Out for Blood

by Devyn Forrest

  She was right. If I was allowed into Denver Athletics, my entire life would change forever. I would train with the best and the brightest—including that blonde Poppy, who I had both idolized and kind-of hated, due to jealousy, since I had first read about her in that magazine. I had told my foster mother at the time, the one before Karla, that I was going to become just like Poppy one day. To that, my foster mom had pointed out that Poppy was exactly my age. “You can’t become like someone your own age. She’s already miles ahead of you.”

  “Just say you’ll do it,” Jeanine said. Her eyes glistened, like she, too, was about to cry. It was true that she had given basically her life to me, her gymnastics ‘prodigy,’ over the past few years. And me giving up meant—wasted time. It meant she had done nothing to build me into a strong gymnast.

  “Okay. I’ll do it,” I said, looking at her. I could feel my heart slamming into my chest. I felt my mouth break into a huge uneasy smile after I realized what I had said. It was the most terrifying moment of my life, but also the most exciting.

  Jeanine sprung forward and wrapped me in a hug, the kind that I really wasn’t used to getting—not from her, or from anyone for that matter. I let her hold me like that for a second. My heart beat wildly in my throat and finally, I spread my own arms around and patted her on the back. I wanted to really lean into it; take the hug for all it was worth. But doing that revealed how lonely I really was and I could never let anyone see that. I was just damn grateful she was in my life.

  She reared back and gripped my nose and then said, “Okay then. I’ll see you at the gym tomorrow. Immediately after your shift, okay? Don’t dawdle.”

  “I never do,” I said and rolled my eyes playfully, then gave her an enormous grin. She started her path back to her car, grabbing her keys and tossing them into the air, only to catch them with a clank.

  I hustled after her and called, “Wait! Can you give me a lift home?”

  She paused, gave me a funny grin, and nodded. “Only if we stop for milkshakes to celebrate,” she said, beaming at me.

  “You never let me have milkshakes,” I said, laughing.

  “Today, I do. It’s your last one for the rest of your life,” she said. “Well, at least until after the Olympics.”

  “Deal,” I said, jumping in the passenger seat and shutting the door.

  Chapter Three

  The next two weeks were the most tiring days of my entire life, by far. I bailed on my tutor, praying that I would just get into Denver and head straight into my junior year, regardless of my previous grades. I started working breakfast and lunch shifts at the diner, and then trained with Jeanine for six hours every single night, including Sundays. When I got home, I sometimes had to prep dinner for the kids, or help them through some kind of fight that had broken out about busted toys or what to watch on television. Sometimes, I had to put Jeffrey to bed or change his diaper. And sometimes, I even had to put Karla to bed, if she had one too many glasses of wine and crashed on the sofa. It all felt like a whirlwind, but I knew there was an end in sight; the audition. I could see the light, almost taste for Christ's sakes! I wasn’t about to give up now. I wanted it to be the first day of the rest of my life.

  I had never been to Denver Athletics. The road that led up to it was winding and strange, through the Rockies, and I gripped the edge of my seat, a bit tense, as Jeanine drove me up. I wore a new leotard that Jeanine had gotten for me, and it felt a bit tight against my abdomen like I was bloated from the pasta I last ate. Jeanine just glanced my way and gave me another eye roll. “You look fantastic and you’re performing better than I’ve ever seen you. Don’t think about your stomach. You’re too worried, kiddo.”

  Denver Athletics looked like an old university, built-in stone and stretching out between many gorgeous, enormous, two-hundred-year-old trees. I got out of the car and looked around without speaking for a while. I just wanted to take in the beauty that surrounded me. Jeanine checked her various papers, which we had filled out together. The information about my time in the foster system, since I had been dropped off by an ‘unnamed person’ at the age of three, also, my birthdate, my nationality and the fact that, in the eyes of the state, I was an orphan. All of that was on the papers. It branded me as someone ‘other’ in the gymnastics world. Jeanine told me to wear it as a badge of honor, but it was difficult to do, especially as we walked in with all the super-rich, very-clean-cut gymnasts on either side. They gave me sidelong glances, assessing me. A lot of them walked with their trainers and their parents, sometimes with brothers and sisters. I could feel the pressure on the gymnasts’ shoulders—all these people watching them, hoping that they honored their family correctly. I guess that was one benefit of being mostly alone.

  The gymnastics arena was in the back area of the campus, a large stone building with a bell tower. We entered the massive doors, wound down a shadowed hallway, and then crept into the cathedral-like gym, with glowing blue mats, a balance beam in the center of one, uneven bars off to the side, and a crowd of some fifty or so parents and onlookers in the stands. My heart dipped into my stomach and Jeanine gripped my arm and muttered, “Don’t worry about anyone else but yourself.” That was difficult when I had hardly performed in front of more than thirty or forty onlookers at the main gym in Denver. I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm my nerves.

  You can do this, Rooney. I said in my head over and over like a mantra.

  About twenty girls had been chosen for the audition. We all gathered on one side of the blue mat and stretched out, waiting for the judges and coaches to arrive. Iva, the girl from my downtown gym who had shamed me at the diner, was there. She gave me this funny, “I can’t believe she’s here,” look, and then tossed her ponytail to the side and continued to stretch. I didn’t recognize anyone else, but they definitely came from surrounding cities and states, with their eye on the prize of being awarded one of these coveted positions.

  A muscular man wearing a grey V-neck t-shirt and sweats hustled out onto the blue mat and greeted us with a broad smile. “Hello, ladies,” he boomed. “I’d like to welcome you to Denver Top-Level Athletics Academy. My name is Coach Jonathon, and I’ve worked here as the top gymnastics trainer for the previous ten years. Many of the guys and girls I’ve trained in this very gym have gone on to Nationals, the Olympic Trials, and then the Olympics themselves, and I take great pride in this organization and discovering the best of the best gymnasts in the country.”

  I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I felt like he was talking way too quickly like we all needed him to back up a bit and take a breath.

  “All of you are here based on your audition tapes,” he explained. “I received almost five hundred audition tapes from girls across the entire continent, including Canada and Mexico, and I have to say—choosing twenty of you to come out today was one of the most difficult tasks I’ve ever done. Most of those girls I had to leave behind would kill to be where you are today.”

  Another man, perhaps mid-fifties, yet still muscular and vibrant, walked out to join Coach Jonathon on the mat. Jonathon stopped speaking for a moment and pressed his palms together. The older man seemed to have more power, and Jonathon waited for him to speak. I wondered if I was supposed to know who he was.

  “Hello, girls,” the man said into the mic. His voice was similarly ‘important-seeming.’ “My name is Conrad Piper, and I’m the headmaster here at Denver Top-Level Athletics. I’ve been headmaster here for fifteen years, and I’ve seen countless athletes enter those big doors. It’s been a unique privilege to hone students like yourselves, ensuring that they keep up with both their academics and their athletics.” He gave a little bow and then said, “Jonathon here will be one of the judges for today, along with three other judges on the far side of the mat. There they are. Maybe they can give us a wave?”

  Two middle-aged women and a man I recognized sat at the far table. They gave weak waves. The man was Theo’s father, Thomas Everton, the old Olympic
silver-medalist. I swallowed, wondering if he recognized me at all from the gym. He had never spoken to me in all the years that Theo had been going there during Denver Athletics’ summer breaks. Did he know about my particular brand of ‘poor and orphan’? Would that hurt my chances at all? Oh, but we had already filled out the paperwork; they were going to know my truth, anyway. I couldn’t hide it.

  I was anxious and I felt like my muscles were way too tight to do even the most simple tumble. As Jonathon explained the routines we were going to play out for the judges, I practiced inhaling and exhaling. I felt like I had never breathed correctly before like I had to relearn.

  Each of the twenty girls had to perform the same routine on the balance beam first, followed by our own floor routines that we had each created ourselves. Jonathan said that our names would be randomly called out, which meant that we all had to stay stretched out and constantly panicking. We gathered along the side mats, leaving the balance beam area empty. Iva took a seat close to me and muttered under her breath, “I didn’t know they let actual foster trash into Denver Athletics.”

  My cheeks burned, and I knew they were red. I forced my eyes on my legs and hands as I continued to stretch out. A few of the other girls giggled, and one leaned over to ask Iva what she meant. Iva bowed her head toward me and said, “She’s been at my gym for years. She works at the diner downtown and can barely keep herself alive. Everyone says her foster mom is an alcoholic.”

  The first girl was called. I turned my head around quickly to stare at Iva with as much venom as I could muster. She beamed at me, like what she had said was actually interesting or creative. The truth was, I had heard far worse before. It would take a hell of a lot more than a few words or name’s to cut through my skin.

  “What are you going to do, foster trash?” she asked. “You gonna rip my head off?”

  “Sounds messy,” I scoffed and looked down at my legs. “I just got this new leotard.”

  “Now, I wonder how someone like you could afford to pay for something like that?” Iva asked under her breath. “Maybe a few blow jobs under the table. That your deal?”

  “Fuck you, Iva,” I spat and ground my jaw.

  “Please, quiet down, girls!” Coach Jonathan called out. “We’re going to begin the audition.”

  Each balance beam routine was about two and a half minutes long. But each routine was fucking brutal to watch. All the girls were at the top of their game. You could see it on their faces; they weren’t used to entering any kind of competition and losing.

  But the pressure was brutally intense at Denver Athletics, and it latched itself around quite a few of the girls’ throats. It was really apparent. Some of them didn’t hit jumps that they obviously hit every other time since they had learned the skill. One girl smashed her knees so hard on the mat that she slammed her hand against the blue mat and wailed out, “No!” in total frustration and not giving a shit who heard her. Some girls who made mistakes just hobbled off the mat crying, their hands over their eyes in total despair. They didn’t come back, not even ten minutes later. It was like they had made an executive decision to just give up.

  I was called after twelve girls had already gone. To hear my name out of Coach Jonathon’s mouth was really weird, like it didn’t belong there. I sprung to my feet and bowed my head toward him to alert that I had heard. Then, I tapped toward the balance beam. I could feel the eager eyes of some fifty people in the audience and around the mat. Just as I had been trained, I made sure not to look at the judges. I had to pretend they weren’t there in the room with me. Otherwise, I would fall flat on my face, either figuratively or literally, like the other girls.

  During my routine, I completely blacked out and became laser-focused. I whipped myself backward and forwards; gripped the beam and then swept back up, feeling myself swirling through the air like a wild butterfly. Then, I rocked off the beam and landed flat-footed, with my knees bent slightly. I ripped back and spread my hands wide, lifted my chin in assurance and flashed my widest smile. I had rocked it. Several people in the crowd clapped, but I couldn’t remember if the other girls received the same applause or not. Maybe they had? It didn’t matter at the moment, though. I knew I did my best.

  I walked off and sat back down next to Iva. Nobody said anything to me, but nobody had said anything to the others, either. My muscles were aching and some spasmed, but I was thrilled to have one-half of the portion complete. In just a few hours, everything would be done— final. I would be back at home—if not with an answer, then with some idea of whether or not I was worthy of getting into this prestigious school.

  Iva was called after me. She popped up and walked to the beam. As I watched her go, my eyes scanned toward the judges for the first time in a while. I noticed now that Poppy Binford was seated beside Jonathon, that she had clearly been there for a while without me noticing. She scowled at Iva. But as I stared at her, her eyes moved toward me. Her scowl took on even more menacing proportions. She looked at me like she wanted to murder me.

  But for me? I was relatively star-struck by her. I had always known her to be this world-class athlete. When I had first started training, I knew she trained in a gym close to me, and I begged Jeanine to take me to that one if only I could catch a glimpse of Poppy. Now, here she was. Had she seen my routine? I ached, wanting to know what she thought.

  Iva fumbled just once. Her back leg looked like it twitched in an awkward way when she landed on a backflip. I could see it on her face; she was miserable and angry. When she flung off the back, she landed perfectly, but she had already fucked herself. She pounded her feet as she marched off the mat and directly into the locker room, following after the other girls with similar mindsets. Their dreams had died there on the mat that day.

  After all, twenty of us had performed, Jonathon shot up from his seat and walked to the center of the mat. He beamed at us and said, “Thank you, ladies, for your strenuous efforts. In the interest of time, we had decided that we’re only going to keep seven of you for the second portion of the audition. Those girls are...”

  His eyes traced down his clipboard, studying the names before he called them out. I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I hadn’t expected there to be cuts so soon.

  “Monica Swiss, Piper Dean, Ollie Randall, Rooney Calloway...”

  The other names were just a blur in my head. I stretched my hands over my heart and gasped inwardly. I had made it to the second round. I had done it. Around me, girls who hadn’t heard their names rose slowly, grabbed their bags, and walked toward the locker room. The other six girls and I remained on the mat. We glanced around at one another, assessing the last of the competition. I couldn’t help but feel my heart pound in my chest and feel the butterflies in my stomach. I was nervous as hell.

  “As I said before, the next portion of the audition will involve the floor routines that you’ve prepared yourselves,” he continued. “But before we begin, I want to introduce you to our top gymnast here at Denver Athletics. Poppy, do you want to come out here for a moment?”

  Poppy joined Jonathon at the center of the mat. Beside him, she looked completely menacing. Her beautiful heart-shaped face was poised and somber, and she had her hands behind her back as she studied us. Her body was completely perfect—not bulky, like a lot of gymnasts, and her breasts still managed to be perfectly round, despite all the exercise. I was shocked to see that her eyes remained toward me like she had pegged me as some kind of enemy. I swallowed and for a moment, I felt like I had a sign around my neck.

  “Hey there, girls,” Poppy said. She turned her face on a dime and smiled sweetly at us. “It’s such a pleasure to be here for the second part of the audition. I remember mine, which was a few years ago. I was nervous!” She gave out a little laugh, like it was so foolish, now, remembering her nerves. “I’ve been here at Denver Athletics since I was a freshman, training with Coach Jonathon. Working here requires a huge amount of dedication and hard work, but once done, it’s life-changing.
You push yourself to limits you never imagined you could go. You become better at gymnastics, sure. But you also become a better person, because you know how to train your body and mindset.”

  “That’s right. Beautifully put, Poppy,” Coach Jonathon said and beamed at her. Then he turned his attention back to us to announce the order in which we were going to perform. My heart sank as he read my name last. It meant I was going to have to sit there and watch all the other perfectly-cultivated performances, living in a near-constant panic until I was allowed to go.

  God, it really couldn’t have been worse.

  Each routine was about four minutes long. The first girl, Monica, got up and stretched her head from side to side. You could hear her neck crack. Jonathon and Poppy walked off to the side to clear the mat, and the balance beam was taken away. Monica brought her long, slender leg out in front of her and tapped her toe twice, getting her bearing. I had heard her talking a little bit earlier, with this really lazy southern accent and had wondered if she was from Texas.

  Then, like a firework, she burst into her performance. She thrust herself back into a triple flip before landing perfectly, her arms outstretched like a ballerina’s. I forgot to breathe as she turned on her back leg, did a little pirouette, and then flung back again. It was fast, maybe too fast, and I had a sense she was getting really dizzy. I pressed my hands together, half-praying for her success and for her failure. Fuck, it was complicated. I shoved a fingernail in my mouth as I continued to watch her. My nerves were in overdrive.

  The only thing Monica didn’t quite get was her final landing. She seemed to land on her right foot wrong, and her face looked scrunched like she had a sudden burst of pain. My eyes shot toward Poppy. Like me, the rest of the girls and the judges smacked our hands together. Poppy didn’t applaud.

  The rest of the girls had completed their performances, and I continued to feel like I was deep underwater, finding it difficult to breathe. During some of the girls, I drifted off into my own world, not really wanting to know how good or not they were. It was a way of destressing in the situation. Whatever happened would happen, but it all depended on whether or not they fucked up, and whether or not I performed well. Everything hinged on this very moment.