Gold Medal Summer

by Donna Freitas

  The smile on my face is huge. I can’t wipe it away. Nailing a routine like that is one of the things I love most about gymnastics.

  “What’s gotten into you, Joey?” Coach asks, but his voice isn’t unkind — he sounds impressed. “That was the best bar routine I’ve seen from you yet.”

  I drop my hands to my sides and turn to him, still smiling. I don’t know what’s gotten into me either, but whatever it is — the additional conditioning, the hope of gold at Regionals — I’ll take it. “Thanks, Coach,” I say.

  Angelo shakes his head. “It’s like you and Alex switched bodies.”

  My smile falls away, and I can’t look at Alex, that guilty feeling from before planting itself in my middle once again. Coach can be so mean, even when he’s trying to say something nice. Then I hear a door slam, the one by the changing area. When I turn toward the sound, Alex is gone.

  The clock says 5:55. At least practice is almost over. I wonder whether she’ll wait for me like she’s supposed to, or take off down to the beach for the Fourth of July celebration without me. To be honest, I can’t decide which one I’d prefer. We’ve never dealt with this before — me exceeding Alex at practice. Alex has always been the star.

  Before I can think too much more about this, Maureen waves me over.

  “How are you doing, Joey?” she asks, sounding concerned.

  “I’m okay, Coach.”

  She searches my face. “Are you really?”

  “Of course,” I say, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. She knows Alex and I are best friends and that I’m worried about her.

  “You need to focus on you, Joey. You’re only responsible for you when you’re in this gym.”

  If only that were true. But her comment reminds me of something that’s been on my mind almost constantly these last few days. “Maureen, I’ve been thinking about what you said.” My voice is a whisper. I don’t want Coach Angelo to hear. “About making some changes to my floor and beam routines.”

  Maureen’s eyebrows arch. She looks interested. “And?”

  I take a deep breath. “And … if you’re willing to help, I’m in.”

  A smile appears on her face, as if she has a secret. “Can you meet me here on Friday night at nine P.M.?”

  Now it’s my turn to smile. We are keeping secrets. I’m surprised how satisfying it feels to defy Coach Angelo, even a little. “Is it okay if Julia brings me?”

  “Yes, I think that would be fine,” she says. “So you’ll make the arrangements?”

  I nod. Maureen turns, but before she can go, I reach out and stop her.

  “Thank you,” I say. “For being willing to do this.”

  She gives me a serious look. “Ultimately, Joey, this isn’t about me. It’s all up to you,” she says, and walks away, calling out to the girls on the low beams, “Chin up, Avery! Poise, Tanya!” as she goes.

  And intimidating as this is, I know it’s the truth.

  Alex does wait for me. But our walk down to the ocean is silent. Awkward. Tense. I want to fix things, but I don’t know how. I’ve always done my best to fight the feelings of jealousy I have sometimes about Alex when it comes to gymnastics, so I can’t help wondering now if Alex is jealous of me for once, and how I performed today at practice.

  “Hey, girls,” my mother says when we find her on the beach. She’s sitting with Mrs. Tamsen, Alex’s mom, on a series of blankets spread across the sand. Before they noticed us, they were deep in conversation, and Mrs. Tamsen has a guilty look on her face as she turns our way. I bet they were talking about Alex and me.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say and point to her cheek. “You have a spot of blue on the side of your face.”

  “Oh well. I’ll get it later.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes at my ultrastereotypical-artist mother. On top of the paint splotch, she’s dressed like a hippie, with a long flowing tank dress covered in flowers. “Hi, Mrs. Tamsen,” I say to Alex’s mom.

  She smiles. “Nice to see you, Joey.”

  Alex doesn’t say a word to her mother or mine, just drops her gym bag onto one of the towels and kicks off her flip-flops. “I’m going to the bathroom to change,” she says to no one in particular and heads toward the pavilion.

  Mom raises her eyebrows. “Rough practice?”

  “Not for me,” I say, leaving my flip-flops next to Alex’s and stripping off my tank top and shorts. Unlike Alex, I changed into my swimsuit before I left the gym.

  The beach is already packed with people celebrating the Fourth, getting ready for tonight’s fireworks and whatever else kids who actually have social lives do. Gymnasts, well, we hang out with our families and other gymnasts, because those are the only people we have time for in our lives. So Alex and I sitting with our mothers at the beach is not unusual. It’s just what we’ve always done.

  My eyes search the beach to see if Trish’s family is here yet. Instead, I spy Julia and Madison playing volleyball a ways off with a bunch of guys and girls who must be in college too. College students always have this look about them, you know? You can just tell they’re no longer in high school from their confidence. A few blankets over from us, I pick out Mrs. Walker, Sarah Walker’s mother, which means Jennifer Adams’s family must be somewhere nearby as well.

  I really don’t feel like engaging in gym rivalry drama tonight. It’s bad enough that Alex is acting so weirdly.

  Speaking of Alex, she’s making her way back from the pavilion.

  And she’s wearing a bikini.

  Red, with little white polka dots all over it.

  My old, faded black tank suit suddenly feels ugly and immature. Like it’s more appropriate for someone far younger than a girl who will turn fourteen this fall. I look down my flat board of a body and notice the frayed edges of the nylon material. It may as well be another practice leotard that I wear at the gym, it’s so unflattering, especially now that Alex looks so sparkly in her new two-piece.

  “So what do you think?” she asks, tugging at the thin red strap that’s tied in a bow around the back of her neck. Her long hair flows in soft curls around her shoulders.

  “Depends how you mean,” I say.

  She sighs. “Joey, just say it.”

  “Technically, you look amazing. I mean, most girls would kill for your body.”

  “But…?”

  “But what’s gotten into you lately?” I notice our mothers have stopped talking in order to hear what Alex and I are saying. I yank her farther down the beach and lower my voice. “Since when do you prance around the beach wearing a bikini?”

  Alex’s face colors.

  Ugh. I am being a judgmental jerk, I sound like her mother, and I’ve embarrassed her. Awesome. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not being supportive, am I?”

  She shakes her head and turns away.

  “You’re right. And if I showed up dressed like that, I would want you to tell me I look amazing and leave it there.”

  Alex’s eyes land on me again and she is glaring. “Dressed like what?”

  Oops. “I can’t say anything right at the moment, can I?”

  She shrugs, searching the sand, shoving some of it around with her left big toe. “I should’ve told you I bought it and that I planned to wear it tonight. I don’t know why I’ve been holding things back lately. I just, I don’t know — some things feel so new and different I don’t even know how to talk about them. So I don’t say anything at all, I guess.”

  “Alex, I’m sorry. I know you have a lot on your mind” — like potentially quitting the sport that involves everything you’ve ever dreamed of your entire life — “and I want to be a good best friend, not a pain. Sometimes I don’t know how to talk about this stuff either.”

  She looks at me again. She’s coming around, I can tell.

  “Forgive me?”

  She smiles a bit sheepishly. “There’s nothing to forgive, so yeah, of course.”

  “The bathing suit is adorable, by the way. Though I couldn’t get
away with wearing it.”

  “Why not?” she asks, frowning.

  “Because my parents would never let me hear the end of it. They’d take it as a sign that I’m” — and I put on my best imitation Mom face, conjuring my version of her tone of voice — “finally developing into a young woman, which is code for Joey is ready to retire from gymnastics and have a normal life. At least that’s how my dad would put it.”

  “All that from a bikini?”

  “I know. Seems crazy, right? But that’s the way the Jordan parentals roll.”

  Alex laughs. Things are getting back to normal. Hoo-ray. I decide to go for broke.

  “So,” I say. “How’s the ankle feeling?”

  Alex eyes me. “Better. Much. Why?”

  “Well, shall we try the back handsprings today or the hand walking?”

  A smile grows on Alex’s face as she pretends to ponder the difficulty of this question. This makes me happy. Some things do stay the same. Some people play volleyball at the beach, some people just sit around in the sun, some people go running. And gymnasts, well, we do gymnastics.

  “I think back handsprings, since it’s the Fourth,” she decides.

  I give her a mock quizzical look. “Why are handsprings better for the Fourth?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. They’re flashier, I think.”

  “A double back would be flashier.”

  “Yes, but not as fun to do in the sand, and you can’t get as far down the beach with double backs. You do one and then it’s over.”

  “True.” Then I realize there’s a potential wrench in our fun as I take in Alex’s choice of swimsuit. “Um, I hope you tied that top on tight,” I say.

  “Oh. Right.” She walks back toward the beach blankets where our mothers are trying not to stare at us, but doing a terrible job at hiding their interest. She scoops up a T-shirt, pulls it over her head, and tucks the ends underneath the edge of her bikini bottom so it doesn’t ride up, the same way we sometimes do with our leotards when we are at practice. This cracks me up.

  “What do you think?” she asks, giving a turn.

  “I think it works.”

  “Let’s go, then,” I say, and we take off jogging toward the water where the tide has gone out, leaving behind the firm sand that’s perfect for doing gymnastics.

  “Do you think you can make it past that lifeguard chair this time?” Alex points down the beach toward an old wooden perch with the number 3 painted on a sign attached to the side. A girl in a bright orange swimsuit sits at the top, her eyes on the people swimming in the surf.

  We’ve been flipping for almost an hour, long enough for the sun to have begun its descent toward the horizon. It’s amazing how doing gymnastics at the beach can feel so different from doing it at practice, how the fun of it can make us forget everything that happens at the gym.

  “I don’t know. Can you make it?” I ask her.

  “Sure. Why not? Let’s see who gets there first.”

  I laugh. “You’re really going to challenge me with back handsprings?”

  Alex smiles. “I guess so. Looks like we have a clear path too. But we won’t for long, so come on.”

  “Fine, fine,” I say, turning to her. “Ready?”

  She nods.

  “Set … go!”

  Both of us run down the shoreline into a round-off back handspring. When our feet land, we immediately stretch into another and then another, each one covering more ground than the last as our momentum picks up. Flip-flops are one of the most basic moves a gymnast can master, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are fun. Your body showing off how powerful it can be, the way your hands whip over your head, coupled with the perfect arch in your back and the force of your legs driving toward the ground — it’s exhilarating.

  As I pound across the beach, my hands and feet kick up tufts of sand, packed hard from the crush of the waves earlier in the day before the tide went out. The sound of the surf sizzling as it rushes toward the shore makes me excited for a swim. This tumbling run is it for me today, I decide, and probably for Alex too, but our plan to reach the lifeguard chair is cut short by two trolls.

  Sarah Walker and Jennifer Adams stand there facing us, their hands on their hips.

  “Aren’t you two the adorable pair,” Sarah says.

  “The Gansett Darling Duo,” Jennifer says with a smirk. “Is that what you’re called?”

  Alex glares at them. “Well, I thought it was pretty sweet the way you two wept for me the other day.”

  Jennifer looks confused. “What are you talking about?” she asks.

  “Oh, you know. When I won the gold medal for All-Around, and you were so happy for me you cried?”

  “It won’t always be you up there,” Sarah hisses.

  “Yeah. Maybe next time, it will be Joey,” Alex says, grabbing my arm. “Come on, we’re going for a swim. See you later, ladies!”

  We walk toward the water and a wave thins out across our feet. The temperature is cool but refreshing after so many hours working out.

  “Thanks for standing up to them,” I say to Alex as the surf rises to our knees. Kids are splashing in the water around us. A bunch of guys plays keep-away to our left. “I’m always speechless around those two. Especially Sarah.”

  “No problem. At least some things don’t change.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sarah and Jennifer may be able to dish it out, but I can dish it right back. You need to learn to do it too, Joey.”

  “Not really,” I say, giving her a playful shove, wading farther in. “I’ll always have you for that.”

  Before Alex can respond, a huge wave rises in front of us, the top edged with white, getting higher and higher as though it’s hesitant to crash. Alex and I both dive under it.

  I come up first, breaking through the surface just as a baseball whizzes by my head. It makes a loud plop as it lands. The keep-away guys shout “Sorry!” as I bounce through the chest-deep water to retrieve it.

  But someone else gets there first, swimming fast under the water, a hand closing around the ball as he emerges from below. Water streams off him in torrents as he shakes off the excess, hair slicked back, his eyes fixed on me.

  “Joey Jordan,” he says with a grin. “We meet again.”

  “Hi, Tanner,” I say, trying to minimize the giant smile that wants to cross my face.

  “I knew that was you flipping down the beach.”

  Alex arrives and the three of us bob up and down in the waves.

  “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Alex,” she says.

  “Nice to meet you again.”

  “I heard you were back in town,” she says. “From Joey.”

  His grin gets bigger. “So you’ve been talking about me,” he says in my direction.

  Before I can think of a comeback, one of the guys from the game calls out, “Hey, Hughes, any day now!”

  “Gotta go. See you around,” he says, and dives under the water, swimming away. We wait until we see him pop up and throw the ball back to the other guys.

  It’s Alex’s turn to give me a shove. “He got hot, Joey.”

  “Did he? Hmm. I guess I didn’t notice.”

  “Yeah, right, you didn’t,” she says.

  I can tell she’s about to try to dunk me, so I jump away, laughing and ducking under the water myself. The two of us stay in the ocean until our fingertips are wrinkled and the sky is a deep pink. With arms wrapped around our middles, shivering, we run up the beach to grab towels and dry off before the fireworks start.

  Mrs. Hughes, Tanner’s mother, is standing there chatting with my mom and Mrs. Tamsen. Her hair is thick and long and blond like her son’s. She looks younger than most of the mothers I know, even mine.

  “Joey!” Mom says the second I’m within earshot. “I can’t believe you didn’t mention that the Hugheses were back in town. Mary was just telling me that you ran into Tanner here last week.”

  I wipe my face with
the towel, as much to hide as to dry off. When I pull it away and wrap it around my body, I see Mrs. Hughes wears a sympathetic expression. She clearly didn’t mean to rat me out. “Hi, Mrs. Hughes,” I say. “Welcome back.”

  “Thank you, Joey.” She turns back to my mom. “I should have come by sooner anyway. It’s been so busy at work. We got here and I hit the ground running….” The three mothers huddle up again, continuing their conversation as though Alex and I aren’t there.

  Which is fine with me.

  Alex and I do our best to soak up the water from our hair and head to the pavilion to change out of our wet bathing suits into shorts and T-shirts. By the time we return, it’s almost dark, stars beginning to twinkle above us, a sliver of moon like a bright white cutout amid all that deep blue. The night is clear and warm. Perfect for fireworks.

  When we’re almost back to the blanket, Alex starts giggling.

  “What?” I ask, suspicious.

  She points and I follow the line of her finger.

  Tanner Hughes is standing next to his mother, who is still chatting away with mine and Alex’s. He looks incredibly awkward.

  Okay, I’ll be honest: incredibly awkward and really, really hot.

  He shrugs when our eyes meet. “Hey,” he says.

  “Why don’t you kids go find a good spot to watch the show?” my mother says. “That way you can catch up.”

  Alex answers for me. “Sure,” she says, and then to Tanner, she asks, “Where should we go?”