by Kylie Key
"You don't have a hope," Ainsley laughed. She was standing extremely close to Logan.
Trieste chimed in, "She'll always choose gymnastics. May as well give up now Taylor."
"Oh, I don't know.” Taylor smirked. "I'm up for the challenge." He winked at me, bringing his lips onto mine in a flash. I slid myself out of his grasp, did a quick twirl and slid into my seat. I waved daintily to the girls, and Taylor gave a big smile as I drove off.
I huffed out a big breath, my shoulders slumping with the release. I rotated my neck, to the left, to the right, backwards, forwards, not understanding why I felt so much tension. Why were cute boys, kisses, dating and parties so stressful? Maybe I wasn’t ready for it. Oh, if only I could go back to the days when my biggest worry in the world was performing a perfect front giant on the uneven bars.
CHAPTER 2
I ended up being late to Logan's party because of helping with a junior gym competition. It ran over time and when I had told Taylor about the delay I sensed he was annoyed. He softened when I told him Dad would drop me around as soon as I was finished. He told me not to forget my bikini.
Ainsley rang too, telling me to hurry, that everything was buzzing. I wore my short little dress over my bikini, slipped on my pink Converse, pulled my hair out of its braid and put on some lipstick. That's all I had time to do, no mascara, no foundation, no jewelery.
Logan Newman's house was a literal mansion and Dad insisted on driving me right up the driveway to the front of the house. He'd grudgingly extended my curfew to midnight.
"Where's Taylor?" Dad asked.
"Probably by the pool," I said, and at that moment Ainsley came running from a side gate, wearing a short, tight, striped dress that I hadn't seen before. Her silver heels were also new. Some time over the past year our clothing styles had seriously misaligned.
"Text me if you need-" Dad started to say, but I kissed his cheek quickly and jumped out. Ainsley squealed and hugged me and seemed not to notice that I was in sneakers and makeup-less. She hooked her arm in mine and lead me back the way she'd come, gabbling the whole time, Logan this, Trieste that, Taylor already drunk.
My heart sunk at that. I wasn't naive enough to think that there would be no drinking at the party, but I wasn't a girl who was tempted by the liberation that alcohol offered. Dad had made it clear that he didn't want me to drink at parties, saying things like, "You know you're only seventeen," and "Have you got a full day's training tomorrow?" I guess you'd say he was subtlety unsubtle.
Ainsley lead me to the girls who were huddled in a group near the fire pit. I guess I'd had a vision in my head of the party being a bit like a Justin Bieber music video, everyone in the pool, lounging on rafts, but there were only two boys trying to ride an oversized duck. Ainsley, Trieste, and Selina were all done up with impeccable hair and makeup which meant they had no intention of getting in the pool. I felt a little silly that I was wearing my bikini underneath.
"What do you want to drink Domi?" Selina asked.
"Just a soda please," I said, "I've got training tomorrow." It was my standard answer in times like this and I never wavered, my gymnastics always came first, and as far as I knew no one resented me for not drinking alcohol. Selina passed me a can and I looked around for Taylor. I had texted him when I was arriving so I was disappointed that he hadn't sought me out, though from the noise coming beyond the pool area there seemed to be a game of football or soccer out on the lawn. Likely he was there; I didn't want to appear too needy.
“Ella couldn’t make it?” I said to Trieste.
“No, too bad she had to babysit,” she said, looking at the drink in my hand. "You're not drinking tonight?"
I shook my head and then jumped as a pair of hands grabbed my waist. Taylor's voice whispered into the back of my hair, "There she is — finally," and his arms squeezed me tightly. He spun me around, his lips finding mine, giving me a taste of beer.
"Hi beautiful," he said.
I pulled back a bit. He was shirtless and his hair damp. "Hi," I said, "sorry I was late. The gymnastics went so long."
He grinned in a silly way, in a drunk way, his lips nuzzling into my neck. "It's okay, babe."
I gently nudged him off of me, slightly embarrassed by his display of affection and his bare chest against me. I took a long swig of my drink. He pulled me by the hand and I waved my other hand, complete with can, at the girls.
Taylor didn't take me far. He turned the corner of the house and pressed me against the wall, his lips on mine in a flash. It wasn't gentle kissing, it was wet and sloppy. I turned my head to the side.
"Hey Dominique," he said.
"You're drunk Taylor," I whispered, looking into his glazed eyes. I'd been looking forward to a fun pool party with all our school friends, but disappointment was flooding me.
"Dommmminique," he said, "I've just had a few beers baaabe." Now his use of the word babe was irritating me. "I'm not drunk."
"Did you already go swimming?" I asked, not wanting to get into an argument.
"Uh huh." He pulled me in again. I kept my mouth closed as he kissed me. His lips moved down. ”You're. Beautiful. Dominique," he said, between kisses on my neck.
"Are they playing football?" I asked, turning my head towards the direction of the yard, but really I wanted his beer breath off of me. I wanted all of him off of me, but I didn't want to cause a drama. Probably half the kids were drinking.
“Yeah, they are! Shall we play?"
It wasn't football, it was soccer and even though Trieste and the other girls would be mortified by me running around in a dress, kicking a ball, it meant I didn't have Taylor breathing all over me.
I moved away from him, running towards the group of girls who were playing, some of them in bare feet, some in heels.
Logan Newman sidled up next to me and tapped my arm, "Your boyfriend started early." I thought he was talking about the tackle Taylor was making, whether he was about to declare an offside or penalty. "Drinking," he stated, probably because I looked clueless. I frowned. Logan Newman hardly knew me. We took one chemistry class together, but had never talked to each other. "He was impatient for you to arrive."
"I don't know what team I'm supposed to be on," I said, trying to smile, wondering what he meant.
"You can be on mine," he said, "that's our goal." He signaled towards the left.
"Okay," I said, and right then Taylor bounced behind us, taking me in a tackle around my waist, making me stumble.
"Careful dude," I heard Logan growl.
"Domi, Domi.” Taylor laughed as he wrapped me in a hug, making us both lose balance. We staggered a few steps before gaining control. Taylor planted a kiss on my cheek. "Baaby."
The ball sailed past us and Logan started to run after it. I did too. Anything to get away from Taylor at that point, but Taylor chased and there was a crowd all fighting for the ball, feet all tangled. I moved back and someone — don’t know who — kicked it far across the lawn. Like a herd of elephants, we stampeded after it. Taylor was behind me calling in an annoying sing-song voice, "Dom, Domi!"
I wasn't running that fast, but I felt someone's foot clip my heel and I tripped. As I tried to right myself I felt Taylor's body crash into mine, and together we tumbled. I heard a popping sound and my left knee seemed to fold beneath me and I was on the ground, Taylor rolling over the top of me and then leaping into the air with a shriek.
"Whoa, what the heck? Dominique!" He stepped towards me reaching his hand out to pull me up, and that's when I registered a severe shooting pain in my knee and I closed my eyes, and in those few seconds I knew my whole world had just been rocked.
I could hear my name being shouted, not by Taylor now, but Logan and Clare, a girl from the cheer squad, but I didn't open my eyes. For a moment I believed I'd imagined the pain because the intensity had gone.
"Did your knee just pop Dominique?" Clare asked. “I’m sure I heard a pop."
And that's when I opened my eyes to see Clare and Logan cr
ouching next to me, and I let out a spontaneous cry as a dull pain set in.
“Dominique, are you okay?" That was Logan.
I bit down on my lower lip to suppress any groans from escaping. I didn't want to start crying, not at a party, not in front of these kids.
"Dominique, let me help you up," Taylor said and he was beside Clare, who was adamant, "No Taylor, don't move her. We need some ice. Logan, do you have any ice? She needs ice."
Taylor took a hold of my hand and I was now aware of a group gathering around me, making me the center of attention, and I didn't like it one bit.
"It looks like it's starting to swell," Clare said, "my brother dislocated his knee once. It blew up like a basketball. Is it painful? It needs ice."
I closed my eyes again, not wanting to look at my knee. If I didn't see my knee, then there would be nothing wrong with it; it wouldn't be dislocated or swollen and my gymnastics career wouldn't be over. But I'd been in gymnastics long enough to witness many injuries, sprains, fractures, dislocations, ankles, knees, wrists. And I knew how long healing took, surgery if needed, physical therapy, rehab. It was always a long time, it could be six months out of the sport. Six months out of competition. In a flash I was seeing my gymnastics scholarship tumbling away from me. I could see every hope and dream crumble right behind my darkened eyelids.
And all I could hear was Taylor murmuring in my ear, "You okay baby? It'll be okay. I'm here, baby."
Mom and Dad arrived. Mom was in heels and a dress and Dad was in a good shirt and jacket so they'd obviously been out for dinner. Dad scooped me up and carried me to the car. Ainsley held the ice pack in place, Taylor held my hand. Ainsley insisted on coming with us; Taylor didn't.
I sat in the Emergency Room in a daze, Mom and Dad discussing all sorts of diagnoses as if they had a medical background, both suggesting the best case scenario. A sprain, a twisted knee, only a few weeks off of training. I'd be back before I knew it, I'd still be able to participate in summer camp, an intensive three week training camp I'd been selected for in Texas. Yes, I'd be fine for that.
And then Cassian arrived. Cassian is a plastic surgeon, and when you tell people that they immediately say stuff like Oh wow, can he fix my nose? My eyelids? Give me a facelift? But that's not what he does. He fixes facial deformities like lip and cleft palates, or people who have had their face shot off, or people who have been burnt. I don't know how he does it. And though knees aren't technically his thing, he knew more than Mom and Dad.
Cassian put his arm around me and kissed me. "How you doing kiddo?" he asked. Having an older "older" brother is the best. They give you nicknames, they side with you against the parents, they let you eat their candy stash.
"I don't think it's good," I whispered, despite listening to Mom, Dad and Ainsley tell me all I needed was a pair of crutches, some painkillers, and I'd be good to go.
"You heard it pop?" I nodded as he peeked a look under the ice pack. I watched his face to see his reaction, but his expression didn't change. "Any pain?"
"Real bad at first," I said quietly, and now Mom and Dad stopped talking. "Not so much now. Cash, it just went out from under me. Like I'd been kicked. But I wasn't."
"Might be ACL, maybe a tear or a rupture." Cassian said, and immediately Dad was googling.
"But that can be fixed, can't it?" Mom asked, her voice desperate for hope. "ACL tears are common. I had a friend back in college who-" Mom babbled on, but I had switched off.
I leaned against Cassian. He reached into his jacket pocket, “Hey, Daniela drew this for you." He handed me a folded piece of paper.
"Was she still awake?" I opened it up.
"Shhh. I let her stay up late when Paola's working," he whispered. Oh, if only I hadn't gone to the party, if only I had decided to work, then none of this would be happening.
Daniela had drawn a picture of a smiling sun and a stick figure picture of me with one long braid and one fat leg with a bandage.
"Oh she's so sweet," I said, feeling tears brimming.
"She wanted to come too," he said and he reached into his pocket again, pulling out a handful of Hershey's Kisses. "From her, too." I giggled and passed them around to everyone. Only Mom didn’t take one.
"I'm sorry I ruined your night with the kids," I said, now feeling like my accident was inconveniencing everyone.
Mom and Dad, I learnt, had been dining with friends, departing mid-meal; Paola had to leave work early to go home for the kids; the party had ended prematurely for Ainsley, though Logan had come and picked her up as I was being sent for an x-ray.
Some hours later, I emerged from the hospital with a brace and an appointment to see a specialist the following week. In the meantime I was told to rest and ice. Taylor and the girls had blown up my phone with a bunch of texts but I had no energy to answer any of them. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed, fall asleep and hope that when I woke I would discover this was all a bad dream.
The next morning the swelling had decreased, the pain seemed non-existent, and I thought maybe my prayers had been answered. But the minute I put weight onto my leg the pain flared, my eyes watering as I tried to take a few steps. I shouted out to Mom and in the thirty seconds it took her to get to my room, my tears were flowing like a waterfall.
"I can't walk," I screamed, "I can't even stand." I dramatically flopped back onto my bed.
"Okay, okay," Mom soothed, "it's all right baby, it's all right." She forced me to sit upright and stroked my back. “It’ll be okay, baby."
"I can't stand," I yelled, my pitch startling her. "I'll never compete again! My life is over!"
"Shhhhh." Mom pulled me in for a hug, but I floundered my arms about, knocking off her reading glasses which were perched on the top of her head. I dramatically threw myself face down into my covers, not even apologizing.
I heard footsteps, then Dad's voice. "How's it going, Blossom?"
I continued sobbing into the blankets, my heart breaking as it occurred to me that I might never be able to walk normally, to run and jump, to bounce, to leap, to flip, to somersault again. All things I took for granted. Last night I had been reassured that at least I'd not broken any bones, but the thought of a torn ligament now seemed to be a worse scenario. Knee strength and stability was vital to a high impact sport like gymnastics. Tennis, surfing, cross country, all the sports I loved, needed good knees. I despaired of a future where I couldn't participate.
"Hey, hey," Dad said, patting my shoulder. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We'll get the scan done next week and see what's going on. I don't think your life is over quite yet."
"How many one legged gymnasts do you know?"
Dad handed me a bunch of tissues. He gave me a minute to wipe my eyes and blow my nose and then he helped me sit up. "I want you to take a shower, have some breakfast and we'll do what the doctor said and keep the knee raised and keep icing it. Okay?"
I begrudgingly stood, shrugged off his assistance and limped to my bathroom. I used the crutches I'd been given to hobble down the stairs and set myself up in Dad's favorite armchair. I was gutted that I was confined to watching Netflix when I should have been training. Lucy would be practising the double twist today. She'd get ahead of me. Losing a whole training session, especially a Sunday which was six hours long, could devastate my season.
"Rest is crucial," Mom said, as she elevated my leg and strapped an ice pack to it, "we need to get the swelling down."
"You're not the doctor," I snapped. "Did you tell Brigitte?" Brigitte, my coach, had worked with me at the club for the past three years. She'd been instrumental in pushing me to greater heights. She'd always told me work ethic was greater than natural talent and the harder I worked, the more likely I would achieve. She'd made me set goals, made me believe gymnastics could be my future.
"Yes," Mom nodded. “I rang Brigitte. Haven't you checked your phone? She said she'd call you."
"My phone's upstairs."
"Do you want me to get it?"
I shrugged moodily. There had been texts from Taylor and my friends this morning, but I hadn't looked at any of them. I didn't want to read insincere messages sympathizing about my stupid injury, my weak knee. I didn't want a reminder that I was an invalid on crutches.
"No," I said, "I don't want it." It would be better to wallow in my own misery, I didn't want best wishes, thoughts and prayers. "I don't want to talk to anyone." I reached for the remote and pointed it at the television.
As much as I tried to isolate myself and stew in my own pity, I couldn't. Cassian, Paola and the kids visited, joking about bringing contraband into the house. They smuggled me in a bag of chocolates and candy. Daniela had drawn me more pictures, and four-year-old Ryder wanted to play doctor with his toy medical kit, listening to my heart with his plastic stethoscope. I wondered if he could tell that it was as broken as my knee. Cassian reassured that even if it was a torn ACL, surgery would be able to fix it. It might mean time out of the sport but eventually I would be as good as new. There was no need for pessimism until the MRI results came back, he said. I was young, healthy, fit and had never had a knee injury before, so I needed to stay positive.
Ainsley, Ella and Selina came around and I sucked up my crankiness and listened to their stories about the party. Apparently Trieste had ended up dancing with, and kissing, Garrett. Taylor had fallen asleep on a sun lounger and someone had sprayed his hair with an indigo hair color. I laughed at the photos Ainsley showed me. Even with purple hair, I had to admit he looked cute.
I suggested to the girls that we should make sandwiches and smoothies for lunch. They all looked at Ainsley, who blushed and chewed her lower lip. "It sounds good Domi, but we offered to go over and help Logan clean up," she said, "Um, would you want to come? Taylor will probably be there."
My spirits sunk. I could imagine all of them walking, running around, having fun and I'd be sitting there, leg raised or hobbling around like a cripple. I politely declined, telling them that doctor's orders expressly said staying off of my feet and resting.
