“I liked your dress, though,” Christina said, waggling her eyebrows. “I’m going to borrow it if I actually go on a real date. Maybe with Mihai?”
Noelle made a show of plugging her ears. “Seriously!” she said. “Not funny.”
“That reminds me,” I said to Britt, partially to prevent Noelle’s head from exploding. “Remember that guy Norman? I think you guys would really hit it off. I kind of messed up with him, too, but if I ever convince him to talk to me again, maybe I can set you up in time for the eighth grade dance.”
Britt rolled her eyes. “Uh, I think you’re forgetting a couple of things,” she said. “Number one, boys have cooties. Number two, we’re Elite gymnasts. We should be dreaming about dismounts and deductions, rather than dating and dances.”
I glanced at Noelle, who was suddenly very focused on her mango sorbet. I knew she was thinking about David, the boy who’d kissed her last year at the dance. Even though they were only friends—Noelle was way too serious about her gymnastics to let a boy interfere with that—she still blushed if anyone mentioned his name.
Normally, this would have been about the time I started feeling very self-conscious about the fact that the other three girls were Elite gymnasts, whereas I wasn’t. But for some reason, it didn’t bother me this time. The Elite qualifier was coming up, and I allowed myself to really think about it for the first time in a while. My vault was strong, and my bar and beam routines were both fairly solid. If I could only work on that one tumbling pass, I knew I could qualify.
“Speaking of being Elite,” I said, now that I could say the word without feeling a knot forming in my stomach, “do you guys know what you’re going to do about that stipend from USAG?”
Noelle and Christina glanced at each other. “I’m taking it,” Noelle said. “I know it means that I can’t compete in college, and I’m sad about that. But my family could really use the help with all the training costs, so I think it’s the best thing to do.”
I knew that it wasn’t easy for her parents to pay for all the leotards and equipment and travel costs and weekly gym fees; the summer before, we’d held a car wash for Noelle, to raise money for her to go to the Junior National Championships.
“I’m not going to take it,” Christina said, and although she left it at that, I was able to fill in the rest. Her dad was a big-deal cardiologist who traveled all the time to speak at conferences, and they had a ton of money, so I knew that that wasn’t a concern for her.
I couldn’t even begin to think what I would have done in that situation. Although I’d have loved to compete in the Olympics, I wasn’t honestly sure if that was ever going to happen, so I thought it’d be nice to keep the option of college open. But it was my parents’ money, so I felt like it would be their decision at the end of the day.
By parents, of course, I meant my mother and Rick, my stepfather. I rarely let myself think about my dad these days. I was still upset that he’d stood me up again, but I was more depressed at how inevitable it had felt. He never came through when he said he would. Even when he came to the parade, he’d come as a reporter with an idea for a human-interest story, not as a dad who cared about his daughter. I guess I had to give him credit for leaving a message on my cell phone the day after my birthday and apologizing for missing dinner, but I’d never called him back, and he hadn’t left any other messages. He probably thought it was all settled. He’d apologized so I wouldn’t be mad anymore or hold it against him.
But I hadn’t really forgiven him. I’d just given up.
I realized I’d been sitting there staring off into space, and so I forced myself to smile and get back to enjoying my friends. “You’ll make the Olympics, Noelle,” I said. “I know it. They were even talking about you on the broadcast for that USA vs. the World meet, saying that you were someone to watch.”
Noelle flushed. “Thanks,” she said. “It was so much fun. People started clapping when I did my beam mount, even though there was a senior girl competing on the bars at the same time.”
“I bet that threw her off,” I said. Not that I wanted any other gymnast to fall or mess up, but there was something exciting about knowing that one of my friends could take attention away from a girl who might compete in the Olympics next year.
Gymnastics is a funny sport in that, ultimately, you’re alone up there on the balance beam, which makes it easy sometimes to feel completely separated from other people. But as Britt grinned at me across the table, I realized that being part of a team also meant more than just wearing matching ribbons in your hair and striking the same pose. It meant having people who cared about you, and who would do anything in their power to boost you up, rather than tear you down.
Mo dropped me off at my house after our frozen yogurt outing, and I practically threw my backpack down in the foyer as I came in. My cheerleading uniform was starting to feel like a hot, itchy straitjacket, and I couldn’t wait to get out of it.
In the kitchen, I ran into Tiffany. She was pulling a Pop-Tart from the toaster, holding it the way she held things when she had painted her nails and she didn’t want to touch anything while they were still wet.
“Those were some pretty sick moves,” she said. It took me a second to realize that she was talking to me, and that she was referring to the pep rally. She’d been performing at the pep rally, too, as a flag girl, but it hadn’t occurred to me to stay and watch her. This would have made me feel like a terrible stepsister, except that Tiffany had never shown any interest in anything I’d done before.
“Thanks,” I said uncertainly, and then I was compelled to add, “I didn’t do the double twist.”
She didn’t respond. I was about to head to my room when she finally spoke. “At least you didn’t lose your balance on the most basic pyramid ever,” Tiffany said. “I wouldn’t worry about your double twist until they can finish a routine without crashing and burning.”
Apparently I’d really been in my own world during the whole routine, because I didn’t remember anyone falling. I couldn’t believe I’d missed that. It had to have been one of the flyers, which meant that it was Layla or Stephenie or Ashley.
“Cute uniform, though,” Tiffany commented, raking her eyes over the miniskirt and top. She was still in her sparkly flag-girl costume, which consisted of a halter top and tight, shiny pants. I’d seen a bunch of other flag girls around school that day wearing the same thing.
Of course. That was why Tiffany was talking to me now. These were her people, the cheerleaders and flag girls and homecoming queens. As much as I was enjoying this bonus attention from her, I felt like I had to set the record straight. “I’m quitting cheerleading,” I said.
“Oh, thank God,” Tiffany said. It was so not the response that I’d been expecting that for a second I just stared at her.
“Thanks a lot,” I said, stiffening. So I didn’t fit the usual stereotype of a cheerleader or belong to that crowd. She didn’t have to rub my nose in it.
She rolled her eyes, licking strawberry filling off her index finger. “Come on,” she said. “JV is a joke. Everyone knows that.”
“They’re not a—” I started defending the cheer-leading squad automatically, then stopped myself. “Wait. What do you mean?”
“I was a cheerleader when I was nine and we did more stuff,” she said. “The two good people who were in JV last year moved up to varsity, and now it’s a bunch of newbies and wannabes and Ms. Hinnen, who has no idea what she’s doing.”
“She seems like she does,” I said, but I realized that I’d only heard her yell a lot. At the gym, Mo and Cheng hardly said a word, but then, they didn’t have to. They could look at you and you knew whether they were proud of you or believed that you could do better.
“Well, I don’t hang out with freshmen”—Tiffany said the word like she might have said dirty underwear—“but I can tell you that Layla and her crowd shouldn’t be dusting their shelves for that state trophy any time soon. Our JV is probably the worst in the county.”
I remembered the horribly stupid cheer I’d done for tryouts and wanted to hide my flaming face, in case Tiffany somehow guessed what an idiot I’d been that day. “No wonder they picked me,” I said.
“Oh, they didn’t pick you because you’re bad,” Tiffany said. “They picked you because you can tumble, and they needed someone on that team who can do something.”
I thought back on all the practices, and the pep rally, where all I’d done was flip from one side to another and back again like a performing monkey.
“So, yeah,” Tiffany said. “Good job on quitting.”
I smiled. “Now I guess you think I should be a flag girl, huh?” I said.
“Absolutely not,” she said, making a face.
I’d been joking, but I was a little stung by Tiffany’s response, even though I guess I should’ve expected it. She’d probably have been embarrassed to have me around, and would have tried to convince the team that we didn’t know each other at all. Just because she was being nice to me this one time didn’t mean that she’d want me to be a part of the flag corps.
“I was kidding,” I said. “It’s your thing; I get it.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s what I do because it’s kind of fun and I hang out with my friends and stuff. But you’re, like, an awesome gymnast, who competes all over the state and gets to be on the news. If I could do even half of what you can, I’d quit the flag corps tomorrow.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was easily the nicest—and longest—thing Tiffany had ever said to me.
“Although you guys don’t get boobs, right?” Tiffany added. “That might be a little weird. I don’t know if I would trade that part.”
I thought of that ridiculous little bra with the pink bow, the one that Layla had made fun of before I knew her name, and the one I hadn’t even worn yet. And then, I couldn’t help it: I started laughing. Tiffany looked at me like I was crazy, but eventually she let out a chuckle in spite of herself.
“All that flipping has made the blood rush to your head,” she said. “You’re nuts.” But for the first time in a while, I felt like everything was actually very clear. I knew what I wanted, and I knew what I had to do.
Fifteen
I knew they were holding Saturday cheerleading practice at the school, even though I usually missed Saturdays, to work out at the gym instead. This time, I made an exception. Mo wasn’t thrilled about my losing an hour of training, but she seemed somewhat mollified when she found out the reason behind it.
“So, you done with that,” she said. “No more cheer?”
“No more cheer,” I assured her firmly.
“Good,” she said, nodding her head. “You have Elite qualifier in very short time, and we need to get you ready.”
“Believe me,” I said. “I’m ready.”
My mom wasn’t superexcited about carting me from the gym to school and back again on her Saturday morning, either, but I was surprised to find that she seemed pretty pleased about my reason, too.
“I thought you liked that I was a cheerleader,” I said.
She paused, as if thinking carefully about what to say next. “I was happy to see that you had some friends at school,” she said, “although I wasn’t sure if they seemed like the nicest girls. And of course, if you decided that you wanted to be a cheerleader instead of devoting yourself to gymnastics, that would be okay. I know gymnastics is a big commitment, and you’re getting to be a young woman. You may decide there are other things you want in life.”
Oh, no. Not the “young woman” speech. My mom was on the brink of another teary memory about how much I’d grown; my goal was to head it off at the pass.
She was too quick for me, though. “What did you say that song was, that you danced around the living room to?”
“‘Abracadabra,’” I said, hoping that we wouldn’t have to dig out old home videos that night.
“That was it.” My mom smiled, remembering. “You’ve always loved gymnastics. But if that changes down the road, well, that’s part of growing up.”
I’d gotten started in the sport when my mom told me that we were going to the mall to take pictures, and that I should wear a leotard, to pretend that I was a gymnast in the picture. I’d gotten a gymnastics Barbie doll for Christmas once and thought gymnasts were awesome. But when she stopped the car, we weren’t at the mall. Instead, we were at Texas Twisters, and I was taking my first tumbling class. They’d let me jump on a trampoline and fall into a pit of foam, and I’d never looked back.
Then, somewhere in the last few years, gymnastics had started to get really hard, and not as much fun. I guess I had thought that it was as simple as snapping my fingers and then poof! Everything would happen like magic. But my body was a little thicker than the other girls’, my hips a little wider, and the moves didn’t come as easily. I started thinking that maybe it wasn’t worth it, that maybe I should give it all up.
Even in the past few months, though, I’d really missed it. I missed my teammates and my coaches. I missed the exhilaration of doing a skill that only a handful of people in the world could do and working on it until it was as close to perfect as possible. I missed the challenge of gymnastics, which was so much more than flipping across a floor and then turning around and doing it again.
“Wish me luck,” I said to my mom when we pulled up in front of the school.
She leaned over and pressed her lips to my cheek in a kiss. “You don’t need it,” she said.
Layla, Stephenie, and Ashley were standing around at the sidelines of the football field, their hands on their hips, surveying the girls who usually formed the base in our routines, who were doing sit-ups. “Are you tired already?” Layla snarked at one girl. “Maybe that’s why you drop me all the time—because you have the stamina of my eighty-five-year-old grandmother.”
“Hello,” I said.
Layla spun to look at me.
“Nice of you to make a practice for once,” she said. “What’s that?”
I had been holding my folded uniform, and now I passed it to her. “I quit,” I said simply.
“You quit?” she repeated, and everyone stopped. The girls on the grass froze in mid-sit-up, and Stephenie and Ashley glanced at each other and then back at me.
“I have a big qualifier coming up, and I need to prepare for it,” I said, reciting the canned excuse I’d rehearsed in the mirror that morning. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason, but I figured there was no need to rehash everything. I would be professional about it all, and grown-up.
“You can’t just quit,” Layla said, her mouth twisting over the word. “We need you.”
I thought about what Tiffany had said, and I wanted to say, I know, but I held my tongue. Still, I couldn’t resist a pointed “Maybe you’ll find someone who can do your double twist that you want so much.”
Framed by her blond hair, Layla’s face burned red, as though she knew exactly what I was calling her on. “Fine,” she said. “But if you leave, there’s no coming back. You can change your mind, but we won’t change ours. You’re out.”
“Okay,” I said. “Well, see ya.” I waved at Stephenie and Ashley, to let them know I was including them in that farewell, before starting back to my mom’s car.
“Wait,” Layla called after me, and I turned around. “I was going to tell you…” She glanced nervously at Stephenie and Ashley, before giving a defiant toss of her head. “My dad lets me take two friends to New York City every Christmas. He rents a penthouse right on Central Park. I was thinking about taking you this year, if you were on JV with me.”
Ashley’s eyebrows drew together, and Stephenie started forward.
“Wait a minute—” Layla said, but I shook my head.
“I don’t want to go to Central Park with you,” I said. “I have friends already. You met them at my birthday party.”
“Oh, those losers,” Layla sneered. “I wouldn’t brag about it.”
I ignored this, walking backward so I cou
ld still see her as I moved toward the car. “And Norman!” I added. “Norman’s my friend, too.”
“Well!” Layla said, and I could tell that she was trying to formulate an insult, but coming up empty.
I was just glad to get that cheerleading uniform off my back. It was no wonder it had felt like a straitjacket—it had been restraining me from pursuing everything that really mattered.
The next day, I looked Norman up in the school directory. It turned out that he didn’t live too far from me, so I borrowed my stepbrother’s bike, which was way too big for me, and which he would definitely not have wanted me riding, and showed up on Norman’s doorstep.
Norman opened the door wearing a T-shirt that read, IT’S ALL RELATIVE, EINSTEIN, and his crooked glasses. “Hello, Jessie,” he said, as though it wasn’t that random for me to be there.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “Please don’t think that I’m a cheater. It’s only that I’ve been doing really terrible in Mr. Freeman’s class, and I’m used to getting As, but then I realized that was because a lot of my teachers are pretty understanding about my gymnastics schedule, except that Mr. Freeman said I shouldn’t expect a free ride, and it’s not that I want special treatment or anything, but—”
Norman opened the door wider and gestured for me to come into the house, cutting off my rambling. “I was studying for the test,” he said, “if you want to do flash cards with me.”
I smiled. “I would love to.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy to work on the double front tuck that was giving me problems. I knew what I had to do—right now, my body was pitched too far back when I came out of my front handspring, so I couldn’t get the height on the double tuck—but gymnastics was different from school. It wasn’t enough for you to know something with your mind; you had to know it with your whole body.
I landed on my heels again, and then my butt was on the floor. At least we still had extra mats at one corner of the floor, providing a little relief on those hard landings. Cheng made the time-out signal, as if he wanted to stop a nonexistent clock, and crossed over to me.
The Go-for-Gold Gymnasts Page 11
