“Glad you noticed.”
“Would you settle for counting as good boy drama? Or even as a good distraction?”
Tanner is trying hard not to laugh. That’s how I know that somehow everything will be okay. “I might,” he says. “It depends, though.”
“On what?”
“Are you allowed to be friends with boys? Like, with me in particular?”
I have to contemplate that for a minute, so I do. Can I be friends with Tanner? I mean, can anybody truly be friends with someone she thinks is really cute and wants to kiss all the time and about whom she entertains daydreamy fantasies that involve the so-called friend looking adoringly at her while she wins gold medals? Isn’t friendship a bit torturous once daydreamy fantasies become part of the picture?
Maybe.
But maybe it’s worth it?
“Can we come back to this question after I compete at Regionals?” I ask.
“When is Regionals, exactly?”
“In four days. On Wednesday.”
“Oh. That’s not so far.”
The reminder that Regionals is just around the corner makes me queasy for a moment. “No, it really isn’t.”
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Just nervous when I think about it.”
“So Regionals is a big deal.”
“Kind of. Wait, what am I saying? Yes. It totally is. I have new routines too. And gym drama to go along with them.”
“Gym drama?”
“It’s different than boy drama. But all drama is distracting and messes up a gymnast’s focus, which is not good.”
“Can you solve the drama? You know, make it so it’s not a drama anymore?”
I think about showing Coach my new routines today after practice, trying to decide if this is a method for drama solving. My mind can’t quite wrap itself around this possibility, but I say, “Maybe,” anyway.
Then Tanner asks a question I am not expecting. “What happens if you do well at Regionals?”
“I get really happy,” I say.
“Well, obviously. But what else?”
I think for a while. What else does it mean? “If I win at Regionals, then not only will I be happy, but I qualify for Nationals. At the very least, it will get me noticed in the gymnastics world, and say to people that my gymnastics career has potential beyond just the ordinary.”
“Like to be extraordinary?” Tanner asks.
“Kind of.”
“Wow. So I may be friends with someone who may be good enough to win at a national level.”
I laugh. “You may indeed be. But that remains to be seen.”
“I guess so,” Tanner says, his eyes thoughtful. “Can I ask you one last question?”
“Sure,” I say.
“If gymnastics requires so much sacrifice, and makes your life so complicated, then why do you keep doing it?”
I look at him. “Because sometimes, very rarely, but once in a while, you have this rare perfect day when you win — maybe you win it all,” I say, remembering the day this happened for my sister at Nationals. Picturing it. “And winning is not only glorious, it helps remind you why you love this sport so much, since it’s also really, really fun.”
“I can understand that, I think,” he says. He glances over his shoulder at his friends, who are playing soccer again, one man down. “I should get back to my game.”
“Okay. I’m glad you came over to talk.”
“Me too.” Before I know what’s happening, he leans forward and plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Good luck at Regionals, Joey. I really, really hope you have that perfect day.”
And then he is gone.
A big smile breaks across my face, my cheeks turning a red as deep as the stripe on my team leotard. I know I shouldn’t care, that I should turn my attention to serious subjects like practice and the stuff with Coach, but I spend a good long time going over this moment with Tanner. Then I think about Alex’s over-the-top vision of Tanner showing up after I win the Olympics and us having a glorious, world-televised kiss. I decide to tuck away this daydream for safekeeping, because even if it’s a silly fantasy, I still kind of like contemplating it.
I can’t help it either.
I may be a serious gymnast, but I’m a girl too.
At practice I remain in a low-level state of fear because I’m in the same room as Coach Angelo. This doesn’t help me perform well, to say the least. “Joey!” Coach barks from the other side of the gym, where he is standing by the bars. “What are you, a grandmother? If you run any slower down to the vault, we’re going to have to put you in a wheelchair!”
“Joey!” he barks again a while later, from where he’s watching my teammates on the high beams. “If your cast handstand on high bar gets any weaker, we’ll have to hire a crane to pull you up at Regionals!”
Coach has eyes everywhere. It doesn’t matter if he isn’t watching you specifically, he still sees all. And he’s not even trying to be funny. He’s dead serious when he says this stuff.
“Joey,” Coach seethes after I’ve landed my bars dismount, bouncing all over the mat before I come to a halt. “If you don’t tighten up, they’re going to sell Joey Jordan bobble-head dolls in your honor!”
Maureen keeps coming over to check in and try to calm me down. “I know that you’re nervous about showing Coach your routines, but now is the time to focus on your events. You only have a few practices left before Regionals and you can’t afford to lose this entire day. Pretend like you’re at a meet right now and that … hmmm.” She stops, tapping her chin with her index finger while she thinks. “Imagine that Coach is one of your rivals, trying to psych you out. Sarah Walker, maybe. You can work on erasing Sarah Walker’s meanness by erasing Coach Angelo’s presence from the gym today. This is a good opportunity for you, really! It’s going to help you get ready for Regionals.”
I stare at Maureen like she’s mental.
“Don’t look at me like that, Joey. I’m just trying to help.”
I don’t say anything. Instead I chalk up and jump to the high bar again, swinging back and forth until I have enough momentum to do a kip and work on my cast handstand.
“Come on, Joey,” Trish says from the set of uneven bars next to mine.
Focus on Trish, not on Coach, I tell myself, and things go a little better as I swing between bars, my release moves fluid and spot on. This time, I stick my landing and lift my arms over my head.
“Joey!” Coach barks again.
What now?
“If your routine gets any more sluggish, the judges won’t need to review it in slow motion, because you’re already performing in slow motion!”
Trish gives me a look of sympathy.
But I chalk up and do it again.
The minute hand ticks toward 6 P.M.
The moment of reckoning finally arrives.
And then Alex shows up to talk to Coach Angelo about quitting.
Yup. As the clock strikes six, right after Maureen has informed Coach that we — as in Maureen and I — have something to show him, Alex calls out from the doorway in a rather timid voice for her: “Coach Angelo?”
The chatter in the gym hushes to silence. Everyone stops what they are doing and turns to look at her.
Alex is standing in the visitor’s entrance, not the one that the team uses in back by our cubbies. From this alone, Coach has to know what’s coming.
But I think he might be in denial, because he seems happy and relieved to see her. “Alex!” he exclaims, then he rushes — he definitely does not storm — to where she is, half-hidden behind the door.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says as he approaches.
The entire team is frozen.
We all knew this day would happen, and now it’s here.
The Gansett Stars are about to lose our current Darling.
Before Coach reaches Alex, she shoots me a look, probably hoping for a thumbs-up and a you can do it kind of silent support. She
’s not only done what I’ve asked of her — waiting until after practice is over to break the news — but she’s done me one better, which is to tell him after a Saturday practice, which gives him well over a day and a half to cool down.
My expression, though, probably reads I am totally panicked by your presence here at this moment! I can’t believe this bad luck, that she showed up right when I was going break my scary news to him.
Her face falls. She’s confused by my reaction. And probably already terrified about talking to Coach on top of it.
See, this is the problem with gymnasts: We are so accustomed to seeing each other for hours and hours at a time during practice that we don’t relate like normal girls our age, calling each other up or texting every tidbit of gossip in our lives. So when our communication at practice breaks down because, say, one of us stops showing up, then we’re hopelessly lost about how to convey information to each other.
This is a disaster. Not only am I letting Alex down, my heart is pounding so hard I’ll never be able to stick my new beam routine for Coach, or even hear the music on floor.
Coach and Alex disappear through the doorway. Even though technically I do know what they are talking about, I wish I could overhear what they’re saying so I’d have a better sense of Coach’s mood and what I’m in for when he has his next confessional appointment. With me.
“Joey, calm down,” Maureen says, hustling over to where I’m pacing back and forth on one of the low beams. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?” I ask, because I am not at all reassured that it will be.
I am aware of every round of the minute hand on the gym clock, and it is 6:34 by the time Coach reenters the gym, looking like a person whose puppy was just kidnapped.
“Maureen,” I groan.
“Let me handle it,” she says, jogging off toward Coach. “Angelo!”
“This is not a good time,” he says.
This doesn’t stop Maureen. “It’s important.”
He shakes his head like he is angry or frustrated or annoyed or all three. They talk, their voices so low I can’t hear a thing from where I stand on the low beam. I’m afraid to move, though, so I stay put and watch.
Maureen raises her right hand animatedly, waving it around while she talks, first with some subtlety. When Coach responds with a few words, she waves the hand with more agitation. Their back-and-forth continues, with Coach’s face growing angrier and angrier, and Maureen’s hands becoming wilder and wilder, until she is throwing them way above her head.
This is not good.
Coach suddenly breaks away from their conversation and storms across the gym toward me.
“Angelo!” Maureen calls out, running after him.
But he arrives at the practice beams before she does.
“Joey Jordan,” he says, everything about him fuming.
I breathe deep, in and out. “Yes, Coach.”
“Don’t yes, Coach me,” he spits.
“Angelo!” Maureen says, joining us.
But he won’t look at her. He’s staring at me. He closes his eyes a moment and now it’s his turn to take a deep breath and let it out.
“Did you know Alex was quitting?” he asks.
Wow. This is not what I expected.
“I can’t believe you, Angelo,” Maureen says with disgust.
“Did you?” Coach demands again.
I open my mouth, close it, then open it again. “Well, I suspected for a while, and then a few days ago, she told me for sure.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to tell me?”
Maureen steps between us. “It’s not her job to tell you. It’s Alex’s business to make those decisions.” She has her hands on her hips now. “And can we please focus on Joey here? Her talent is wasted on those routines you have her doing. I’m begging you to watch these new ones!”
I wish I knew what to do, what to say, how to make this situation okay, but I don’t. Coach steps aside so Maureen is no longer between us. “Joey Jordan,” he says, using my full name again, which is never a good sign. “You will forget about whatever stunt you’ve pulled with Maureen this summer, and you will be ready to do your real routines at Regionals on Wednesday. You will have your head in the game, and you will win. I don’t want to hear another word about new routines again. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Coach,” I say in a small voice.
Maureen sighs with exasperation.
“Now you get home and I do not want you to step foot in this gym again before Regionals. I will see you there.”
“But —” I try to protest.
“Don’t you dare argue. You’re lucky you’re going to Regionals at all.”
“Yes, Coach,” I say, even though I’m already wondering if there is anything else I can do or say to convince him before Wednesday. Maybe there is still time. I need to think. I watch as Coach turns, storming off yet again, with Maureen on his heels, arguing the entire way.
Well, at least I’m still alive.
Later that night, I flop facedown on my bed, my mind on over-drive as I try to figure out what to do about this afternoon’s disaster with Coach. Then I sense another presence in the room and turn my head toward the door.
Julia’s standing there. “Maureen called and told me the news.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says.
“How do you figure that?”
“You’ll just do the routines anyway, like we discussed the other night.”
“Yeah, and then totally blow my chances of finishing the rest of the events when Coach kicks me out for blatant disobedience.”
“He’ll calm down.”
Julia’s obviously not going anywhere, so I flip over, propping myself up with pillows. “Excuse me, but have you lost your memory of what he’s like?” I ask.
My sister doesn’t answer. Julia is covering her mouth with her hand and staring at the wall. Her eyes are wide with surprise. She’s looking at the poster I put up of her, right next to Nadia.
“How long has that been there?” Julia asks.
“I don’t know. A while,” I say, reddening. I don’t know why I feel embarrassed that my sister has seen the poster, but I am. A little bit.
“I didn’t even know you had one.”
“Um, it’s been in storage.” That’s not exactly true, but it’s close enough.
“You put it next to all your favorites,” she says. “The goddesses of gymnastics.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t go getting a big head about it.”
“I’m not.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Then why did you get all gaspy and stopping in your tracks and all that?”
“I was just surprised. That, and I haven’t seen one of those posters in a long, long time. It brings back memories.” Julia sounds all wistful as she sits down on the bed.
So I change the subject. “You were saying, about Coach and Regionals? You know, before you got distracted by yourself?”
Now it’s Julia’s turn to roll her eyes. “I was saying that I think you should do the new routines regardless of Coach. Maureen’s your coach too.”
“I know. But she doesn’t call the shots. I wish she did, but Angelo always has the final word.”
“Maureen told me that she’s going to talk to him again,” Julia says. “Try to convince him.”
I give my sister a look. “Yeah, well, I wish her good luck with that. Angelo was not exactly happy that Maureen went behind his back either.”
“Don’t underestimate Maureen. She’s been through it all. She has ways of making things happen.” Julia seems like she’s lost in a memory for moment. “We’ll see, I guess,” she says. Then: “And I was thinking …”
“Uh-oh. What were you thinking?”
“That if you felt okay about it, I might try to talk to Angelo myself.”
My eyes op
en wide. “You?”
“I still have some clout with Coach.”
Of course she does. She’s the Gansett Stars former Darling. “You’d be willing to do that for me?”
“I would, actually,” she says with a self-satisfied smile.
“Well, I’m glad my misfortune gives you a chance to feel good about yourself.”
“Joey! I’m just trying to help. Besides,” she goes on, “Coach might listen to me, since he doesn’t know that I was right there with you and Maureen every Friday.”
“I know. Sorry,” I say. “It’s a nice idea but you don’t have to do that.”
“I have a stake in your success too, you know. I didn’t give up all my Friday nights this summer for nothing. I want to watch you win on Wednesday.”
“Well, I want to win too.”
Julia smiles. “Good.”
There’s something else, though, something important that’s been bothering me and I need to get it out. “But I’m thinking …” I begin, hesitant at first.
“Uh-oh,” Julia says. “Tell me.”
“I’m thinking that if I truly want to be a winner, if I’m going to have enough confidence to do this at Regionals, that maybe I need to be the one to convince Coach.”
“Joey, that might not be the best —”
But I don’t let her finish. “You know, I wonder if I might even have a better chance at talking to Angelo, since ultimately, this is between me and him, and I know he’s seen the improvement in me lately. He wants the Gansett Stars to win at Regionals just as much as I do. And listen, as much as I appreciate that you care, I think this part is up to me to fix. In the end, these are my routines, this is my shot at Regionals, and this is my gymnastics career we’re talking about. So I should take responsibility for it myself, you know?”
Julia’s eyes are shiny. “I do know, Joey. I really do.”
I purse my lips, not quite knowing what to do in response to all this sisterly affection, but her tears remind me of something I’ve been wanting to ask her forever. “Julia, when you got the gold medal at Nationals, when you cried up there, were the tears for real?”
She seems startled by my question at first, then falls silent, thinking a while. “Oh yeah. Definitely.”
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