Return to Us

by Julie Cross

  But she’s got a phone. A smart phone.

  I head in her direction and take a seat on the cushion beside her. “Nice dress.”

  She looks up, all excited and hopeful. Yep, I was right.

  “Does Nina know you’re here and…” I take the plastic cup from her hand and sniff it, “… drinking Kool-Aid cocktails with the big kids?”

  “Nina’s in Houston,” she says, faking confidence. “Stevie said it would be good for us to socialize.”

  I follow her gaze across the room and spot Stevie, drinking her own cup of Kool-Aid cocktail. Two of the other girls stand on either side of her. I scan the room completely and am surprised to be relieved that the three sixteen-year-olds are nowhere to be found. Ariel is eighteen—veteran age. In the gym, she’s fierce and professional. But here she gives off a much younger vibe. Like a little girl playing dress up.

  I peel my gaze from Stevie and look at Ariel again. “Hey, can I look up something on your phone?”

  “Uh… okay, sure…” She hesitates, squeezing the pink plastic more firmly. I know it’s not because she’s got some secret shit on there or anything. She just doesn’t have a clue what to do with herself if she’s not busy reading her phone.

  “Or you can look it up for me,” I suggest. “I need to see if anyone put my triple back on the Internet. Someone’s been recording Campbell, so it’s possible.”

  “Your triple back is amazing.” She stares at me and I sit there waiting. Anytime now… I lift an eyebrow and nod toward the phone in her hand. She jumps to life again. “Oh right. Okay, sure.”

  She goes to town, fingers flying over the screen. We both wait for the results and then make sure they’re sorted by newest uploads. The first video is from last year’s Junior Nationals. Before I can stop her, she hits play. I have to squeeze my eyes shut halfway. I don’t want to see my stupid-ass easy as hell passes. God, I fucking sucked last year.

  “So nothing new?” I ask.

  “Doesn’t look like it.” She continues scrolling but eventually shakes her head.

  Well, I still don’t know how the weird gym creeper knew about my triple, but at least the whole world doesn’t know yet. I need that element of surprise on my side next month.

  And he’s got to be wrong. There’s no way you aren’t supposed to set a double double up high like a triple back. The higher you jump, the better, right?

  “Hey,” I say to Ariel. “Find me a video of a double double on floor, will you?”

  I chug the beer in my hand and then get up to grab another one before sitting next to her again.

  “Okay,” she says, all businesslike. “There’re a few good ones. I think Stevie’s got the best double double of any female gymnast in the world.”

  “Do I look like a girl?” I snap. I groan to myself and then down another half a beer. I need to learn how to be nice. At least when I’m using someone for their Internet access.

  Ariel’s cheeks turn bright red. She flips her blond hair forward to hide them. “Right. Guys only. Got it.”

  “No offense…” It’s a poor attempt at recovery. Maybe I’m nicer after two beers. I finish the drink in my hand quickly while she shows me four different videos and then I get another.

  After three beers, this skill is starting to look completely different. “I don’t fucking get it. They’re twisting right off the floor. I thought you weren’t supposed to do that?”

  “I train by myself too,” Ariel says. Okay, random? “The next highest level gymnast in my gym is a level nine. My parents are all about being the big fish in a small pond, but it gets lonely sometimes, not having any teammates at my level to practice with every day.”

  Oh, I get it. We’re alike. Yeah, right. I start to laugh and then the beer freezes at my lips when I see her face fall. Shit. Oh shit. I know that look. There’s no way in hell I’d ever hook up with one of Nina’s gymnasts. I wouldn’t put it past Nina to find a way to castrate me in my sleep.

  Since I’m an asshole, I don’t even try to let her down easy. “What are you doing?” I drill.

  “Nothing, I’m just…” she stares at the screen on her lap. “I don’t know—”

  “No offense, chica,” I interrupt, saving her the trouble of finding the right words. “You’re not even on my radar. Not with your keeper practically holding a knife to my throat. Find yourself a nice preppy boy with four names.”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “Four names?” she mouths as I get up to walk away. I wave to a different blonde across the room, but before I can head in that direction, Ariel grabs the back of my shirt.

  I glare at her over my shoulder. “I’m not kidding, you aren’t my type.”

  “You can’t hook up with her.” Her eyes dart around and her voice comes out low, like she’s hissing at me. “That’s Liberty…”

  “So?” I shrug out of her grip.

  She looks at me expectantly. “That’s Jordan’s ex…”

  I grin at her. “Ex being the key word.”

  Three beers is enough to give me a good buzz and by the time I reach Liberty, I’ve got a fourth drink in my hand and I’ve decided this is a very good idea. I’ll sacrifice myself to find out if Jordan is really as into Campbell as he claims to be. A guy in love with someone new can’t get jealous of his ex, right?

  Besides, this chick is hot and there’re no old ladies watching over her shoulder. No padded bra and innocent virgin eyes. Exactly my type.

  I lean against the wall, studying her face, trying to decide what approach to take. I could really use some action tonight. And with Jordan out playing Lumber Jack Boyfriend, my cabin is wide open for company.

  “You’re not gonna throw some corny line at me, are you?” she says.

  I might not know much about her, but I do know she’s a straight shooter. “No, but I bet he will…” I point my beer bottle at one of the preppy coaches who told me last week that his family has a vacation house in Mexico so he’s very familiar with my “culture.”

  Liberty laughs and slides a few inches in my direction. She’s almost exactly my height. “John William Jeffrey Stoneman the fourth—the only boy to ever attempt to woo me with his ability to recite the lyrics to the Canadian national anthem.”

  I knew I was on to something with that four names stuff. “You’re Canadian? Sorry, I can’t do polite girls. It’s hell on my guilty conscience.” I start to walk away, but she grabs my sleeve and pulls me back.

  There’s barely any space between us now that she’s reeled me back in. This is easy. Too easy. I can see the rest of it playing out perfectly. I’ll kiss her, lead her back to my cabin, we’ll toss some clothes on the floor…

  This is what I do best. It’s familiar. And judging by the look she’s giving me, I think maybe we’re not so different. “You want another drink?”

  She nods and lifts her can of beer, showing me the label. Bud Light. Typical. While I’m walking over to a big red cooler, I catch Ariel’s eye and nod toward preppy Canadian loving boy with all his names. “Go talk to him,” I mouth.

  She flashes me a smile, but shakes her head. At least I didn’t make her cry. That’s one point for TJ tonight.

  After grabbing more beer, I clap John on the back and spin him around to face Ariel, who’s practically got her nose to her phone again. “That girl is dying for you to go talk to her. I heard she’s all about international travel.”

  “That girl?” he says, pointing at Ariel. Let’s make it a little more obvious, dude. “Oh no… she’s totally out of—”

  “Options for nice virginal boys from fancy prep schools.”

  He glares at me, but when I look over my shoulder, he’s walking that way. I hand Liberty her beer and notice she’s laughing. “Well played, Mr. Matchmaker. You do this often?”

  “Sure.” I rest a hand on her hip. “I’m thinking of startin’ a website.”

  An awkward silence falls between us and I know that’s my cue to make a move. She’s obviously on the same page as me—small talk is exhau
sting.

  I kiss her without hesitation, bringing us together. She dives in with as much enthusiasm as I do, but after a minute pulls away. “You don’t care if I like… don’t have any desire to talk to you tomorrow?” she asks, one eyebrow lifting.

  “Nope, not at all.” I slide my fingers up her back. “In fact, we don’t even have to talk tonight.”

  She sighs, relieved. “Good.”

  I turn her around and lead her toward the exit.

  ChApTeR EiGhT

  ~Tj~

  “You’re not gonna say anything to Jordan, are you?”

  I slide out from under the bottom bunk and hand Liberty her lime green panties—they’d gone missing and it took a flashlight and a mouthful of dust to get them back. “I’m sure I’ll say something to him. Summer’s only halfway over and we share a bunk bed.”

  She glares at me, stuffing the panties into her shorts pocket.

  I take my time standing up, then finally say, “I don’t fuck and tell if that’s what you’re asking?”

  The glare smooths into a look of satisfaction—hopefully my doing ‘cause I like to know my skills are still intact—then she spins around and heads toward the door. “Thanks for… this, TJ.”

  This night couldn’t have gone more perfectly, but I get this weird hollow feeling when she says the parting words I’d been hoping to hear. Something free of attachment or emotion. Just physical fun. Maybe it’s because I can’t get Ariel and that stupid preppy prick out of my head. I keep thinking how he could be a complete ass—I mean, I’m an ass but at least I’m not into manipulating innocent girls—and talk her into shit she doesn’t want to do. I blow out a frustrated breath and then charge out the door, jogging up the path beside Liberty.

  “Looking for a new pet?” she says, flashing me a grin. “I envy your endurance.”

  I laugh. We’re too much alike. “Nah, just checking on the matchmaking project. I’ve got money on it.”

  “Good luck,” she calls before heading into her cabin.

  The party hasn’t died down at all since we left. Then again it’s only been an hour and a half. Liberty wasn’t messing with me when she hinted at being all-business. When I scan the room, I don’t see John with four names anywhere, but Ariel’s still on the couch, her teammates hanging out with her. I sigh with relief. She’s a fucking elite gymnast. She doesn’t need to go to parties and hook up.

  I, on the other hand, only have one event to train, so that gives me more free time to socialize.

  I spot Stevie, now with a beer in her hand, having a loud animated argument with Jordan’s buddy, Joel. Both are waving their hands around and I have a feeling this is about deductions or code of points or some shit like that. I mean what else does Stevie Davis have to talk about?

  Still, I get this twinge of something. If she’s gonna argue with a guy I’d rather it be me. I head toward Stevie and her eyes narrow when she sees me.

  “Nice to see you, too, Davis,” I say. “You look baked. How many drinks have you had?”

  “Too many to be—” Her eyes widen. “Oh shit. Oh… shit.”

  Joel gets tugged away by a group of girls and suddenly Stevie Davis is turning me around, hiding behind my back. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask, then I see the weird gym stalker dude looking around, the door still in his hand like he’s not sure if there’s an age limit on this party.

  “Don’t let him see me,” Stevie mutters into my back.

  “Why? You’re not one of those chicks who’s into older dudes, are you?” I hold back the look of disgust I’d like to be wearing. She doesn’t seem the type, but what the hell do I know?

  She pokes me hard between the shoulder blades. “You are such an idiot. And gross, seriously. That’s my coach. I’m drunk and that’s my coach. He’s not even supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

  I should be having fun with this, taking full advantage of the situation because I’ve never seen Stevie Davis so off her game before. But I can’t because I’m too busy catching the fuck up. “Wait, that’s…”

  “Coach Bentley.”

  Huh. The dude screwing with my tumbling is Jordan’s dad. I look him over again, adding this new information. “Maybe Jordan told him about my triple back?” I mutter under my breath.

  “Who gives a shit about your triple back! I need to get out of here. Is there another exit?”

  For a drunk girl, her speech is pretty clear.

  Coach Bentley zooms right in on us, releases the door and heads in our direction. I step to the side, revealing her the rest of the way. He’s already seen her, so what does it matter? “I think you just got spotted.”

  She thrusts her beer can in my hand, but I hand it right back. “I don’t drink light beer, honey.”

  The hand holding the beer is quickly tucked behind her back. Her whole face brightens and she plasters on a fake smile. “Hey, Coach, what’s up? How was your flight? TJ and I were just talking about Nationals and how close it is—”

  He waves a hand to stop her. “I’m a day early. Nina’s gone. You’re having fun. I get it.”

  Her face crinkles up. “You do?”

  “Of course I do. And you’re nineteen, Stevie, not twelve.” His eyes bounce between us. “Do you know where Jordan is?” He looks around the room again. “If Karen’s here, there’s no way he’s not around somewhere…”

  Stevie looks all wide-eyed again, like she’s not sure if their night in the wilderness is a secret, considering they should have beaten him back to camp. If he hadn’t shown up early.

  “Karen’s not here,” Stevie says, finally but doesn’t even bring up Jordan or answer his question.

  Whatever. I’ll be the devil tonight. “They’re camping.”

  He frowns. “Both of them.”

  “Yep.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yep.”

  His face returns to that game-face I saw in the gym earlier. “Okay, thanks.” Before walking away again, he looks at me. “I’ll be in the gym in the morning if you change your mind about what I said.”

  “Uh… okay.” I don’t know what else to say. I basically told him to go screw himself earlier and it’s like that side of the conversation never happened.

  We watch him walk out the door and then Stevie sags against the wall, closing her eyes. “Jordan is in so much trouble.”

  “Jordan? Why? For taking Campbell away? Think she’ll get hurt hiking or something?” Why hadn’t that crossed my mind until now? Nina would have probably had a heart attack if she knew where they went.

  “More like for spending the night alone with her.” Stevie pushes off the wall and heads for the exit. I follow her. “Bentley’s gotta play the concerned father on both sides now.”

  I’ve met the fists of a few concerned fathers with daughters so I get what she’s saying.

  Stevie stumbles a little on the steps and I instinctively reach out a hand to steady her. She grins at me. “TJ the hero. Always diving to the rescue of falling girls. How’s Liberty, by the way? I’ve heard from a few others that she’s got some special talents.”

  Thank God for condoms.

  “And you’re polite, too,” Stevie says after my obvious silence regarding the Liberty issue. “What a great combination.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’m every mother’s dream.”

  She laughs, but the dark secretive kind. “Well, I can’t vouch for all the mothers out there, but I will say, mine wouldn’t be fazed by your bad-boy self at all.”

  My heart speeds up. “Don’t tell me your mom’s dead, too, like Campbell’s?”

  “Not dead.” She slams the door on that subject and shifts to something else. “What is it with you and Karen? Everything you say is Campbell this and Campbell that.”

  She’s got the drunken act down now. Must be a delayed reaction to that last drink. And what is it with me and Karen? I have no fucking clue. I feel like every time I go near her, I get another reason to tug at my shirt collar. And then I have to fix w
hatever I screwed up. That’s all it is.

  I think that’s all it is.

  If Coach Bentley can take her in and then turn all concerned father, could something like that happen to me? Like without my choosing.

  Stevie walks up the steps to her cabin slowly, then turns around, pressing her back against the door. “You and your triple backs and your hot sex with Liberty.”

  I never called it hot sex out loud, did I? “What’s your point, Davis?”

  “My point is…” She closes her eyes, blowing air out of her cheeks like she’s trying to speak clearly. Feeling that last beer now, Stevie? “You get to be adventurous, throwing your triple flips and experimenting with dozens of girls, and I get to be a sheltered prude who’s only about ninety percent of her world champion self.”

  I open my mouth to argue but she shakes her head. She’s not finished. We haven’t gotten to the insulting me part. “We both know how wrong that assumption is. You throw triples because you’re too cocky to let someone help you learn how to twist your double flips. I did watered-down routines at an international competition because I knew…” Her eyes fly open and she’s pissed. “I knew it would pay off later on because my fundamentals needed work.”

  I was 100 percent right earlier. Screwing is better than talking. “Fundamentals are for when you’re too scared or weak to throw the big skills.”

  “Right, totally right.” A look of satisfaction fills her face. “For years, I had a coach who let me get away with decent form because I had flashy skills. It got me injured, kept me out of the Olympics, and pretty much ruined my entire life. But you don’t need to hear any of this, TJ. You know everything about me already. I’m sure you know what it feels like to be the favorite and then the second you get hurt, all these people who told you you’re freaking amazing, suddenly look at you like you have leprosy. That’s what’s gonna happen. You’ll be the kid with the triple until you break your ankle and then no one can even look you in the eye.”

  My stomach twists into knots. I don’t know what to say. I can barely think past the layers of confusion. “Your drunk ass needs to get to bed,” I say lamely.