The Flip Side

by Shawn Johnson

  Straightening, she twists around to face me squarely. “Like how?”

  “I don’t know.” The bell is about to ring. Students are rushing in. Desks scrape across the floor as people throw themselves into the seats around us. “Can we talk after class?”

  She glances around, sees that we’ve lost our privacy, and nods.

  The bell rings. Mr. Alto strides in and announces a pop quiz. I groan. Maybe I’m not going to have an A in this class after all. I’ve barely studied over the past two nights.

  He gives a stack of quizzes to the first person in each row, and the sheets are sent back. I take one and pass the remaining pages to the person behind me. I read the first question. Name the three branches of government. Easy enough.

  I’m starting to write out my answer, when Mr. Alto is suddenly taking the paper from my desk. I look up at him.

  He winks. “You’re exempt, Charlie.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to be exempt.”

  “You’ve earned your grade with the extra credit you did by serving on the student council. You need to be focusing on this weekend now, your upcoming trials.”

  I can feel a couple of the students’ gazes boring into me.

  “I don’t want to be treated differently, Mr. Alto.” I hold out my hand. “I need the quiz paper back, please.”

  “But you are different, Charlie.”

  “Not in school. Please, can I take the quiz?”

  He chuckles but sets the paper back on my desk. “I’ve never had anyone ask to take a quiz. Good luck, Charlie.”

  I don’t know if he’s talking about the quiz or the Olympic trials, but it doesn’t matter. For right now I have to concentrate on this one hour, this quiz, one question at a time. I finish just as the bell rings. I’m actually feeling pretty good about my answers as I limp to the front of the class and drop off my paper.

  “Good luck, Charlie,” Mr. Alto says again.

  “Thanks.”

  When I walk out into the hallway, Zoe is waiting for me. I can’t describe the relief that washes over me.

  “That was weird,” she says as we start walking toward our lockers.

  “I know. It gets worse. He wants me to get him a Charlie Ryland T-shirt.”

  She staggers to a stop and stares me at me. “You’re kidding?”

  I bite back a huge smile as I shake my head.

  She rolls her eyes. “Okay, so maybe everyone didn’t need to know you’re Charlie Ryland, World Championship gymnast—but I should have known.”

  “I know, Zoe. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I can see that I did. We don’t have to be best friends, but I hope we can at least be sort-of friends.”

  “Sort-of friends don’t want to punch Kristine. Only best friends want to do that. I couldn’t believe the things she was saying during the interview yesterday.”

  “She has an issue with Bobby taking me to prom.”

  “She has issues period.”

  “So are we friends again?”

  She skews up her mouth like she’s thinking. “Depends. Will you get me a T-shirt too?”

  I laugh. I want to hug her, but I don’t know if we’re totally there yet. “Absolutely.”

  Growing serious, she looks down at my wrapped foot. “Are you going to be able to compete well enough to make the team?”

  I tell her the truth, because she deserves it and because I’m going to tell her only the truth from now on. “I don’t know, Zoe. I honestly don’t know.”

  Chapter Thirty

  * * *

  I have a sprained ankle, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen with my bars dismount, but I’m going to Olympic trials anyway. I carefully fold my new leotard, shimmering purple with pink-swirled sleeves, and place it in my carry-on. I don’t trust it to checked luggage.

  Things between Zoe and me aren’t perfect, but they are on the mend.

  I also have to give some serious thought as to whether or not I’m going to public school next year. Mom said I would find normal boring. I can categorically say after the past few days that my life is anything but normal. It’s bordering on weird, with some people embracing who I am and others resenting it. I don’t know if I want to deal with the roller-coaster ride that school could become after the Olympics. If I make the team. And if I don’t, I’m not sure I want to deal with people like Kristine saying that I didn’t have what it takes to be an Olympian.

  A familiar tap sounds on my door. Mom pokes her head in. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “You’ve got your toothbrush, your leo, extra athletic tape?” she asks.

  The list has always been the same, to every meet, for forever. There’s comfort in knowing what I need to pack.

  “And all my hair stuff. We’ll just have to get more hair spray when we get there.”

  “Got it,” Mom says. “I’m getting my shoes on.”

  I hoist my duffel bag onto my shoulder. I’m heading down the stairs when a text comes in from Josh, who wasn’t excused from going to school today. He’s sent me a picture of the marquee that stands outside the front of the school. The lettering reads: GOOD LUCK, CHARLIE!

  I text him back. Thanks for sharing!

  Dad is already in the car with the motor running, anxious to make sure that Mom and I get to the airport on time. He and Josh will drive up after dinner tomorrow. Because Coach works to keep us focused on our goals, I probably won’t get a chance to visit with them until the competition is over. Another text comes in as I’m opening the car door.

  I glance down, and my heart trips. It’s Bobby.

  Hey. Safe travels. You got this.

  I smile. “You got this” is my inside joke with Gwen. Funny how it makes me feel that maybe everything will be all right.

  • • •

  Normally when we fly, Gwen and I sit together. We share snacks, talk about boys, and share earbuds. But as I walk to the check-in counter, I realize that this trip might be different, because Gwen is so totally focused on this weekend. She comforted me during my blubber-fest after I got cornered by the reporters at school, but other than that she has stayed pretty much to herself. I’m not sure she has quite forgiven me for involving her in my prom plot, which resulted in her being grounded.

  I don’t see her until I’m at the gate. As if to confirm my fears, Gwen turns away when she sees me, chatting with her mom, who flew in from Georgia last night. Her dad, brother, and little sister are all flying together straight to Detroit. Gwen rests her head on her mom’s shoulder. And ignores me.

  There’s an open seat next to her. I sit down and pull my duffel bag onto my lap.

  “Well, hello, Charlie,” Mrs. Edwards says. “How’s the ankle?”

  “It could be worse.”

  Mrs. Edwards nods. “Well, I was very sorry to hear about your accident. I’m glad you’re on the mend. Although, I wasn’t too pleased when I learned about the mischief you and Gwen got into.”

  “It was totally my fault, Mrs. Edwards. Gwen never thought it was a good idea, but she went along with it because I wanted to go to prom so badly. But now I’m not sure I even want to go to public school next year. I think I want to do an online program, like Gwen.”

  Gwen stares at me. “Why? The Olympics will be over.”

  “It’s weird enough at school now. It’ll be even weirder next year. Besides, I’ve got to get my priorities straight.”

  Gwen shifts in her seat. “Seriously?”

  “That’s funny,” Mrs. Edwards says, “because Gwen was just talking to me about going to public school next fall after the Olympics in August. You know, she’s done online school since first grade. How is this child going to handle a strict schedule of classes and homework assignments?”

  “Mom!” Gwen whispers, jabbing her.

  “No, I understand,” her mom continues. “You see your friend here doing all these high school things. You think you’re missing out on something big. Well, hon
ey, let me tell you . . . No, better yet, let Charlie tell you. Is there anything special about high school that Gwen will miss out on if she doesn’t go? I’ve told her she’s missing out on a whole lot of nothing and heartache.”

  I mentally go through a checklist of my public school experiences. “It has its moments. I’ve met other people, other friends. There are extracurricular activities that can be surprisingly fun. If I do stay at Jefferson, I might run for the student council.”

  “I thought student council was a lot of work,” Gwen says.

  “It was. The good kind.”

  “See, Mom?” Gwen says. “Plus it’ll be my senior year. What if I just want to experience it?”

  “That’s fine,” Mrs. Edwards says. “But you’ve got to realize that your gymnastics might suffer. Here you’ve been going so strong for so long. It would be a pity to mess all that up.”

  Gwen slouches miserably. “But it’ll be four years before the next Olympics. I’ll be in college by then. It just seems like at some point in my life I should go to a public school before I head to college.”

  “And if you go to public school, you might get a text like this.” I hold out Bobby’s latest for Gwen to see.

  She leans forward in her seat. “Bobby told you, ‘You got this’!”

  We both laugh, because he unintentionally tapped into our private joke.

  “Oh, wow, I hope that’s not a prophecy or anything!” Gwen cries. “I mean, are you totally going to bite it on your Amanar?”

  As long as my ankle can withstand the impact of my landing on the mat, I’m pretty confident that my vault is not going to totally bite. “I better not! I’m struggling enough with other stuff as it is. At least give me a decent vault!”

  Our laughter dwindles. Talking about my struggles probably reminds us both about my injury and how I got it.

  “I’m really sorry, Gwen,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in my drama.”

  Gwen leans toward me now, away from her mom. “Truthfully, it was kind of exciting. I was so afraid we were going to get caught. But I wanted to be there with you for the whole night.”

  “I wish you could have been. I’m so sorry that you got grounded because of me.”

  The corners of her mouth turn up slightly. “It’s only for another couple of days, but you do owe me now.”

  “I’ll pay up anytime.”

  Gwen’s eyes soften. “Like I told you before, I was a little jealous. You manage all this stuff all the time, and I can manage only one thing. Okay, two things—gymnastics and school—and you’ve got a whole social life and a boyfriend and—”

  “Bobby’s not my boyfriend,” I say.

  “But he wants to be your boyfriend.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  I fill her in on all the details about prom night and the Facebook debacle.

  Gwen’s eyes narrow. “But he sent you the text.”

  “He was just being nice.”

  “What did you text back?” Gwen asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “You didn’t text him back?” Gwen cries. “You need to text him!”

  “We talked yesterday. I apologized. It’s over.”

  Gwen tips her head. “You really like him, don’t you?”

  I shift down in my seat, fighting off the disappointment about things ending between Bobby and me. I liked him a lot, but I’m not sure there is any point in admitting it. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  Gwen wraps her arms around me. “Since when have you been a quitter?”

  “This is different. I’m facing reality.”

  “He wants you,” Gwen says. “I saw how he was looking at you when he picked you up for prom.”

  I lean my head on Gwen’s shoulder. “I’ll worry about it after trials.”

  “No, you will not. You’re going to text him now.”

  “What do I even say?”

  “Tell him he’s hot. Tell him he’s your bae.”

  I jab her in the ribs. “I’m not telling him that!”

  “Okay, then tell him your friend Gwen has a huge crush on him.”

  “Do you really?”

  “No.” She giggles. “He’s cute, looked really good in that tuxedo, but I don’t know him. I’m just trying to get the conversation started for you two. Although, I wouldn’t mind if you ask if he has a friend who is in need of a girlfriend.”

  I can’t blame her for the interest in guys. With online schooling, she has had very few in her life. “But what do I say? I don’t want to seem desperate.”

  “Say ‘thanks,’ ” Gwen says. “He wished you luck the only way he knew how. You say ‘thanks.’ ”

  “Okay.” I pull out my phone and type grudgingly. Thanks.

  “Put a smiley face.”

  I add a smiley face.

  “Put those big lips.”

  “No!”

  Gwen laughs. “Just kidding.”

  I press send.

  “There,” Gwen says. “Was that so hard?”

  “I’m not getting my hopes up. I really think I blew it.”

  Gwen shakes her head. “You’re impossible! Just relax, okay? See if he texts back.”

  “Okay.” I lay my phone in my lap. Gwen and I both stare at it.

  “I hope he texts soon,” Gwen says after a few long moments.

  “He’s probably in class.”

  “We’ve got to tighten up our minds,” Gwen says. “Focus on what’s ahead. Podium training.”

  I nod. “Podium training.” For large meets all the apparatuses are placed on podiums so that the audience has a better view of the events. We’ll get a chance to work on the equipment before the official competition starts, so that we have an opportunity to get used to the way it feels.

  “What would you text back if someone just said ‘thanks’ to you?” Gwen asks.

  “Uh, I don’t know.”

  “Exactly. You need to text more.”

  “What else do I say?”

  “What does he like to do?” Gwen asks. “Ask him a question. Then he has to answer.”

  How’s wrestling going? I type. “How’s that?”

  “He’s a wrestler?”

  “A really good one.”

  Gwen gapes at me. “Girl! Why did you not tell me that?”

  “He’s too perfect. I am so dead.”

  “It’s going to be okay.” Gwen grips my shoulder. “You asked him a good question. He’s going to text back soon.”

  We slump back into our seats. I set my phone on my knee. We stare at it.

  “Look up there,” Gwen’s mom says, pointing at the television screen mounted to the wall. “Y’all are famous.”

  “Is that the Today show?” Gwen cries. “Whoa. This is big- time!”

  Our smiling faces flash across the screen. They used our national team photos and the spreads from Gymnastics NOW! Closed-captioning scrolls below the images. It’s a mess of typos, not to mention time-delayed, but Gwen reads it out loud. “ ‘What a contrast between these two young athletes. Best friends. Competitors. One who leaves her family to fly across the country to join a coach who can take her to her Olympic dreams, the other who leads a double life, hiding her true’ . . .” Gwen’s voice trails off. “That’s mean,” she mutters.

  I avert my eyes just as Coach Chris bounds over to us.

  “We’ve got to stay focused, girls,” he says, squatting in front of us. “You’re going to see a lot, you’re going to hear a lot. You’re going to have reporters crawling all over you from now on. You keep cool, you keep smiling, you let me and USA Gymnastics take care of it. You’ll get official word if you’re going to be part of an interview, if you’re going to talk to anyone publicly about anything, all right?”

  Gwen and I nod in unison.

  Coach hops to his feet. “All right, then. It’s time to board.”

  “Did they call our seats?” Mrs. Edwards asks, scrambling to collect
her things. “I didn’t hear.”

  “Our seats weren’t called, but we’re boarding anyway. I talked to the flight attendant. I want to get these girls in a safe, closed environment where they won’t be bombarded by the news.” He heads off to take care of things.

  “That’s smart.” Mrs. Edwards stands and throws her satchel-like purse over her shoulder. “I like that Coach Chris. Always thinking.”

  I don’t mean to glance at the screen, but I do. It’s a picture someone took at prom. Bobby is looking up at me from where he’s crouching on one knee. I’m looking down at him, my face tight with pain but a slight smile playing on my lips as I try to be brave. Under the photo scrolls the text, The question remains: What was Charlie Ryland thinking? Has she sabotaged her gymnastics career?

  “Come on, honey.” Mom tugs me to my feet, the skin around her eyes wrinkled with concern. “Time to go.”

  But that question keeps rolling through my mind. Have I sabotaged my gymnastics career?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  * * *

  “How does that feel?” Coach Rachel asks, patting my bound ankle.

  It’s Saturday evening, and we’re in the arena locker room. The do-or-die moment is rapidly approaching. “Tight,” I tell her.

  “Exactly what it should feel like,” she says. “Let’s see you point.”

  I obediently point my toes.

  “All right. You’re set. You get ’em today, okay?”

  I nod. It’s hard to find words. Only routines are playing through my mind. Last night I had a difficult time falling asleep, because my mind was working, going over and over my passes, rehearsing every move, every pivot, every flip and pirouette. It didn’t want to rest, didn’t want to sleep. But I knew I needed sleep more than anything else.

  After warm-up I stand shoulder to shoulder with Gwen, ready to march into the auditorium. She reaches for my hand and squeezes. We don’t speak. There aren’t any words for this moment. Everything we could say has fallen away.

  When the girls in front of us move forward, we follow, striding in perfect tempo into the huge auditorium. The lights are brilliant, the crowd loud. Flags wave. I slow my heartbeat with my breaths. I breathe the pain in through my injured ankle, which I refuse to limp on, and out again through the same ankle, letting it go.