by Lucia Franco
Tears rose to my eyes but I pushed them back.
"Hey," he said, turning toward me. Catching my breath was a struggle. "Stay positive and take slow, deep breaths. There are still two more girls who need to compete, and from what I gather, they do not have the difficulty your routine does. Not even close."
I exhaled a deep breath. Blinking a few times, I stared at the scoreboard willing for my number to pop up. Without looking at Kova, I asked, "Did I step out with one foot or two?"
Inhale, exhale. I couldn't remember. Only that I knew for a fact I did on one.
"Two."
My chin quivered. "Both times?" I held my breath.
"Yes," he replied, voice grim.
"Seriously?" I asked, unable to hide the horror in my voice.
I saw Kova nod from the corner of my eye. Fuck. I blinked rapidly. No tears would fall today. I refused. But that was 0.6 of a point right there.
I turned to face Kova. My eyes shifted between both of his trying to gage his thoughts, but then the crowd erupted, and not the way I’d hoped. Both of our heads turned in the direction of the scores.
My blood ran cold as I stared at the numbers in disbelief.
I was going to have a heart attack.
This was worse than hearing my diagnosis. By far, much worse. I could control stepping out…and yet I hadn't.
"How?" I asked, covering my mouth. "How?" This made no sense. There was no way my score could be that low.
I looked to Kova for an explanation, but he was already sprinting in the other direction.
Eighteen
I stood motionless and watched as my coach addressed the judging panel with poise.
He was submitting an inquiry. He was entitled to since he was an accredited coach.
Meanwhile, I did the math in my head and added up the difficulty and bonus points. I knew I’d stepped out of bounds, but I didn't deserve to drop to third place. That was a lot to lose. Usually I was very in sync with my body and movement, and trying to figure out where I had made errors was proving to be difficult. I replayed my routine in my head.
My gut told me I hadn’t made them. But the judges said I had. I frowned. I was scored on both execution and difficulty. Had my execution been that poor?
No, a voice inside my head said. There was no way. I may have been beyond drained when I stepped out onto the floor, and my joints felt swollen and inflamed, but I did not lack when I competed. Ever. I gave everything I had to offer, and then some. Every struggle I faced, every risk forgotten. I didn't hesitate. I sucked it up and expelled it out to perform.
Four minutes. Kova had four minutes to file the appeal to contest my score.
I watched the judges hand him a sheet of paper. He checked his watch. Dipping his chin, he turned and our eyes locked. He strode toward me, his long legs eating up the space between us. Kova was pissed.
"I need a pen," he said.
Quickly I shuffled through my duffle bag. I knew I had one because I'd stashed our notebook in there. I planned to write in it after the meet.
Handing the pen to him, he said, "Turn around and bend over."
I flattened my back and Kova immediately started writing. He spoke to himself in Russian, the pen hurriedly moving across my back. He had to answer the questions and then calculate my routine.
I turned my head to the side, and said, "The numbers don’t add up, Kova."
"I know," he snapped, but I knew it wasn't meant to be mean. He pressed down too hard and the pen poked me through the paper. I didn't flinch but Kova cursed. "What number did you come up with?" I told him. "Right. I did as well." Relief swept through me for the simple fact that I knew it wasn't just me who felt the numbers didn't add up.
Kova finished and I turned around. He blindly handed me the pen as he read. I watched as his eyes scanned over what he'd written, his lips moving. He glanced up. Eyes narrowing in thought as he recalculated the numbers one last time just to be sure. He glanced at his watch. Time was of the essence, so I kept my mouth shut and didn't tell him to hurry up. He knew.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a silver clip of hundred-dollar bills and walked toward the judges. He had to pay a steep fine to challenge my score to make sure I received credit for the skills I’d performed. If Kova proved to be correct, he'd get his money back. If he was wrong and the judges didn't feel they’d deducted unfairly, he'd lose his money.
Without a word, Kova returned to the judge's panel and handed them the paper and cash, then walked back to me.
I let out a tense breath. That was it. All he could do.
I chewed the inside of my lip, and the familiar metallic taste slid over my tongue. I chewed again. Cameras flashed and clicked frantically. Everyone was on their feet in anticipation to see what the outcome would be. The next gymnast couldn't compete until they were done with my score, so all eyes were on us.
Kova stood patiently next to me while we waited. If he was nervous, I'd never guess it. I folded my arms across my chest and he pulled me tight to his side. I leaned against him, trying to soak in his composure. The screen turned on and the judges leaned in to begin reviewing my routine, replaying it on the small television on their table that was only used during times like this to see if the correct points were awarded. It wasn't like football where every little thing was reviewed.
I broke apart from him and paced back and forth. I stared at the floor. I propped my hands on my hips. I looked up at the ceiling. I looked back at the judges. I cracked my knuckles. I looked at the score screen. I wiped my clammy palms on my leo. I looked at the screen.
Tension balled on the side of my neck.
Too much time had passed. Something wasn't right.
"What's taking so long?" I asked.
"I do not know," he said under his breath. Kova glanced at his watch then back at the judges. His eyes were fixated on them.
Just then, one of the judges stood. I drew in a lungful of air and held it as she quickly walked up the stairs to the technical committee. She was running out of time.
Chills pebbled down my arms as I anxiously waited, and waited, and waited.
"What does this mean?" I asked Kova. He would know more than me. When he didn't respond, I glanced over my shoulder at him and paled.
His face grim, defeat marked his handsome features. The only time I'd ever seen that look on him was when he’d lacerated my heart with the news of his secret marriage.
His look said it all.
His gaze never left the new group of judges. Time moved so slowly. My heart plummeted to my stomach and I looked back up the stairs. There were three people. Two shook their heads and one nodded.
Hope was a distant dream and my faith was slipping through my fingers…until the crowd erupted.
I spun around to face the screen and searched for my score. Shock ricocheted through me and my lips parted.
I was one-tenth of a point ahead, and back in first place. One-freaking-tenth.
This couldn't be real.
I reached blindly for Kova, but he was already reaching for me. He tugged me to him and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, hoisting me up. He gave me the biggest hug as cameras flashed around us. I squeezed him tight, holding back the tears.
He put me down. Kova, like all coaches when something profound like this happened, alternated between pressing a kiss to the top of my head and congratulating me.
"How?" I asked, my voice muffled against his chest.
Kova reared back with a smile bigger than I’d ever seen before. "The judges made a huge mistake. I knew they did and acted quickly. It looks like you got the difficulty points, and possibly some for execution."
My brows rose, my vision blurred. I sniffled through a smile. Only by the skin of my teeth was I in first place. It was too bad reviewing routines via television weren't permitted in general.
"Really?"
"Yes. You are only leading by a small fraction of a point now, but I have a feeling it is enough. You deserve to have those
points you killed yourself for."
I went in for another hug, squeezing Kova in appreciation.
He rubbed my back. "Well done, Adrianna."
"Thank you, Kova," I whispered.
He looked at me with such an intense affection, like I was the only person in the room who mattered to him, and it filled my heart.
I gave Kova a smile only for him before I broke apart and turned to look for my dad in the stands. He was much closer today.
For the first time since I could remember, he had tears in his eyes as he waved frantically…with Katja next to him.
"I'm so proud of you. More than you could ever know," Dad said. "You amazed me today. I had so much pride watching you. I thought I was going to burst from it." He paused. "I regret not being at the other competitions, but that's going to change from here on out."
I smiled from ear to ear. "Thanks, Dad. You're here now and that's what matters."
We were in the airport, and I'd fallen asleep waiting for my plane to arrive. Dad wasn't flying back with me, but my plane was supposed to take off before his, so he’d stayed.
Sitting up higher, I winced from the stiffness in my joints. Everything hurt.
"You okay?" His voice conveyed concern.
I nodded. "I'm fine. Sometimes this happens once I finally sit down for the day. I swear I have the body of a ninety-year-old sometimes."
Dad chuckled. "I don't know about that. Where's your next meet?"
"I have to check with Kova. I can't remember where, but I think it’s in a few weeks."
Thanks, kidney disease and lupus. Apparently brain fog was a gift from them.
With this meet, I'd victoriously secured a spot for Worlds since I’d placed first on both days and walked away with a few medals in the events for vault, floor, and bars. I'd just barely missed third place by a couple tenths for beam, but I was okay with that. I couldn't wait to get home to hang my medals on the wall. All of my medals held a special place in my heart, but these were more special. They were won after my diagnosis, and at my first big national competition. I really wanted to take them out of my bag and hold them right now, but I'd wait to do that in private when I got home. It was a little emotional for me, after all.
"I think it's in another country now that I think about it." I rubbed my head trying to remember which one. It was my first international meet—and another big one for me—I just couldn't remember where as there were a few meets that took place overseas.
Dad angled his head toward me. "Oh, yeah?" Then he looked in another direction.
I followed his gaze and masked my expression. Kova and Katja were walking toward us, both with drinks in their hands. Kova handed Dad a plastic cup of amber liquid and ice, and Katja extended her arm in my direction offering me a bottle of water. We three were on the same plane home. Hopefully in different sections.
"Thank you," I said, but she ignored it. I wasn't surprised. Katja had hardly looked in my direction. Normally it wouldn't bother me, but now it irked me. Her disdain was obvious.
Screw that. I was going to ask Kova when we got back.
"Adrianna tells me the next meet is in another country?" Dad said to Kova, stirring the ice with the little black straw.
I uncapped my water and looked the other way as they spoke, too tired and mentally drained to listen or participate. The icy water slid down my throat and I almost sighed. I drank half of it in one breath. No matter how much water I had to drink lately, I couldn't seem to quench my excessive thirst.
We had less than an hour before we had to board the plane. Bending down, I dug through my purse and pulled out our notebook. I rummaged for a pen then sat back and wrote.
I'm writing this while sitting right in front of your lovely, perfect wife.
She hates me.
Don't tell me you don't notice the way she looks at me when I'm around. She acts like I'm a thorn in her side she wants to remove and throw away.
I'm not crazy.
I know when someone has it out for another person. She has it out for me. I can feel it in my bones.
What scares me is that I think she knows everything. She knows what we have between us. I didn't want to face the facts, but I think it's time I do. It's the only thing I can think of. The only reason why she acts the way she does toward me.
But my question is, why hasn't she done anything about it yet?
Unless she has, and you just haven't told me.
I paused and looked up, thinking. My pen teetered between my fingers and my gaze shifted to Katja. She was staring at my lap, then lifted her eyes to mine. Placing my pen in the center of the notebook, I folded it shut and held it to me. This was the bluntest and riskiest I'd ever gotten with our thoughts, but I had to get them out or I was going to burst.
She continued to glare at me with hateful eyes and a stone-cold expression on her face. It amazed me how someone so beautiful could look so ugly. An evil kind of ugly. Her eyes dropped to my lap again, then she leaned over and whispered something in Kova's ear. He turned his head toward her while she kept her eyes on me. I couldn't see what his gaze expressed but he grabbed her hand and placed their laced fingers on his thigh with a small smile. His knee bobbed.
Fatigue washed over me. My eyes grew heavy and warm. God, I hated this feeling. Like a heavy blanket of iron was draped over me, and I suddenly got so tired that all I wanted to do was sleep. Usually I had to push through it, but this time I didn't.
I turned my head in the other direction and rejoiced when the attendant announced the plane was finally boarding shortly after. Shoving my notebook and water bottle into my purse, I slung it over my shoulder and said goodbye to my dad, then got in line. It was a five-hour flight and I knew the moment my head hit that scratchy pillow I was going to pass out hard.
What I hadn’t foreseen was that my notebook would vanish by the time I’d arrived home.
Nineteen
Lately, I felt like giving up.
Not because I didn't love gymnastics, but because my emotions caused by the reality of my life were too much to handle. My secrets were a burden. My very existence was a lie. I didn't know who I was anymore or what would become of my future. I was too lost in my head with no outlet to ease my soul. My skin crawled. I wasn't able to focus on one thing long enough except gymnastics, and when I was alone, my mind jumped from one topic to the next. I hated it.
I was so sick when I got home from the meet, but I wasn't going to let it hold me down. Exhaustion had taken over and my body cramped up. I had a small fever. Going to practice the next day was an absolute must and what anyone else would've done, so it's what I did too.
There was something about the powdery chalk and echoes of the apparatuses that helped calm my racing mind. For four days and four nights straight, I pushed myself and trained like a beast. No one questioned me. Madeline and Kova went along with it. To them, they probably assumed I was preparing for Worlds. And I was, but I was also just trying to keep my head above water the only way I knew how.
I kept telling myself that if I could do it before everything happened, then I could do it now. I ached more than ever, but I refused to rely on pain medicine at night. I knew it could have long-term effects and I wasn't going to go down the path of addiction.
Drained beyond comprehension, I kept to myself and didn't talk to anyone. There was success in silence, is what I told myself. Not even when I stayed later and only Kova was there. The walls of my life were slowly caving in, but being inside World Cup was the only way for me to breathe. I struggled to keep it together, yet this was the only way to remain whole. The only way I felt like me again, so I worked myself until I could barely stand.
But today… Today felt like more than I could handle. The pressure in my chest was mounting to capacity. I felt the break coming the moment I woke up, like a massive title wave forming in the distance, building up stronger and fiercer the closer it grew.
As I waited for my coffee to finish brewing, my phone dinged. Yawning, I opened
the message from my dad and read it.
Dad Cell: Call me when you wake. It's important.
Frowning, I called him immediately. "Dad? Everything okay?"
"Sweetie. I didn't expect you to be up."
I glanced at the clock on my coffee pot and blinked. It was a quarter after four in the morning.
"I've been going into practice early, so I've been up at this time all week."
"Just like your father," he said proudly.
I was sure he only slept three hours a night at most just so he could work more.
He cleared his throat, then said, "Have you been watching the news?"
My brows bunched together. "No. Why? What's wrong?"
"A hurricane is headed your way. It's only a category two and nothing to worry about, but with the water still so warm and no land to slow it down, I want you to be prepared. A few early predictions say it could grow to a three. I want you to close the shutters even though the windows are double-paned. They should just slide shut easily. I'm going to have food and water delivered to your condo today just in case, along with flashlights and a radio."
"By who? Who has a key?"
"Thomas is already on the road and headed your way. He should be there in the next couple of hours. I figured you would be at practice, so I gave him a spare key."
My heart softened. "I'd love to see him."
"He'd love that too, sweetie, but I gave him strict instructions. I don't want him caught in traffic on the way back. You know how some people get when a hurricane nears, how the media hypes them up and creates chaos. I want him home and safe."
I laughed lightly. Being born and raised in South Florida, a cat two was nothing to blink about, but there were those who evacuated anyway.
"When is it supposed to make landfall?"
"The day after tomorrow, early morning and just slightly south of where you are. Turn the television on and watch. On your way to practice, fill up your gas tank just in case."
