My mouth opens again, but Tanner gets there first. “My friends and I are meeting up at lifeguard chair number four to see if we can claim it.”
“That’s a great idea,” Alex says. “Right, Joey?”
“Um, yes, I suppose?” My tone goes up at the end like I’ve just asked a question, but I think I’m already agreeing to this plan.
Alex and Tanner are a ways down the beach before I pull myself together enough to run and catch up. On my way, I say a prayer to the goddesses of gymnastics — Nadia, Dominique, Nastia, and Ecaterina — asking them for the willpower to resist the temptation that is Tanner Hughes ahead of me, to stop noticing things like the way his blond hair curls at the nape of his neck, how his skin is tanned to a perfect golden color, and the muscles in his legs define themselves with each step. Gah! Perhaps I’m praying for blindness? Blindness feels like the only answer at the moment.
Alex, Tanner, and I don’t say much until we near the lifeguard chair, when Tanner introduces us to his friends, who are hanging around drinking sodas and goofing off. One of the guys and Tanner exchange what could only be called a meaningful look, and my entire body flushes. Has Tanner been talking about me to his friends?
Uh-oh. I look up at the stars, as if my gymnastics goddesses might be hovering above, waiting for me to pray to them again.
“Joey … Joey?”
Alex nudges me. “Tanner is talking to you,” she whispers.
I snap out of my little fantasy world. “Um, sorry. What?”
“You want to get up on the chair?” Tanner asks. “It’ll have the best view of the fireworks.”
“Uh, sure,” I agree. Then to Alex, I say, “You’re coming too,” and grab her arm with one hand, using the other to climb the ladder along the side of the chair. At the top, I take a seat at the far right edge. When Alex tries to sit at the other end, leaving room for Tanner in the middle, I shake my head no and pat the spot next to me.
“Seriously, Joey?”
“Yes, seriously, Alex,” I whisper.
She sighs and sinks onto the bench. Clearly, Alex thinks I am useless and confused when it comes to the species called boy.
And I fully admit: She is correct.
Tanner takes the only remaining place on the bench, to Alex’s left. We sit there a while, the three of us, Alex talking to me, and Tanner leaning down to joke around with the guys hanging out below. But thanks to the excitement in the air at the beach, the sound of the waves crashing along the shore, and the warm breeze running across our skin, the initial awkwardness dissipates and I start having fun.
Eventually, Alex turns to me, and her face says that she’s about to ask a favor.
“What, Alex?”
“Um, so … is it okay if I take off?” she blurts. “I kind of want to find Tommy.” Alex’s cheeks are flushed and her eyes shining just from saying this boy’s name.
“Sure,” I say. “Why not?” Who am I to stand in the way of love? Besides, she’s been there for me all night. Time to reciprocate the favor.
“You really don’t mind?”
“No. Not tonight I don’t.”
“Thanks, Joey,” she says, giving me a quick hug. “Bye, Tanner,” she adds before jumping down from our perch on the lifeguard chair and running off, leaving Tanner and me alone with only a narrow gap between us. Neither one of us moves even an inch.
Then Tanner turns to me. “I’m glad you were wrong,” he says.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Wrong about what?”
“Well, you told me that the only thing you do all summer is practice at the gym. Clearly not, since here you are. And here we are, finally hanging out.”
“But the Fourth of July is an exception,” I say. “And I did tell you that eventually we’d find time to catch up. So I guess this is it.”
Tanner gives me a look, his eyes alight with laughter. “Hmmm.”
“What now?” I ask, trying not to smile, and grateful that it’s gotten dark enough that he can’t tell my cheeks are burning red.
“If there’s at least one exception, I’m betting there are others too.”
“Nope,” I say with confidence. “Fourth of July is it. Then it’s all train, train, train until Regionals in August.”
“You’re really devoted to gymnastics, huh?”
I lean my head back against the edge of the lifeguard chair. “I am. I have to be. I want to win gold. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
For a moment, Tanner is silent. Then he says, “You know, I get that. I feel that way sometimes about soccer, that I don’t just want to be good, I want to be extraordinary. The kind of guy that leads the team.”
“Yeah?” I ask, turning to him again, interested to hear this.
He nods. “The kind of guy who is as dedicated to soccer as you are to gymnastics.”
This elicits a little smile. Tanner just complimented me — I think. Afterward we just sit there, staring at each other. I don’t know for how long, but it feels like forever and an instant at once.
Tanner takes a breath, about to say something else, when the first fireworks whistle up into the air. Our eyes automatically shift skyward to watch them burst into streams of sparkling blues and whites and reds. In the rush of the light and the crackle of the gunpowder, I take in Tanner’s profile, the way his hair curls along his forehead, the expression on his face, laughing and happy. For these few minutes, I let myself enjoy this, this moment when I might be like any other girl hanging out with a cute boy on the Fourth of July.
That’s me tonight, I decide: Joey Jordan, just an ordinary girl.
On Friday, I search the house for Julia and find her swimming out back. The sun has almost set and the sky is ringed with pink, red, and orange. All week, I’ve been trying to get up the courage to tell her what I’m doing, my plan — with Maureen’s help — to change my routines without Coach’s blessing. I’ve decided it’s worth it if it means I win gold. I know it is. “Hey,” I say to her.
“Hey yourself,” she says back.
“I have a favor to ask. You can’t tell anybody about it, though.”
Julia propels herself up and out of the pool, turning to sit along the edge, her legs still dangling in the water. “Ooh, a secret. I love secrets. Is it about a boy?”
I roll my eyes. “What is it with everybody’s obsession with boys lately?”
She laughs, the sound like bells. “I don’t know, Joey. You tell me. Who is obsessed with boys?”
“Nobody. Forget I said anything about them. The favor is something else entirely.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“I need you to take me to the gym tonight.”
“That’s the secret? You have practice?”
“Not exactly.”
Julia perks up again. “Then why?”
“Maureen is going to help me, ah, alter my floor and beam routines a bit.”
“Does Angelo know?” She sounds interested.
“No. That’s why it’s a secret.”
Julia stands up, water streaming from her bathing suit and legs onto the patio, then grabs a towel and begins to dry off. “If it’s a favor for Coach, I’m in.” Julia still thinks of Maureen as her coach, not Angelo.
“So you’ll drive me?”
“I will. Be ready in fifteen minutes,” she says, and heads inside to change.
“It’s a favor for me too,” I say softly, but she is already gone.
The parking lot at the gym is empty except for one other car — Maureen’s, I assume. Julia pulls the key from the ignition and the engine quiets. I’m about to get out, but before I can, my sister turns to me.
“How are you feeling about gymnastics lately?”
It’s so silent that it sounds like Julia is shouting. Or maybe it seems this loud because I hate getting this kind of Big Assessment Question about my commitment to the sport from members of my family. “Why is everyone so obsessed with the possibility of my quitting this summer?” I say. “Other people might be th
inking of quitting, but I’m not.”
Julia gives me a look. “Calm down, Joey. It was just a simple question.”
I huff and puff in the passenger seat for a few seconds. Simple it isn’t.
Julia waits. When she decides I’m done freaking out, she goes on, “I wasn’t insinuating that you should quit. I only wanted to check in on how you’re doing. You were really upset after the last meet, and now we’re at the gym at night, when no one else is here, keeping secrets.”
“Maureen’s here.”
“Obviously. But Angelo isn’t.”
“Just a few minutes ago you were intrigued about defying Angelo, and now suddenly you’re not? This doesn’t have to be a we, you know. Just a me. You’re free to go. If you want,” I add quickly.
“Would you like me to leave?”
I shrug. “It’s up to you.”
Julia sighs and looks at me in that I’m your older sister and I’m just trying to protect you way I’ve gotten used to after a lifetime of living with her. “I only want to make sure that you know what you are doing — what you’re getting yourself into. Angelo could kick you off the team if you’re going behind his back.”
“I know. But I’m still going inside.”
“Why don’t I stay for a while, then? Until you see what’s going on?”
“Fine,” I sigh, like this is a burden, when really I kind of want Julia to stay. I complain a lot about getting compared to my older sister, the eternal Darling of the Gansett Stars, but somewhere deep inside, in a place I would never admit to having out loud, I occasionally let myself hope that Julia’s magic will rub off on me. That if I hang around her long enough at the gym, or if she hangs around me, then I’ll find out that Julia isn’t the only one with a special destiny, and it’s simply in the Jordan genes to win gold.
“Are you coming or what?” Julia says. “You don’t want to be late for Maureen.”
“All right, all right,” I say, and we get out of the car.
Inside the gym, music is playing on the stereo.
Poppy, upbeat music. Not classical. Beethoven, Chopin, Mozart, movie soundtracks — that’s the kind of music that’s usually in the air when I’m here, because almost everyone uses classical music for their floor exercise routines these days. But this is different — the kind of music you want to dance around to in your bedroom when nobody is watching. The kind you sing along to in the car when it comes on the radio. Music you would actually download from iTunes because you like it. Just without the words.
Maureen watches for my reaction. She turns down the volume. “What do you think?”
“It’s yours, isn’t it?” Julia asks from over my shoulder. I thought she was going to stay in the lobby, out of sight, but suddenly it’s the three of us. “The music from your floor routine back when you were a gymnast.”
“Really?” I ask. “But this music is so unlike what we use today. It’s … it’s … so fun, it’s so, I don’t know, danceable, it’s got tons of … of …”
“Tons of personality,” Julia finishes for me. “That’s what the sports commentators said about it.”
“Yeah, that.”
“About you,” Julia adds, looking at Maureen.
Maureen smiles. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it’s about to become yours.”
Julia throws her head back, laughing. Claps her hands with glee. “No way!” she exclaims. “That’s fantastic.”
“But only if you want it, Joey,” Maureen adds.
“Coach hates this kind of music,” I say.
“Yes, he does.”
“He would never let me do my floor to that, no matter how much I liked it.”
“Probably not, no,” Maureen agrees. She walks up to me, puts her hands on my shoulders, and looks me in the eyes. I can hear Julia breathing behind me. “We are taking matters into our own hands.”
“I know,” I say, looking straight back at her to show that I am aware of the potential repercussions. “If Coach Angelo finds out, he’ll be … beyond angry.” I stop short of suggesting homicidal rage.
“Maybe.”
I nod. “Oh yes.”
“Is risking his fury worth it?” she asks.
I nod again, but more slowly this time. I’m excited and scared all at once. I want to do this so badly, but it’s also something that could get me kicked off the team. Probably worse than dating a boy. “It is,” I say finally. My turn to smile. “That music? I want it.”
“Good. Because like this music, you, my dear, have tons of personality. You have grace, style, charm, and a whole lot more. It’s a shame to let all that go to waste with the routine you do now. This is precisely what you need to win at Regionals this year. And just wait till you see what I have in store for your beam routine!”
With that, Maureen heads back toward the stereo, with Julia bouncing along behind her. My sister turns around twice to give me huge smiles and two thumbs-up, but I just stand there, unable to move, telling myself over and over that it’s all going to be okay.
Over an hour later, Maureen has taken me step-by-step through my new floor routine, with Julia calling out pointers now and then. The more I go through this routine, the more excited I am. The initial upbeat go-around of the floor emphasizes my poise, grace, and dance abilities as it leads into the first tumbling pass, and then comes the second, complete with hand flourishes, leaps, and jumps. Then the perfect ending: a Shushunova straddle jump that turns into a full twist that drops me to the floor just before the final pose. It’s fun, it’s upbeat, it’s unique, but most of all, it feels like it was made especially for me.
“So this was yours once?” I ask Maureen.
“More or less,” she says. “I’ve revamped it a bit to fit your strengths.”
“Really?”
“I’ve been thinking about using my old routine for a while.” She smiles. “I just needed the right gymnast to come along.”
“The choreography is amazing.”
Maureen’s cheeks turn slightly red at the compliment. “I hoped you’d think that.”
“I love it,” I say.
“All righty, then. Let’s do it again. From the top. Then we’ll do an initial run-through on beam.”
“Go, Joey!” my sister calls out from her perch on the vault, and I walk to the center of the floor and pose, ready to begin.
“You really think Coach Angelo won’t notice what I’m doing?” I ask Maureen after three more run-throughs on floor and some time trying out some new moves on beam. We are on our way out the door to go home.
Maureen raises her eyebrows, her hand hovering over the light switch by the wall. “What does he pay attention to, Joey? Think hard before you answer.”
Even in the shadows of the gym at night, the vault seems to stare me down. Then the uneven parallel bars. The beam. The floor exercise. I picture Coach Angelo here, at practice, barking orders and yelling about this and that. Height. Form. Technique. Momentum. Never, ever the dance moves on floor. Or the artistry between the truly quantifiable skills on beam. To Coach Angelo, these are all just filler between the real stuff. The stuff that counts. The stuff that the judges care about most. At least according to him.
“Coach Angelo watches the layouts and full twists and double backs. Tumbling passes. Vaults. And bar routines.”
Maureen nods. Smiles.
“But he stops paying attention during the other parts of routines. Like he doesn’t even notice they’re happening.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay. Maybe I could get away with practicing a few skills on beam without Coach getting a clue for a while, especially if I try them on the beam in back, against the wall. But do you really think Coach isn’t going to notice it if I suddenly have different music for floor? There’s no way. He’d go into conniptions.” I don’t really know what a conniption is, but my mother is always accusing my father of having one, so I am certain that, at the very least, it’s not a g
ood thing.
“I agree. The new floor routine, the new music, that part is more complicated.”
All the air flows out of my lungs upon hearing this, a long sigh of relief. Maureen doesn’t expect me to take supercrazy risks, then, only mildly crazy ones.
“That’s why you’ll practice your new routine only at night, with me,” Maureen goes on. “Every Friday until Regionals, we’re going to work until it’s perfect. And it will be perfect, Joey. You’ve got it in you. I know you do.”
As much as I can’t help but feel pride at Maureen’s confidence in me, the kind of affirmation I’ve always longed to hear from Coach Angelo, I’m still concerned that I will get in trouble. That it will never work out the way we want, or worse, that I’ll lose my spot on the Gansett Stars forever. But then my sister speaks up. “Joey, I think you should trust Maureen’s gut. She knows what she’s doing. Of all people, I know this is true.”
I turn to Julia. “You think so?”
Julia looks at me, really stares at me, hard, intense, so I know she’s serious. My sister has this way of making you believe that whatever she says will become real somehow. “Yes. And don’t forget, this was your idea too.”
I breathe deep. “I know.”
“Don’t worry yourself into the ground over it. Be happy. You were fantastic tonight,” Julia drops, as though she compliments me like this all the time.
She doesn’t. “Really? You think so?”
“Yes, Joey. I’m in if you are,” she adds.
Maureen approaches the two of us and puts one hand on my back, the other on Julia’s, so that the three of us are in a sort of huddle. It’s like we’re making a pact in the bluish glow of the darkened gym, and I start to feel the magic. I do. It is flowing from Julia and Maureen and swirling into the air around me, settling onto my skin, my bones, like fairy dust. And then Julia says the words that seal the deal, that make me believe that anything is possible.
“Sis, this is going to be your gold medal summer,” she says. “I can feel it.”
“Me too,” I whisper, because I can.
Then the three of us walk out into the night.
Gold Medal Summer Page 6
