but so was becoming a movie star or a fashion model. Right now, there was a better chance of me suddenly growing twelve inches and strutting the catwalk in Paris than Andre jumping me to the Elite level. He wouldn’t even let me do my back handspring–back tuck yesterday.
“Mrs. Murphy, may I write the article about Molly?” Roseann asked. “We could meet for interviews. Just the two of us.” She squeezed my hand.
I squeezed it back. This is what I’d wanted. The two of us spending time together. I couldn’t mess it up.
“Roseann, are you ready to write such a big feature?” Mrs. Murphy crinkled her forehead. “Maybe it would be best if I gave it to one of the eighth graders.”
“No! Please, it’s my idea. I really want to do this. Plus, Molly is my friend. We’ll work together. A lot.”
“I like your passion, Roseann.” Mrs. Murphy wrote her name and the assignment on a pad of yellow paper. “I don’t usually assign a big feature article to a sixth grader, but Molly’s yours. Let’s see what you can do.”
“I won’t let you down.” She raised my hand up with hers. “We won’t let you down.”
I wanted to do the right thing. I wanted to tell everyone that I wasn’t training to go to the Olympics. I wanted to tell Roseann to write the article about that girl and her horse instead.
It was unreal that they all believed I was that good at gymnastics. How had this happened?
Mrs. Murphy ended the meeting, and I still hadn’t said anything. I was usually so talkative. Now I couldn’t force out the one sentence I needed to say.
“Want to come to my house tomorrow after school?” Roseann asked.
Hanging out one-on-one at her house was huge. After all that time together, I was sure we’d be best friends. Once that happens, I reasoned, I’ll tell her it was all a misunderstanding.
A joke, really.
We’ll be such good friends, she’ll think it’s funny.
We’ll laugh about it together. Our little inside joke.
It’s fine if Roseann thinks I’m Gold Medal Girl for one more day, I reasoned. I’d stop it tomorrow, before she wrote even the first word of the article.
“Yes,” I told her. “I would love to come by your house.”
CHAPTER 8
“What happened today?” Eden’s face loomed large on my computer screen, ready for the update.
I had five minutes before Mom raced home from work to drive me to the gym. I already wore my red leotard, and my gym bag waited by the garage door. I told Eden about joining the newspaper staff.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Eden exclaimed. “Now you and Roseann have a link. You need to work on a story together.”
“We kind of are. I’m going to her house tomorrow.”
Eden gave a flurry of little claps. “Hello! You’re the best, Molly. You don’t invite someone to your house if you don’t really like them.”
“What about Maddy?” I countered. “You invited her over last spring.”
“That was a family thing. Her dad works with my dad. . . .” Eden launched into a long explanation.
I didn’t care about Maddy. I was killing time so Eden didn’t ask the big question. The topic of our article.
I debated how much to tell her. Eden was as invested in the Roseann Project as I was. She truly wanted me to be happy here and have a great friend. I just wasn’t sure if she’d see the whole Olympic thing the way I did. She might see it as lying. Or as bragging. She hated when I boasted about the gymnastic moves I could do that she couldn’t.
“What are you guys up to?” I asked to change the subject.
“Sari is having a sleepover party on Friday night.” Eden walked across her kitchen to open a cabinet. I knew she was reaching for a glass to pour her favorite iced tea–lemonade mixture. She did that every day after school. “We’re going to make it into a spa party. I’m bringing this new aqua nail polish.” She wiggled her fingernails at the screen. “Amanda is mixing up the facial mask.”
“What’s she using?” I tried to hide my hurt. Mixing masks had always been my thing. I was famous for my avocado-honey mask.
“Oatmeal and yogurt.”
“That’s a good one.” My heart ached to be back there. I lined up colored pencils on my desk in my new bedroom. Red, orange, yellow. The order of the rainbow.
Eden told me more about the spa-party plans, and I stared up at my fabric-covered bulletin board. When I’d moved, I’d stripped it of all the clutter. Now it only had two things pinned to it: the photo of me and Eden in matching bathing suits clowning for the camera and a round-trip airline ticket back to Arizona.
“A present for you and Alex,” Dad had said that last day, when he took me to the crafts market. He handed us each an envelope.
“Money?” Alex cried.
“Something
money can’t buy. Well, actually money bought this, but you know, open it. You’ll see what I mean,” Dad rambled. He sure was having trouble speaking that day. I knew he was sad to see us go so far away.
“It’s a ticket,” I said as I pulled out a stiff paper from the envelope.
“An airplane ticket. One for each of you,” Dad explained. “There’s no date on it. You can come see me whenever you want, for as long as you want. You don’t need to come together. You call me and say you’re coming, and I’ll be waiting for you.”
“We’ll be waiting for you,” Carmen corrected him. I wished she’d stop trying so hard. She should know, after all our hikes together, that I liked her.
“Exactly.” Dad’s blue-gray eyes turned moist. “That’s what’s important. Family. That’s what money can’t buy.”
Alex and I both hugged Dad—and Carmen too.
Now I wondered if I shouldn’t use the ticket. I could fly in for the weekend. Go to Sari’s spa party. My avocado mask was far superior to any mask made from oatmeal. Avocado softened your skin a whole lot more.
“Daria went on vacation and closed the gym for a week.” Eden broke into my thoughts. “All I can do is practice handstands in my room. Boring! You must be working on exciting new stuff. Fill me in.”
I glanced at my bedside clock. Mom was late. “Uh, hey, listen, I’ve got to leave for the gym now. I’ll try to text you when I get back, okay?”
“Sure thing.” She did our sign-off wave. I did it too.
My stomach began to hurt. Why had I said that? I’d never made an excuse to stop talking to Eden. But I’d never kept this much from her before, either. Not only Roseann and the whole Olympics thing . . . I hadn’t told Eden how badly I was doing at Andre’s gym! How I was in one of the lowest groups! How Andre had to reteach every move Daria had taught me!
I gazed at my ticket again. I couldn’t use it now. It was too soon.
I had to go back victorious.
I could do it too. I just needed some time.
I’d been the star when I’d left. I wasn’t going back as anything less.
“Yes, Molly!” Nastia called. “Now you’re waking up!”
My palms left chalky prints on my thighs as I leaned over to catch my breath. My head spun from all the handstands I’d done on the uneven parallel bars. I’d never gotten dizzy before. Then again, I’d never done thirty in a row.
I was proud of myself. The energy I’d come into the gym with tonight continued to surge through me. I could change things here. Be a star.
“Over to Andre,” Nastia commanded. She directed her attention to the next girl, already turning kip circles.
“Okay!” I skipped across the floor.
“Don’t do that.” Sofia’s hand grabbed my shoulder. “You’ll mess up Kelsey.”
I stopped, and we watched Kelsey fly through the air in a series of connecting flips and twists. “She’s so focused, a charging bull wouldn’t bother her,” I said.
“Andre wants us to walk as we do in meets. No running or skipping.” Sofia showed me the straight-legged march. I felt like a tin soldier as I followed.
“Quiet your body,” Andre said for the fourth time, after I’d already spent an hour with him, trying to perfect the special arabesque. Everyone in my group had long ago moved on to tumbling.
“Move on up . . . move on up . . .” My legs ached to bounce in time with the beat the cheerleaders clapped out over the wall.
I couldn’t let the chanting throw off my focus. I locked my knees. I straightened my legs and pointed my toes painfully.
“Tighten up. Stiffen up,” Andre barked.
As I held the unnatural position, a popular song blasted from the other side of the wall. Silently I mouthed the words. My hips longed to sway.
“A noodle! You are a noodle!” Andre flung his arms into the air, unable to hide his frustration. “I know you can do this, Moll-le. We are going to work all night until you get it. Then we will work tomorrow. Then the next day.”
My stomach twisted in knots. I felt horrible.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. Smaller and meeker.
“Fine. Be quick, and then we do it again!” Andre shooed me off, and I hurried into the empty locker room.
I sat on a bench and pulled my knees into my chest. I didn’t have to go to the bathroom. I closed my eyes and let the cheerleaders’ chant soothe me. “Keep going . . . keep climbing . . . up, up, up! Keep going . . . keep climbing . . .”
When had gymnastics become so unfun? I wondered.
I thought of calling Mom to come get me. I chipped away at my pink nail polish, wondering if this was a good idea. Before she’d written that huge check to Andre, she’d asked if I was sure about such an intense program. I’d said I was one hundred percent sure. Could she get her money back, if I wasn’t so sure anymore?
My body rocked in time with the cheers. I’d been sitting there for a while when I heard the door open.
“Molly? Hey, Molly, Andre’s looking for you!” Sofia’s raspy voice called into the locker room.
My stomach tightened. I wanted to hide.
“Molly?”
I bolted before I could think. Pulling open the door to the cheering side, I dashed inside. I blinked against the bright lights. Positive slogans painted in primary colors covered the white walls. BE THE BEST YOU! LOUD AND PROUD! SHOUT IT OUT! Several groups of girls practiced in different areas.
I gazed around, stunned at all the activity. Cheers. Dances. Tumbling.
The locker-room door behind me squeaked open.
I dove behind a pile of mats. My heart thudded as Sofia poked her head in. Could she see me? I tightened my body into a ball.
Sofia looked to the left and right. She shrugged, then returned to the locker room. In a minute or two, she’d tell Andre I was missing. Then what?
Go back, I told myself, but my legs wouldn’t follow my brain. I stayed squatted beside the mats and watched the cheerleaders closest to me work on a pyramid. They tried several times to hold the formation. Each time the top girls tumbled onto the thick foam mats. They giggled as they sprawled together, and the coach encouraged them to try again.
Finally they built it all the way up. Girls balanced on shoulders and backs. Total concentration and total trust.
“Ready . . . and . . . ,” called a girl from the bottom.
I muffled a gasp as the smallest girl on top launched into a double front tuck. She landed safely in the arms of three girls below.
That’s what Shrimp does, I realized. I searched but didn’t see her on this side of the gym.
The girls in the pyramid clapped and cheered as they formed a line. Then, at the exact same time, they flew into back handspring–back tucks. Every foot hit the mat at the same moment. Then two girls began a tumbling pass.
This is hard stuff, I thought. I pitched forwards for a better view.
The tumbling flowed into a series of dance moves. Not the ballet-arabesque kind gymnasts do, but party moves. Shimmying, shaking, and twirling. I bobbed my head to the beat.
“Pretty fun, huh?” A tall woman in an orange warm-up jacket that said CHEER COACH gazed down at me.
Busted! In my red leotard, it was clear where I belonged.
“Taking a little break?” she asked. She didn’t seem angry.
“Something like that,” I mumbled.
She hooked a piece of short blond hair around her ear. “You never know what’s behind a door until you open it.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but she wasn’t in any hurry to send me back. Side by side, we watched silently as the cheerleaders ran through their routine two more times. At the end, they high-fived each other.
I glanced at the big clock on the wall. Mom would be waiting in the parking lot by now.
“I should go.” I headed towards the door.
“Don’t be a stranger,” the woman called as I slipped unnoticed into the locker room, out through
the gymnastics gym, and into Mom’s car.
On the ride home, Mom sang to the new Taylor Swift song. I hadn’t heard her sing since we moved. I joined in and tried to harmonize on the chorus. Mom covered for me when I messed up, especially on the high notes. She once won a singing competition in her teens.
“I’m getting the hang of this boss thing.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “People told me today that I’m good at what I do.”
“That’s really great, Mom.” She’d already washed off her makeup and put on a gray sweatshirt. She looked so relaxed.
“Alex is making friends. He went to the library tonight for a study group. You found a new gym. It’s all coming together.” She rolled down the windows and launched into a country song. She belted the chorus loud enough for the driver in the car next to us to turn his head and stare at her while waiting for the red light. She held the high note extralong for him.
I couldn’t mess up her good mood. I’d have to deal with the gymnastics thing myself.
CHAPTER 9
“You don’t mind walking, do you?” Roseann asked as we left the school together the next afternoon. “My mom drove Jane to buy sneakers. Chrissy has to stay late at the high school.”
“Not at all. I walk in the afternoons too, but I go the opposite direction.” I pointed down James Street. “Where’s Kate?”
“Somewhere around. She walks with her friend Jordana.”
I matched my pace with Roseann’s. We both wore dark jeans. I’d paired mine with my favorite rose-colored, lace-trimmed tank and a faded denim shirt. I’d put on the turquoise necklace I only wore on special occasions and lots of thin, bangle bracelets. They jangled as I ran my hand along the top of a squared-off hedge.
“Water alert!” Roseann called, and we both dodged the spray from a yard sprinkler.
“You’d get in trouble for that where I used to live,” I said.
“For what?” Roseann’s blue eyes searched the quiet street.
“Watering your lawn in the middle of the day. In the desert, there’s not a lot of water. You can’t waste it on making your grass green,” I explained. “You can only water at night, when it’s cooler. We never had grass in our yard. Just rocks and cactus.”