by R.S. Grey
Molly had suggested I’d gotten a bad first impression, but this was the third time I’d been around him today and I’d come to realize: this guy didn’t have a good side. He was an asshole and he was picking a fight with me in front of the entire team. For some reason, I was his target, and I wasn’t going to cower in fear. Sure, he owned the place, but I had earned my spot on the team regardless of our accommodations. I’d show him respect when he did the same to me. Until then, my white flag would stay tucked away.
“I’m the coach. You’re the gymnast. Got it?”
I bristled at his tone. “Yes.”
“Yes…”
I bit down on the inside of my mouth, ignoring the sharp metallic taste of blood. “Yes sir.”
Chapter Four
Erik
At twenty-nine, I was the youngest person to ever be named head coach of the women’s gymnastics team, and most people assumed I wasn’t ready for the role. They say everyone loves an underdog, yet at the moment it seemed like everyone in the world—including my father—was waiting for me to fail. I wouldn’t let that happen. I was prepared; I’d trained gymnasts for the last ten years and I knew what it took to win gold.
But even if I closed my ears to the noise coming from outside my team, I knew the girls weren’t going to go easy on me. Yes, they behaved as consummate professionals on the world stage, but until then, they were just like any other group of young girls. To them, I was the new substitute teacher: young and naive. I had to prove to them I was in charge and worthy of the same respect my father’s age and legacy commanded. The five of them had the power to make my life a living hell for the next eight weeks and if I didn’t start off strong from day one, it’d be an uphill battle the whole way to Rio.
I cleared my throat, trying to get their attention again. After I’d forced Brie to call me sir, the mood in the room had shifted. The girls sat with nervous energy, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Brie sat back against the couch with narrowed eyes and a hard line where her smile had been a moment before. I’d pushed too hard, too fast, but of the five of them, Brie would be the most challenging to coach. I could already sense a storm brewing within her. She wanted to show me that she was a twenty-year-old with a mind of her own. In truth, I wasn’t even upset about the email misunderstanding; it was more the embarrassment of her catching me in a compromising position, and I hadn’t handled it well.
“The fourth and final rule is that you’ll respect each other and you’ll respect me.”
Brie’s eyes bored into me.
“Got it?”
“Yes sir,” they answered.
Brie pushed up off the couch. “Is that all?”
“Be ready to work out in twenty minutes. We’ll meet at the hangar.”
Before the second sentence had left my lips, she was brushing past the couch and heading up the stairs. The other girls stared back and forth between us, studying my reaction.
“I think she’s really tired,” Molly said with a tight smile. “She had a super early flight.”
Brie wasn’t tired, she was indignant. I’d dealt with plenty of gymnasts like her in my years of coaching. In my experience, there were two ways to get a gymnast’s respect: earn it or demand it. Brie’s temperament proved she would resent me if I continued to force it, so I made a mental note to ease up on her during the workout.
Twenty minutes later, the five of them strolled in wearing tank tops and yoga pants. Brie was the last one to walk in, eyeing the place tentatively and keeping her distance from the other girls. I’d embarrassed her earlier in front of them and she was still brooding.
I stood back and watched her as the girls started stretching on the mat. She was thin, delicate. Other gymnasts wore their muscle like a badge of honor, but Brie didn’t have that type of body. She looked more like a doll, soft and feminine. Maybe that’s why her fire continued to surprise me. I kept assuming she would fall into place, take her spot in line, keep her head down and work, but as I showed the girls around the facility, pointing out the ropes and weight sets, she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“You’ll do five circuits,” I said, walking them through the obstacle course-style workout I’d set up. “You’ll start by going up and down the rope twice without using your legs or feet to help. After that you’ll move to the high bar and then to the floor.”
I’d done the circuit earlier, testing it out. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but there was no sense in babying them. The next month wouldn’t be easy and the sooner they realized that, the better.
Brie was the first one to line up for the circuit and I almost worried she wouldn’t be able to handle it, but the second she took the rope, I saw a glimpse of the strength her body kept hidden away. Those slender arms were stronger than they looked. She didn’t flinch going up and down the rope and I watched, waiting to nail her for using her feet to assist her, but she had her legs straight out in a V the entire way up and down.
“Nice work, Brie,” I said once her feet hit the mat.
She brushed past me with her chin raised just enough to set my olive branch aflame. Her silence told me I hadn’t earned her respect.
Not yet.
Chapter Five
Brie
Gymnastics, like polo, tends to be a sport for the rich. My mom’s job as a social worker hardly brought home enough money to cover food, clothes, and rent. With no way to afford the thousands of dollars a month for gym dues and training, I knew she must have negotiated a special rate for me with the owners.
She always kept a smile on her face and tried hard to give me the same rose-colored memories as other kids—but I wasn’t deaf to her hushed phone calls with collection agencies, nor blind to the stress lines that appeared at the end of every month as the bills started to roll in.
I remembered being on a first-name basis with Chuck, the greasy, balding EZ Pawn owner that always remembered my favorite Dum Dum flavor was blue raspberry. At the beginning of every month, I’d watch my mom pass her late mother’s diamond pendant necklace over the counter, and I would giggle as the man looked at it closely with funny lighted eyeglasses. It had seemed like a game, part of our monthly routine, until the December our car broke down on the side of the highway a few miles from our house. After towing it to a nearby mechanic and hearing the diagnosis, we took a cold bus to see Chuck for the last time. Out of habit, he took the necklace out of a drawer and placed it on the counter when he saw us coming. But, rather than passing over the bank envelope like normal, my mom shook her head and put her old wedding ring down beside it. After a few whispered words, we left without either, and the bus ride home was one of the first times I’d seen my mom cry.
I used to wonder sadly where the jewelry that should have been my inheritance ended up, but as I grew up I would hear stories about people greedily fighting over the remnants of their parents’ estate, and I realized I was actually lucky. When the day would come that my mother died and there were no cherished heirlooms or family riches to pass down, I’d know it was because she’d already given me everything of herself that she had to give.
My father had left before I was born, never part of our dynamic duo, and truthfully, he was hardly missed through my childhood. My mom and I were a team. She arranged her days, her life, around me. She went into work at 5:00 AM every day so she could finish up in time to pick me up from school and quiz me about vocabulary words on the way to the gym. Five days a week, she sat with the other parents, watching me practice for hours on end with a forgotten paperback sitting on her lap. Every skill I mastered, from a back walkover to a double layout, my mom was there to see it. I’d stick it, smile, and glance up to see her flash me a thumbs up.
While she was committed to my gymnastics, she never pressured me to stay in it for the long haul. Nearly every week, she’d ask if I was still enjoying myself, if my heart was still in it. I knew she was scared of becoming a stage mom, of pushing me to do something I hated. I always reassured her that I loved it, and it was the truth. Gymnast
ics was in my heart. Competing gave me a rush of endorphins like nothing had before.
Yet every time she told me how proud she was, my chest tightened with sadness. Deep down, I knew that there had to be gold at the end to repay the debt of her selflessness. She had been over the moon that I’d made the Olympic team, and she would be beside herself if I brought home a bronze or silver medal, but those things weren’t enough. For the person who’d sacrificed everything she had so I could follow my dreams, I craved gold.
Later that night, after I’d showered and fallen onto my bottom bunk, exhausted, Molly started chatting my ear off about Host Boy. He had a name (Duncan), but I liked to refer to him as Host Boy.
“We aren’t dating dating. I think his parents would freak out if they thought we liked each other, y’know? I mean, I’m only staying with them so I can train at Flyers. I shouldn’t even be paying attention to their son!”
“Yeah. Mmhmm,” I said, filling in with responses where I thought they should go. “No way!”
It was interesting information, but she’d repeated it on loop for the last hour. Duncan was a year older than her, attending his freshman year of college while living at home, and oh so dreamy. He was funny and great and “Did I already tell you about his dimples?” If I had to hear about him for another second, I’d suffocate myself with my pillow.
“I think we should go out,” I declared, sweeping my feet off the side of the bed and standing up.
Molly leaned over the top bunk, alarmed. She was wearing one of those Hannibal Lector moisturizing face masks. “Go out?” she asked, adjusting the mask. “But Coach Winter said we have to be at the gym really early tomorrow.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re about to be that dude’s slaves for the next eight weeks. I think we deserve one night of fun. Besides, we really need to get to know each other better.”
She nodded. “It could be fun and if we go somewhere close, we could be back early enough to get a good night’s sleep.”
“That’s the spirit!” I clapped. “Now take off that mask and find your skimpiest skirt.”
“But I like Duncan. I don’t want to—”
I held up my hand to stop her. “By all means, put on your nun’s frock to save yourself for Dimpled Duncan. The skirt is for me.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “I have just the thing.”
I headed out into the hallway and pounded on Lexi and Rosie’s door. Rosie whipped it open with wide eyes and a grateful smile. I glanced over her shoulder to see Lexi sitting cross-legged on the floor with her laptop resting on the carpet in front of her.
“Oh! Look, here’s another plug-in model I can show you, Rosie.”
“What’s going on in here?” I asked, glancing over Rosie’s flushed cheeks.
Lexi finally looked up. “Oh, I was just showing Rosie a few of my favorite starter vibes on Amazon. Can you believe she’s never tried one?”
Rosie looked like she wanted to melt into the carpet.
“I wasn’t the one who brought it up!” she exclaimed, trying to clear up the situation. “Lexi said I was missing out if I’d never had…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “…an orgasm before.”
“And I fully stand by that statement,” Lexi added.
“And before I could stop her she’d pulled up all of these vibrating…rabbits, and uh, wands. I didn’t even know Amazon sold stuff like that,” she whispered, the volume of her voice fading until her lips were moving inaudibly.
I had to fight not to laugh. Lexi and Rosie rooming together was a recipe for disaster. Rosie was a virginal lamb compared to Lexi, who probably had more sexual experience than all of us combined. If Rosie survived the month, I’d be surprised.
“Well, put away the research because we’re going out.”
“Finally someone is speaking my language!” Lexi hopped up off the ground and tore off her t-shirt. She already had a black dress on underneath.
“What the—”
She shrugged. “I was going to sneak out after everyone went to sleep. This is a much better option though.”
Rosie clung onto the door. “I’m happy to go, but do you guys think it’s a good idea?”
Lexi shook her head. “Rosie, Rosie, Rosie. You beautiful little starfish. Get your ass in some tight jeans and buck up. With any luck tonight, you might not need a vibrator after all.”
I laughed. “You guys have ten minutes to get ready.”
“What about June?” Rosie asked.
Oh right. June. I’d nearly forgotten about her. It’d be rude to leave her out, so I spun on my heel and walked down to the end of the hall. I pressed my ear to her door, waiting for the telltale sound of classical music. There was no music, but I could hear her on the phone.
“Yeah, we had a short workout today, nothing too intense.”
Silence.
“Oh believe me, Mom, they’re not any competition.”
She laughed and I braced myself against the door, listening.
“Brie’s probably the closest to my level, but she’s never been to the Olympics before. I, for one, won’t be surprised when she chokes.”
I waited a few more minutes, trying to calm my temper. When she hung up, I tapped on the door lightly and waited for it to swing open.
“June?”
Nothing.
I tapped on her door again. “June?”
When she pulled the door open, she looked bored to find me standing on the other side.
“What do you want?”
Don’t invite her, my inner conscious warned. She’ll bring the mood down.
“We were thinking of heading into town to hang out and get to know each other a little better.”
She nodded and stepped back to close her door. “I’m not in the mood.”
I reached my hand out to stop her from shutting the door in my face. “Are you sure?”
Her dark eyes assessed me coolly and when her gaze landed back on my face, I knew she thought I wasn’t even worth the time. “I’m sure.”
Lexi swore she’d done her research and apparently there was a hip club downtown that didn’t card.
“It’ll be easy,” she told us after we’d piled into an Uber. “Just walk up and be confident. They won’t turn away four pretty girls on a Thursday.”
She was right; they didn’t turn us away, but they did slap big black Xs on the backs of our hands to keep us from drinking.
“Here,” she said, pulling a small bottle of nail polish remover out of her purse. Who carries that around with them? “Run to the bathroom and scrub off the Xs. I’ll go get us some drinks.”
“Why didn’t she get Xs on her hands?” Rosie asked once the three of us were safely in the bathroom, wiping away at the permanent marker as hard as we could. I’d locked the door to ensure no one would come in and catch us in the act.
“She has her cousin’s fake ID,” I said.
I poured the nail polish remover on the back of Molly and Rosie’s hands and they scrubbed away under the sink. In the end, we were left with faded black marks. In the dim lighting of the bar, it’d be good enough.
Confident now that we weren’t sporting underage Xs, we strolled out of the bathroom and finally took a good look at the place. The bar wasn’t trendy by any means. The tables were old and mismatched. The lighting was hazy and dim. The music playing over the speakers wasn’t anything I vaguely recognized and most of the people inside looked old enough to be my grandfather.
As we found a booth in the corner of the bar, I slid onto the cheap vinyl seat and scanned the room. Something was definitely off and the moment it sank in, I decided I was going to murder Lexi.
“Is this a biker bar?”
“Aw hell! Look who the cat dragged in!” a burly man hollered over the crowd as he pounded his friend on the back. The bartender—a muscled eighty-year-old with a faded leather vest—slid the pair a couple of longnecks and then reached up to turn the TV station to a football game.
Most of the tables were empty,
and the ones that were occupied looked like they needed to be avoided at all costs. Yes, sometimes bikers are pretty attractive, but this was the bar where those bikers went to retire. If the Sons of Anarchy were based in California, the Grandpas of Anarchy must’ve headed north to Seattle. Their once sharp and intimidating tattoos had stretched and faded over their flabby arms. They wore baggy jeans and had receding hairlines, and a slight stench of body odor tainted the entire place. Any plan to meet a cute guy was pretty much off the table.
“Here!” Lexi said as she rushed back from the bar with four drinks in hand. “They looked at me weird when I ordered so many, so drink up quick.”
I grabbed mine and took a long swallow. The beer tasted like lighter fluid, but I drank it regardless.
Rosie sipped hers and gagged.
Lexi clapped her on the back. “It’s shit, I know, but just drink up and get over it. It’s time to party.”
“You told us this place was hip,” I said, tossing her an amused smile.
“Yeah well, I guess there are a lot of gassy bikers on Yelp. This place had five stars. ”
Five minutes later, we’d all finished our first drinks and were starting to relax—well, everyone except Rosie. She was still sipping her beer as if it were poison.
“Let’s play ‘Never Have I Ever’!” Lexi said, shimmying her shoulders against the back of the booth.
“How do you play that?” Molly asked.
“Everyone holds up ten fingers and when it’s your turn, you say something you haven’t done. If someone has done that thing, they have to put a finger down.”
“Sounds confusing,” Rosie said with a hiccup.
Lexi groaned. “No. It’s easy. Fingers up and we’ll get started.”
