by M. E. Carter
“I’m making sex noises, aren’t I?”
I nod, my mouth still dry from slow recovery time.
“It’s giving you good visual images, isn’t it?”
Clearing my throat, I croak out a, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says as she wipes more grease off her face. “This burger is practically orgasmic, so it’s justified.”
Of course, I choose that exact moment to try and swallow the water I’m drinking to help me out of my lust-filled thoughts. Nothing like choking on my drink to bring me back to the here and now.
Lauren doesn’t even lend a helping hand. Probably too entertained by my reaction to her. I’ve heard women say sex makes them feel powerful, but I’ve never understood it until this moment, because it’s painfully obvious that the thoughts of her orgasm face have rendered me almost totally defenseless.
“I don’t usually eat like this during the season,” she finally adds, once I’m not hacking up a lung. “Sometimes, I forget how good a burger can be compared to baked chicken.”
I understand how she feels. I doubt this is lean beef, which is an infrequent indulgence this time of year. I made an exception today in the name of chivalry. Besides, it’s not like I’m trying to lose weight.
She’s right about one thing, though. Cactus Burgers has the best hamburgers in town. There is a possibility I would’ve been making sex noises too, if I’d taken a bite before she did.
Finally feeling confident that I’ve pulled myself together, I try speaking again. “How’d you like the movie, anyway?” I ask, as I pop an illegal fry in my mouth. And by illegal, I mean Coach would give me shit if he saw how many carbs I’d already eaten today. Protein is one thing. Veggies are another. Bad carbs? Not in the quantities we had today. Lauren may be tiny, but she eats like a grown-ass man. Somehow, I think her metabolism can take it.
“Ohmygod it was so funny,” she exclaims, still holding tightly to her prize meal. “I swear Jack Black can play any character. He’s so fucking talented.”
“He should have this character down pat with as many times as he’s played it. How many movies have they made in this series so far?”
She doesn’t respond so I look up at her. She’s just staring.
“What?”
“Have you never seen the other ones?”
I shrug noncommittally.
Lauren leans forward like she’s telling me something very important. “Well, no wonder you don’t get it. Every movie in this series, he plays a different character.”
“Really?” I don’t know that I understand what she’s talking about or even care that much, but she’s excited, so who am I to shut her down?
“Hell yeah! He played a sorority girl one time, once he was an old man. In the last one, he was a kid.” Pointing a fry at me, she adds, “That one was hysterical. I knew boys were obsessed with their penises but had no idea how big they are from an eight-year-old boy’s perspective.” I clear my throat, thankful that I’m able to ward off more choking. She’s on a roll tonight. “We should rent it some time since you don’t seem to get out much.”
“My time is limited, so watching movies is pretty rare for me.”
She takes another bite, talking around it. “I can see that. You’re stretched pretty thin.”
“I’m surprised you have as much time on your hands as you do. You’re an athlete, so you know how it feels like a full-time job sometimes. Twenty hours a week of practice, plus classes, plus team events and parties. I’m not sure if I came here for an education or the team half the time.”
She keeps eating but doesn’t respond. It’s not that she doesn’t agree with me, it’s more like she doesn’t feel the same, which is weird. If anyone should understand, I would think it would be her. But the more I learn about Lauren, the more I learn that what one would assume would be her normal is usually not.
Taking a chance, I ask a question that can go either way.
“Don’t you feel like it’s a full-time job sometimes?”
She shrugs and keeps eating. Now I know she’s in avoidance mode again.
“Lauren.” She peeks up through her lashes, still chowing down like it’s her last meal. Or maybe like it’s her first real one in months. “I said something wrong, but I don’t know what.”
She takes one more giant bite and puts her burger down, wiping her hands on a napkin as she chews. It’s a stall tactic I’ve come to learn well with her lately. But I can wait her out.
When she finally realizes I’m not going to let it go, she swallows and leans in. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m just not invited to most of the team events, so I tend to have a lot of free time on my hands.”
That makes no sense to me. “But team events mean the team is there. The whole team.”
One shoulder comes up in a half shrug. “Not in my world it doesn’t.”
“So, it’s not just that group of guys that are so horrible?”
She shakes her head slowly. “Not even close. The girls are vicious. But to a degree, I get it. Competition spots are limited. It’s every man for himself for the most part.”
I shake my own head, trying to wrap my brain around this new information. More pieces of the puzzle that is Lauren Bagley are starting to come together. “But wait. Gymnastics is a team sport.”
“To a degree, yes. But only if each individual does well. There’s not a collective team effort except for everyone to get the best scores they possibly can. Like in football, if you’re about to get tackled and you can, you toss the ball to someone else so they can keep going. Every point is earned by eleven people. In gymnastics, every point is earned by one person at a time.”
I take a minute to consider her comments. Team sports all have the same concept—if you aren’t the best, you’re replaced.
“I can see the wheels turning in your brain,” she jokes, finally settling back in her seat now that most of her food is gone.
I snatch one of her fries off her plate. “I’m trying to figure out the difference between losing my spot and you losing yours.”
“Consider it this way—in football, everyone has their spot, and there are tons of them. Offense, defense, special teams, kicker. Yes, you have to maintain your level of performance, but everyone has a role. You are either a starter or second string or practice team. Your job is outlined for you.
“In gymnastics, however, we’re constantly vying for our spot. All season long. And there aren’t many of them. We have sixteen spots total, but twelve of them will be used up by our top three competitors trying to win all-around. That leaves four spots for thirteen of us. If I get chosen and I screw up, I’m sitting out the next meet. If I fall, I’m out. If I don’t complete my skill, I’m out. It’s a precise sport anyway, but one tiny bobble means the difference between me suiting up or sitting in the stands.”
This surprises me. I knew everyone on the team didn’t compete every time, but I had no idea the chances of actually performing were that slim. “This is why you were so freaked out about that skill you were trying to perfect.”
She shrugs, palms up like I finally understand her point.
“Oh wow. And I thought I felt pressure.”
“It’s just a different kind of pressure. Once college is over, my gymnastics career is over, too. This is the end of the road, so at least I’m not always thinking about the draft. That would suck having my future in limbo.”
I grunt my response. She’s not wrong. It’s my daily struggle. “Sure, it does. But don’t you get lonely sometimes? Not have any teammates that are real… I don’t know… like a team?”
The look on her face only lasts for a second, but it says it all. This is why she pushes people away. This is why she’s brash and aggressive. Is all that part of what makes her who she is? Absolutely. But they’re the only sides anyone is allowed to see because trusting people doesn’t typically go her way. And yes, I got all that out of one fleeting expression. But as she bites her lip, I can tell she’s trying to
battle her way through it with me. She needs to test me and see if I’m like the very few people she’s let in, or if I’m like all the others.
Lauren straightens her spine and looks me dead in the eye. “It’s lonely every single day. But they won’t drive me away from the sport I love.”
I refuse to look away, not because I’m trying to have a power struggle with her, but because I want her to know her feelings don’t make me uncomfortable. I like her. And maybe if I’m lucky, this new friendship, not the fake relationship but the real, developing friendship will turn into something deeper. She needs to know I can handle all the different sides to her.
Satisfied that this is the beginning of something good, I nod once and in return, I get a shy smile.
“So uh, I guess I’m skipping the next team party so we can watch that movie, huh?”
Her grin widens, and I feel like I’ve passed the test.
Bring it on, Lauren, I think to myself. Because I play to ace them all.
FIFTEEN
Lauren
The few days I was at home for Thanksgiving weren’t bad, per se. They weren’t good either, but I try to remind myself it could have been worse. I got to see Kiersten. I got to watch football. I indulged in pumpkin pie. All good things that I’m focusing on.
Except the pie. We’re at the very beginning of the competition season. I should have skipped dessert and have been regretting it since I got back into the gym.
The whole week was made more bearable by the constant stream of texts between Heath and me. It started with a quick check-in to make sure we got home okay on our prospective drives. Then morphed into him checking up on me, knowing it can go either way with my sister. Soon, we found ourselves just chatting about everything and nothing for five days straight. It was nice. And it made the attraction on Heath I had been successfully avoiding develop into a small crush.
Small? Maybe medium-sized is a better description. Regardless, it’s a little too many feelings for my liking.
Although I can’t deny that Heath seems to be trying to make good on his apology. He’s kind. He initiates conversation and actually listens when I talk. He pays for my meals when we go out.
Yes, I know those should be a given with any relationship at this stage, but we’re still not “in a relationship,” so it all feels above and beyond to me. Especially when he does things like text me that he’ll be late to my meet because of a last-minute meeting his coach called regarding tomorrow’s game. I find it to be very considerate of him to let me know.
So, I remain cautiously optimistic that maybe Heath is truly one of the good guys.
I know quite a few men, however, who are very obviously not the good guys. The leader of the assholes being one of them and speaking of the devil—Con’s heading my way.
Clasping my hands behind my back, I bend over and stretch my shoulders. I’m hoping this position deters him from trying to talk to me.
“What’s up, Lauren?”
Dammit. No such luck.
Standing back up, I swing my arms back and forth a few times. That’s my perimeter. As long as he doesn’t come any closer, he won’t get hit. Reluctantly, I answer him. “Con.”
He reclines against the judges’ table and crosses his arms and legs. And so, the battle of wits is about to begin.
“Where’s your little boyfriend anyway?”
I snort a laugh because that’s pretty hilarious coming from him. “He’s six feet tall, so Heath’s hardly little. And he’s at a team meeting because he has a job to do tomorrow. Kind of like we have a job to do today. In about ten minutes. Which means we probably should be concentrating and not shooting the shit, don’t ya think?”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and I know my brush off isn’t going to work this time. He’s come prepared to spar with me. I just don’t know why. “I’m just trying to have a friendly conversation with my teammate. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Well do it over there.” I grab my foot and pull it up in front of me until it’s above my head, making sure I stay flexible while we wait.
Unfortunately, Con seems to be lacking in the personal boundaries area and comes around to my other side before leaning in and quietly speaking. “Answer me something… did you put out on the first date with him, too? Is that why he sticks around? Because you’re an easy lay? Why do you stretch like this when I’m right in front of you? As a reminder of what it’s like to be between those very flexible legs?”
Doing my very best to school my features and pretend Con’s words don’t hit their intended target, I slowly lower my foot back down to the floor, turn directly into Con’s line of sight and step forward. Holding eye contact, I keep my voice low and steady. “As fun as you are to talk to, the last time you worried more about my relationship than your routines, you choked on vault.” I reach my hand up and fix the shoulder strap of his singlet, then pat his arm condescendingly. “Scholarship renewals are coming up soon. The board wouldn’t look too kindly on one of their full-ride recipients not getting an all-around spot, would they?”
I smile menacingly as I watch his jaw tick. It was a low blow and we both know it, but I feel not one ounce of guilt. Don’t start shit if you don’t want me to finish it. I might cry in the shower later, but Lauren Bagley will not let the likes of Conrad Turner bring her down in this arena. Not when I’m so close to getting what I want.
Pulling himself together, Con tilts his head just a little bit closer and whispers, “Good luck with that front salto. Don’t underrotate.” He thinks he just gave me a parting shot before walking away, but he didn’t. He just fueled my anger. Gave me more power. Underrotating is the last thing I have to worry about now.
“What in the world did he want?” Ellery mutters, as she settles in next to me and strips off her warm-ups. We were grouped together again for our final intra-squad meet, which I’m glad for. It’s nice knowing at least one person on my “team” is genuinely cheering for me on the sidelines.
“I don’t know. It feels like he’s purposely trying to throw me off my game for some reason.”
Ellery thinks for a moment, looking as confused as I feel. “Why would he do that? Whether or not you get a competition spot doesn’t affect him at all.”
I shake my head and shrug half-heartedly. “Who knows. Some guys are dicks like that. I have more important things to worry about right now.” Plus, I’m getting bored of Con and his games. I’d much rather talk with Ellery. “Are you ready for today? Feel good?”
She and I chat about the new skills she’s added to her bar routine and how much more confident she feels. Since the last meet, she’s upped her game and her difficulty levels are showing because of it. We all know she’s a true contender for bars now, not just to get a spot but to medal at Nationals. That’s the power of upping the point value of the routines.
Within minutes, the National Anthem is over and we’re ready to begin.
Since this is our last meet before competing against other universities, we’re in the arena today. It’s huge and gives a whole different vibe to the meet. That’s the whole point. It’s easy to become complacent in the place where we spend twenty hours a week. But this venue can be intimidating, which is to be expected considering it seats twenty thousand and has layout changes. The spring floor is up on a platform for maximum visibility, the apparatus is more spread out to keep events separated, even the air is cooler to accommodate for all the additional body heat. It’s intense.
It also means there’s no way we can forget how much is on the line. This isn’t just messing around in the gym where we practice every day. This is uniforms and sparkly glitter makeup and hair bows. This is the first time we’re truly showing off everything we’ve been working for.
The rush of adrenaline is unreal. I thrive on it. Which is why I’m all the more pissed that I’m simultaneously fighting to keep Con’s words out of my head.
“Did you put out on the first date with him, too? Is that why he sticks around?”
The meet is in full swing, and I try not to watch too closely as my three teammates go before me. I’m thrilled to be going last on floor exercise. That means Coach considers me the best in my group on this event. But I won’t get cocky. I know from experience that it never helps anyone to watch the routines before yours and try to compare. It’s the easiest way to psych yourself out. However, I’ve also seen these routines a million times at practice, so I give myself a few peeks.
As Layla’s routine comes to a close, I move myself into position on the platform, awaiting my turn.
And then her score is flashed.
9.725.
It’s a good score. But I can do better. I know I can.
Pasting my signature smirk on my face, I salute the judges and strut into position, awaiting the beginning notes of Aerosmith’s Walk this Way. It was a shocking and delightful surprise when I found this floor exercise music, but it felt a lot like fate. I had to have it. The first time my teammates heard it, I got a lot of snotty looks, but I didn’t care. Still don’t. It’s perfect. Not only do I feel this music deep down in my soul, but it also keeps me energized and excited, and it feels perfectly me.
The beginning beats finally sound, and I launch into a series of twists, turns, and jumps as I dance my way into the corner of the floor, prepping for my first tumbling pass. This one goes first because it’s the big one—the one I’ve been working on for so long. The one that will hopefully cement my spot as a contender and the best person for the competition spot this season.
I take a deep breath in preparation and wait for the timing of the music to be exact in three…two… one… LAUNCH!
Five running steps…
One hurdle step…
