Letters to Nowhere

by Julie Cross

  I removed a single–portion sized container of leftover chicken soup from the fridge and popped it in the microwave. Jordan opened a drawer and handed me a spoon. “How was practice this morning?”

  “Awesome. I did five beam routines with a tucked back full. Stacey said I might be able to compete the new routine in Chicago.”

  Jordan grinned and lifted his hand for a high five—’cause we’re just friends. “When do I get to see your new release move on uneven bars?”

  “If everything goes as planned, you could see it during Friday evening’s practice, if you want.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  The doorbell rang, and before Jordan could even answer it, Tony was trampling through the house and into the kitchen.

  I stood there holding my container of soup, not sure what to say, but both guys laughed when they realized I looked a little disgruntled.

  “It’s all right,” Jordan said. “Tony knows you live here. And that you’re not a freshman at our school.”

  For a big giant ogre guy, Tony had a very friendly smile. I leaned against the counter, taking a few bites of soup.

  “So, you two really share a bathroom?” Tony asked.

  “Yep. Do you live at school?” I asked, remembering that Jordan’s school was a boarding school.

  “Not anymore,” Tony said. “My mom’s the police chief. She said it looked like we were more of a family if I lived at home. Helped her campaign or whatever.”

  Police chief…Several things went through my head in that moment, and I barely heard Jordan say he was going to the garage to get his snow gear.

  “Police chief doesn’t get you a big house like that.” Nosy wasn’t something I’d been before, but desperate times called for bold actions. “What does your dad do?”

  “He’s a plastic surgeon.” Tony fiddled with the zipper on his black ski jacket and leaned next to me. “I’m sorry about your parents. I saw the article in the paper. My mom was talking about it at home. Then when Jordy told me you were staying here, I put it together.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, not knowing what else to say. At least he was decent enough to bring it up and not say anything stupid like, “They’re in a better place.” I hated that.

  “Sure you don’t want to go with us?” Jordan asked when he returned with an armful of snow pants and gloves.

  “No, but thanks for the invite.”

  “See you later, Karen,” Tony said on his way out.

  I sat down at the table with my laptop, notebook, and soup, ready to finish homework and tackle a revised list of long–term goals for Jackie.

  February 24

  Long–Term Goals—Take Two

  Gymnastics Related

  Add at least 1 new skill to bars, beam, and floor before Nationals (if I compete)

  No major mistakes or falls in Chicago in April

  No major mistakes or falls at Nationals in August

  Follow Blair’s advice and look for a way to control my mental breakdowns so it doesn’t happen again in Chicago

  *Can’t add any more since I’m not allowed to write goals that I’m not completely in control of.

  Non–Gymnastics Related

  Figure out a way to get more details on my parents’ accident

  Find out who was driving that night

  Find out about highway cameras or footage not released to the public

  Dad,

  You should be very proud of me. I’m going to put on my lawyer hat and do some digging for the truth. And I’m not giving up until I find it, because I’m Charlie Campbell’s kid and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Love you, Karen

  Blair asked me last week how I got over my issue with vault several years ago, and the answer was drills and technical analysis. If I could just apply that to my parents’ accident, maybe I could get past the nightmares and visions of accidents that never happened. Maybe I could get past the panic attacks.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “We’re not going inside?” Jordan asked.

  I shook my head and fought off the emotions threatening to drown me. Be strong…look the beast in the eye, I said over and over again inside my head.

  Jordan and I stood in my garage, staring at a very neglected, nearly new silver Audi. It was hard enough to go into the garage. I couldn’t handle stepping inside the house. But Blair was right; I had to force this on myself in order to really gain control of my emotions.

  Or at least that was the theory I’d adopted. I fumbled for the keys in my backpack and unlocked the door. I sat in the driver’s seat and started the ignition. Already the familiar smell had my head spinning, but this had to be easier than going in the house again. I sat still, letting the car warm up for a few minutes.

  Jordan held the driver door open, leaning in closer to me. “Let me ride with you first. Just a couple laps around the block. It’s icy, and we didn’t even tell my dad…”

  I let out a frustrated breath. “Jordan, I’m a licensed driver. My grandmother told me to come get my car whenever I’m ready. Stop worrying.”

  His face reflected very conflicting emotions. “How long did you have your license?”

  “Three months,” I answered staring at the steering wheel. “What are you going to do to rescue me while you’re sitting in the passenger seat that you can’t do by following me in your car?”

  “Fine,” he said, clearly pissed off at me.

  He was just worried about Bentley blaming him, since he was the one who had driven me over here. I would have taken the bus if he’d said no, anyway.

  “Can you even reach the pedals?” Jordan said in a last–second plea.

  I glared at him and pulled the door shut. I’d nearly put the car in reverse when he knocked on the window. I hit the button to roll it down. “What?”

  He leaned on the frame, looking so, so cute and stressed out. “Nothing…I’m sorry. You’re right. You have to do this. Just don’t, you know…drive angry.”

  I burst out laughing. “Thanks for the PSA.”

  I watched in the rearview mirror as he jogged down the driveway and got into his car. And yes, I was totally and completely nervous, but in all fairness, I wasn’t a bad driver. In fact, I had gotten a perfect score on my driving test, but due to last year’s shoulder surgery, I had to wait several months to complete my driver’s ed course. I put the car in reverse and backed out, hitting the button to shut the garage door. I waited until it sealed completely, freezing my home exactly as it had been left, then I was headed down the block, Jordon and his puke green car behind me.

  When I pulled into the Bentleys’ complex, parking a few spaces from their town house door, I could feel myself ready to grin. I hadn’t flipped out or felt that weird chest tightening dizziness or nausea. Jordan’s friend Tony was waiting with Jordan at the front door.

  Tony stuck his hand out for me to high–five him. “Nice wheels, Campbell!”

  Jordan rolled his eyes. “He’s got the exact same car but blue.”

  I looked where Jordan had just pointed and saw an identical Audi in a deep blue. “Cool.”

  Jordan stared at me like he wanted to say something, but maybe not in front of Tony. “Okay, you two,” Tony said. “Big party at my house tonight. You’re coming, right?”

  The front door was finally opened by Jordan. Tony and I followed him in. I’d had several days to figure out a plan for getting the information I needed about my parents’ accident, and Tony’s presence today made the last piece fall into place.

  “I’m totally up for it,” I said. “If we can figure out something to tell Jordan’s dad.”

  Jordan looked at me in surprise, but then yanked his phone from his pocket as it vibrated. I wasn’t trying to look. I really wasn’t. But the front of it was flashed in my line of sight for half a second.

  Stevie Davis.

  This overwhelming sense of dread and something I couldn’t put my finger on filled my stomach. Especially as I watched Jordan’s eyebrow
s lift and then he headed for the stairs saying, “Be right back.”

  How did Stevie get his number, and why was she calling him? I shoved the thought from my head and turned to face Tony. “Hey, I have a question. More like I need a favor, actually.”

  He looked both suspicious and curious. “All right…?”

  I sat on the arm of the couch, keeping my eyes on Tony. “I was just wondering if you could get some information for me from your mom? But not tell her who it’s for.”

  “This sounds illegal, which I’m not totally opposed to.”

  I sucked in a breath, closing my eyes for a second. “I just want to know the location of my parents’ accident. I know the general area, but the police wouldn’t tell me the exact mile marker on the interstate, and I really need to know.”

  All the amusement dropped from his round face. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered as Jordan thundered down the steps.

  February 27

  Dad,

  You might have raised a lawyer without even realizing it. I’m bargaining and bribing…well, okay, more like asking, but still…I remembered that you told me once how lawyers have to be investigators, too. That’s what I’m doing right now. Digging.

  Love, Karen

  “Good news!” Jordan said. “We’re going to a party tonight. And Karen, you’re having a sleepover with Blair and Stevie at Stevie’s apartment. She’s already asked my dad and everything.”

  “Blair and Stevie are coming to Tony’s tonight?” This revelation distracted me from thinking about the fact that he’d just had a five– to six–minute private conversation with Stevie.

  Jordan stood in front of me, arms folded across his chest, grinning like he’d just created this master plan when I knew for a fact that Stevie having her own apartment was the only reason we were going to this party. Or at least the only reason I was going. Jordan could have easily gotten away with it.

  “You drove your car, you’re sneaking out to go to a party—you know what you gotta do between now and tonight, right?”

  “Rob a bank?” I suggested.

  “A layout Jaeger on the uneven bars.”

  I grinned just thinking about being able to try it today. Finally. My fingers were already tingling. I glanced at the clock and jumped up, snatching my bag from the floor. “Shit! It’s already two. I gotta call my grandma.”

  I took off for the stairs, the phone ringing on her end already. I needed to pack a bag for Stevie’s and possibly find something in my wardrobe that would make me look a little bit hotter than my much older teammate. Yeah, right.

  “Hi Grandma,” I said when she answered. “Guess what? I got the car…”

  ***

  “Don’t say anything to Ellen,” Blair hissed in my ear while we were in the locker room during break. “She’ll know she can’t come but she’s gonna sulk about it for a week.”

  “Got it.”

  “What are you wearing?” Blair asked.

  I grabbed my grip bag and waved a hand to stop her from talking. “No distractions! I’m focusing.”

  “Sorry,” she gulped, zipping her lips.

  Jordan was in the lobby whispering with Stevie about something, but I barely glanced their way as I taped up my wrists for bars. It took me longer than anyone else to notice the four random people and one giant camera occupying space in the lobby.

  “NBC is here?” I hissed to Blair.

  “Probably to cover Stevie. Another story about the fallen champion or something,” she whispered back.

  One of the NBC guys walked up beside us. I recognized him from training camps. They came out to get footage of us working out together whenever a competition was approaching. They’d been to the gym before, too, when Stevie was working toward making the Olympic team the summer before last. They got tons of footage and even interviewed all of us. Being a junior then, I’d thought it was pretty cool.

  “Hi, girls!” Scott, the reporter, said. “How’s training going? We heard you were doing a little meet in Chicago before the American Cup.” He didn’t even wait for us to answer. His eyes darted toward Bentley, who was talking to the other NBC people, and then he zoomed in on me. “I’m so sorry to hear about your parents, Karen. Just wondered if we could sit down and talk to you about it and about how brave you are to get back in the gym and keep working toward your goals.”

  My mouth fell open but no words would come out. I could feel sweat pooling on the back of my neck. The last thing I needed was to have an emotional breakdown on national television or to have the entire country know me for my sob–worthy orphan story rather than for my gymnastics.

  Coach Bentley strode across the lobby, placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around. “Time for bars, girls. Scott, you are welcome to take as much training footage as you’d like, since apparently Nina Jones has already given permission for NBC to enter my gym.”

  Holy cow, Bentley is pissed.

  I managed to get through my competition routines, blocking out the cameras and Jordan watching. He must have done something amazing to charm Stacey into allowing him to stand near the beams while she coached the level 7s. Blair had her grips off to repair a rip on her right palm, so I let her fix my sweaty hair into a bun while we waited for Bentley to get an extra crash mat under the high bar. I didn’t want to look like a complete slob for NBC.

  Blair dropped her hands from my hair, declaring it finished, and Bentley stood under the high bar, ready for me to take my turn.

  “The key is patience, Karen,” he said. “Let your toes rise all the way up before you let go.”

  I nodded, visually playing out his suggestion in my head. I spat on each grip once more before jumping into my mount on the low bar. Before the Jaeger, in my routine, I had to turn my hands to an inverted grip and then I swung facing the low bar, my heels leading the way around.

  I held on a half second too long, and there was nothing I could do to correct the mistake. I flew upside down, my forehead dangerously close to the high bar Grabbing it wasn’t really an option. Bentley caught me, midair, around the waist, but my momentum was already heading toward the floor. Bentley eventually released me, and I was able to forward roll out and return to my feet.

  My legs were shaking, and I did everything I could to wipe any trace of fear or surprise from my face. If that had given Bentley a heart attack, you’d never have known by looking at his face. He just rubbed his bald head and said, “A tad bit late and too much heel drive. Patience isn’t just for timing the release, it’s also for the kick up to the handstand. You had a little too much too soon. That’s going to screw with your timing.”

  Instead of replaying the fall in my head, my brain was already fixing it. I dipped my hands in the chalk bin again, watching Jordan from the corner of my eye. He had moved a couple feet closer and was now biting his left thumbnail. I almost smiled at him, but I didn’t want anyone to notice me noticing him.

  Blair and Ellen each had a quick turn and then I was back on the bars, swinging into my front giant swing.

  “Slow and easy, Karen,” Bentley reminded me.

  This time I was too early, which pushed me far away from the bar. I landed with a smack, flat on my stomach, briefly feeling the wind whoosh out of my lungs, my rib cage vibrating from the impact.

  I lay there for a second, face pressed into the landing mat, closing my eyes and waiting for the pain to fade. I pulled myself to my feet and heard Bentley’s correction as I headed to get more chalk.

  “Just a little early,” he said. “And keep the midsection tight…”

  Keep the midsection tight was Bentley’s socially acceptable way of saying squeeze your butt. That was a common correction in gymnastics, because the abs and butt are at the center of the body, and not keeping the middle tight caused all kinds of form problems and falls.

  I used a towel to wipe the sweat from my face and re–chalked, waiting for my next turn. After ten more misses, several instances of los
ing my breath, a huge bloody rip on my left palm, and one very hard accidental elbow jab to my coach’s stomach, Bentley told me to call it quits for the day.

  It wasn’t until then that I started fighting off tears. I didn’t want NBC to catch sight of me crying and turn it into something that it wasn’t, so I turned my back to them and stuck my hands in the chalk bowl again. “One more try,” I pleaded with Bentley.

  “Karen—” he started to say.

  “Please, one more and I won’t bug you again for the rest of the week.” Which basically meant tomorrow, since it was Friday.

  He sighed. “All right.”

  I took several slow, deep breaths and used my knuckles to wipe away a couple tears that had trickled down my cheek. I didn’t even notice Jordan coming up beside me until he said, “I thought the point was to catch the bar?”

  “Seriously, Jordan, not in the mood,” I snapped.

  “Okay.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re forgetting to breathe.”

  “I’m breathing right now,” I said through my teeth. What was up with him today?

  “I mean before you release the bar. It’s just one long exhale. Or a really long word.”

  Stevie joined me at the chalk bin, her eyes on Jordan. “He’s a coach, he should know.”

  I glanced at Jordan, narrowing my eyes. “You’re a coach?”

  “At International Gymnastics camp,” he said. “Three summers in a row.”

  I’d been to that camp twice myself, but not since I was ten. The coaches were pretty good there.

  “One long exhale?” I repeated.

  He nodded. “Try it. It’ll work.”

  I stood in front of the low bar, ignoring the camera zooming in. Bentley absentmindedly rubbed his stomach where I had elbowed him three turns ago. I took a deep breath and jumped into my mount again. When it came time for the Jaeger, I allowed the air to release from my lungs as I swung and then let go of the bar at the end of my breath. I could feel it working in slow motion. I saw the bar for what felt like several seconds, though I knew it couldn’t have been that long. And when I caught it, Blair, Ellen, Jordan, and Stevie all cheered.