Gold Medal Summer Page 4

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his voice cold.

  “Um, I just … I knew you’d want me to do my back layout first thing, so I thought I’d get on it before you needed to tell me to.”

  “Joey, what exactly did you fall on yesterday? Was it a back handspring back layout?”

  I hesitate, the inside of my stomach doing flip-flops. “Well … no.”

  “Don’t play games. You’re wasting time. Answer me.”

  I take a deep breath. “It was a back handspring, back handspring into a back layout.”

  “So what made you think that doing a single back handspring into a back layout would cut it?”

  I open my mouth and close it, then open it again. “Nothing, I just —”

  He raises a hand to cut me off. “Before you come down from that beam, Joey Jordan, you are to stick twenty tumbling passes without a single bobble. Do you understand?”

  I swallow. Nod.

  “You want to win, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Coach,” I say, then decide to go for broke. “But, well —”

  Angelo’s glare halts my words. “But what?”

  “Um, ah,” I say, stumbling, yet still determined. “I was thinking that maybe I’d do better, um, if we changed my routines to reflect my strengths.”

  Coach meets this challenge with a cold silence. “Ms. Jordan,” he says finally, his voice sharp with anger. “Twenty passes. Now. Your feet will not touch this floor until you are done.” He gives me a long, hard look before turning and walking away, as if I’d said nothing at all. “Alex,” he barks. “Come here!”

  The only sound is Alex’s hurrying feet. Everyone else has gone silent. I don’t need to look to know that all my teammates are watching me, waiting to see how I react. Inside, I know that my instincts are right, that with changes to my routine, I’d have a real chance at winning. But here at this gym, Coach’s orders are law, so there is nothing else to do but obey. I walk to the very end of the beam, my bare feet pressing against the rough, springy texture, my toes gripping the edge with each step, and once again, I am staring down the ends of my fingertips, my arms outstretched, ready to launch into my first of twenty back handspring, back handspring, back layout passes — that is, twenty if I stick every single one in a row. I could be here for the full six hours of practice if I can’t pull myself together.

  “Come on, Joey.”

  I hear Trish’s whisper off to my side, giving me courage, and I raise my head high.

  Then, once again, I throw my hands over my head to carry out the sentence Coach handed down, even if it takes me all day to do it.

  As I’m dressing to go home after practice, taking care not to touch the dark, purple bruises developing on the side of my right leg from my three-hour stint on the beam, Alex surprises me.

  “So do you want to walk back to your house together and hang out a while? Maybe we can swim,” she says.

  I turn to her, eyebrows raised. I thought maybe Truck Boy would be picking her up too. “Definitely,” I say, slipping my feet into my flip-flops. “I’m ready if you are.”

  But Alex is busy in front of the mirror, removing the elastic from her ponytail, fixing her hair. What has gotten into her? Does she think Truck Boy will be at the pool along with us or something? Everyone else disappears, saying their good-byes, until Alex and I are the only ones left.

  Our assistant coach, Maureen, pokes her head through the door to the changing area. Her dark eyes light up with her smile.

  “Great job, Joey,” she says.

  “Really?” I ask. Practice felt devoted entirely to my punishment on beam, which barely left time for even a few quick trips through my routines on the other events. Also, Maureen usually stays out of our path if Coach is on the rampage with one of us.

  “Your form is impeccable on floor and beam too, but your grace and that flexibility …” She stops, as if searching for the right words. “It’s breathtaking to watch. And I was thinking about what you said….”

  I look at her, confused. “What did I say?”

  “On beam today. You were talking to Angelo about adjusting your routines to emphasize those strengths. I think we should try it.”

  I perk up. “We should?”

  She smiles, but I can tell she’s nervous. Nobody “adjusts” routines without the approval of Coach, and I highly doubt Maureen has gotten a green light from him. “Yes. Let me think about how for a bit and then I’ll get back to you. All right?”

  “Sure,” I say, curious what she might have in mind, yet doubtful I’ll ever have the chance to find out. Coach is unlikely to change his mind, especially since I dared suggest the idea first, and you don’t go against him, not without dire risk to your place on the team. I can’t help but be at least a little hopeful, though. It’s nice to dream about things going my way. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll spend some time thinking about how too.”

  “Good,” she says, shutting the door and returning to the gym.

  Alex finishes with her hair. Finally. “Well, that was interesting.”

  “Maybe Coach knows?”

  “Right. Like you haven’t been wanting to change your routines forever and he’s forbidden it.”

  I think about Julia saying there’s more than one way to impress the judges, that it doesn’t always have to be about power and tumbling. “Maybe it’s time I defy Coach for once. Prove to him that he’s been wrong all along.”

  Alex’s expression is so skeptical I might have just told her that the sun isn’t coming up tomorrow or I met a real-life were-wolf or that Sarah Walker is actually a nice person.

  “You never know,” I say. “He might come around.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Joey,” she says, grabbing her stuff and limping down the long hallway lined with Julia glory to the exit.

  But the thing is, they already are.

  Alex and I don’t say anything else until we get outside, the heat greeting us with its sticky tongue, promising that the walk to my house will be gross.

  “I can’t wait to get in the pool,” I say.

  Alex smiles. She knows what’s coming. “I know. Me too.”

  “Race you, then? Because why not make this trip even more disgusting and the water even better when we get there?”

  “Of course,” she says.

  “Ready, set” — I give her a look and she nods — “go!”

  Despite the humidity and the bruises marking our bodies and the fact that Alex is favoring one ankle, she and I take off running, out of the parking lot and past the Dairy Queen and Tony’s Pizza, the T.G.I. Friday’s and the other assorted chain restaurants, through the center of town and then down along the beach. We fly past the ocean, me in the lead, then Alex, then me again, both of us picking up speed, all thoughts of our hurts forgotten, our strides longer and longer as we turn away from the waves and the long stretch of sand toward my house, which is just a few streets away now. We arrive at my front lawn at the exact same moment, so it’s a tie, and both of us lie down on the grass, our breaths coming in heaves, laughing.

  “Like we really needed to go for a jog after practice,” Alex says.

  “I know. But it’s kind of tradition, right?”

  Alex smiles, propping herself up on her elbows. “It is.”

  “All right, I’m going swimming,” I say, getting up and brushing away the blades of grass that are sticking to my skin. “Are you coming?”

  “Yup,” she says.

  We traipse through the house, Alex calling out “Hey, Mrs. Jordan” toward my mother’s studio before we head out the screen door onto the deck. Alex ducks into the bathhouse to change into her swimsuit and then it’s my turn. We pile our discarded workout clothing in a heap on a chair, and soon Alex is stepping onto the diving board at one end with me right behind her.

  “Any requests?” she wants to know, bouncing a little.

  “How about a double back?”

  “Done,” she says, turning around to face me, positionin
g herself at the very edge of the springy board, standing high on her toes. She jumps once before taking off into two lightning-speed, perfect somersaults, and then splashes into the water.

  “Come on, Joey,” Alex calls out to me. “The temperature is perfect.”

  “So what’ll it be?”

  She looks thoughtful, bobbing in the deep end, her hair slicked back from her forehead, making her eyes seem even bigger than usual. “A full twist, I think?”

  “You got it,” I say, readying myself at the back of the board. I take two practiced strides, then launch myself from the end like I am heading into a vault, feeling that familiar freedom of being shot into the air. But instead of Coach’s watchful, critical eye to worry about, there is only blue sky and sun and my body whipping around until my eyes spot the board’s edge, and my toes and then the rest of me plunge through the pool’s surface.

  When I come up for air, I’m smiling. Swimming out here is perfect after a grueling practice. Alex has already claimed her favorite inner tube, and she’s floating in the shallow end, her knees slung over one end, her back against the other. She paddles in my direction, dragging another water ring with her. I climb over the side and sink into the middle, keeping one hand on Alex’s tube so we stay close together.

  I already know what I want to say and I wonder if Alex can sense what’s coming. “So …”

  Alex twirls around so she faces me, circles swirling out from the inner tube toward mine. “So?”

  “Before practice today …”

  A guilty look crosses her face. “You saw me, didn’t you?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Was there actually something to see?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Her voice has become small, but there is excitement underneath it, like she’s dying to get this out.

  And I, her dear friend, will help in this time of need. “Spill, Alex,” I say, blocking the sun’s glare with a hand over my eyes. “Who’s the guy? And since when is there a guy? And since when is the guy driving you around? In his truck?”

  “One question at a time, please.” She grins.

  My jaw drops. She is actually enjoying this. “Stop stalling!”

  “You can’t tell anybody or I’ll be in so much trouble.”

  “Yeah, you would. Coach would kick you off the team for breaking the number one rule. And no, I’m not going to tell.” I look at her with mock offense.

  “I met him at the diner downtown one night last week — he’s working there for the summer. I walked in to pick up our take-out and he was running the cash register and we got to talking and …” She trails off, like the rest is obvious.

  “And…?” I prompt Alex to finish.

  “You know.”

  I flick water at her. “Um, no, actually, I don’t. How you get from hello to a boy giving you a ride somewhere is a total mystery to me. But I’m sure you’re going to give me all the details.”

  Alex splashes me back. “He asked my name and I asked his and he got my number and then he called.”

  “He called you!” Not once has a boy ever called the house asking for me. “When?”

  “That same night. And every night since.”

  She drops this like it’s nothing.

  “Alex! You’re just telling me this now? I can’t believe you.” This time I flip her out of the inner tube and crashing into the pool. She fully deserves it for holding back, and I don’t feel an ounce of guilt.

  When she comes up from under the water, she’s too giddy to be angry. “I like him, Joey.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. You’ve got a gooey look on your face and you’re not the slightest bit annoyed that I dunked you.”

  “Maybe a little,” she says, but she is smiling wide.

  I can’t help but laugh at this. “What’s his name?”

  “Tommy. Tommy Ayers,” she says, struggling to settle back onto the inner tube, her eyelashes glittering with beads of water. “He’s sixteen and he’s from the West Coast and he is totally, utterly dreamy.” Alex rests her head against the float, staring up at the sky.

  “I hate to be the bearer of reality, but —”

  “Joey, don’t say it,” she cuts in before I can finish.

  “Somebody has to, Alex. And if no one else knows, then I guess it’s my job to do it.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to be reminded that I can’t have a boyfriend, that gymnastics is more important than everything else, that we need to make sure our priorities are straight. I’ve heard it all before.”

  “Good. So then you know you have to stop seeing him before Coach finds out.”

  “I won’t, though.”

  “But Alex —”

  “Stop,” she interrupts again.

  “— I don’t know what I’d do if Coach kicked you off the team!”

  Alex puts a finger to her lips to shush me.

  “Fine,” I say, relenting, and for a while, we float in silence, the lapping of the water against the sides of the pool the only sound other than the occasional bird tweeting overhead. Alex drifts into the deep end while I stay in the shallows, one hand gripping the pool’s edge, thinking. Eventually I call out, “So I guess I have some news too.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nod.

  She paddles toward me until she can grab my float and lock on to it. “Well, tell me already.”

  I take a deep breath. I know I need to get this out. Once it’s in the open, I can move on. “I saw T.J. today.”

  Alex’s eyes widen. “T. J. Hughes? From years ago?”

  I can feel my cheeks redden. “Yes. Though he now goes by Tanner.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. I just ran into him down on the beach. End of story.”

  “Joey.” Alex’s tone is scolding. “I know you’re holding back.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “What do you want to know that you think I haven’t told you?”

  “Is he cute or what?”

  I close my eyes a moment and remember the way his hair curled down around his eyes and the sides of his face, the smile full of mischief, the big eyes, and the laughter in his voice. “I suppose so.”

  “Right. Uh-huh. So he was exceedingly adorable.”

  I give Alex a look. “It wouldn’t matter if he was the hottest guy in the universe, because we can’t be thinking about boyfriends. Now isn’t the time. We can worry about dating boys after we retire. Then we’ll have plenty of time for romance.”

  “Okay, Coach Angelo.”

  “Hey! It’s just the truth. It’s what we signed up for when we decided we wanted to compete at Nationals one day. And, ideally, the Olympics.”

  Alex’s expression turns serious. “I’m not so sure anymore, Joey. My ankle has been hurting me for over a year and I’m tired of all this pain.”

  Goose bumps ripple across my forearms. I’m suddenly afraid of what Alex might say next, where this is going. “You’re not sure about what?”

  “I’m not sure I agree that boys are for later, and I’m not sure I want Nationals anymore, and I’m not sure the sacrifices are worth it.”

  “But, Alex, you’re the best on our team! You always win! If anyone has a shot at winning the gold at Regionals in August, it’s you! You would give all of that up? How could you?”

  “Easy,” Alex says, popping up out of the inner tube with a loud splash and planting her feet in the shallow end. “I would just quit.”

  Before I can recover from the shock, before I can say another word in protest, Alex is out of the pool and heading toward the bathhouse to change. She wraps a towel around her hair so it covers her ears, like she’s already telling me she can’t hear me.

  Set daily, monthly, and long-term goals and dreams.

  Don’t ever be afraid to dream too big.

  Nothing is impossible.

  If you believe in yourself, you can achieve it.

  — NASTIA LIUKIN, USA,

  2008 Olympic A
ll-Around champion

  A few days pass, and by the Fourth of July, everything goes back to normal. Well, everything goes back to the appearance of normal, but I know better. Things are changing. I can’t stop thinking about Tanner and wishing I’d run into him, and I can’t stop thinking about Maureen’s promise to help me figure out new routines either. Alex has lost some of her luster at the gym, but out in the world, she glows. The reverse used to be true. I don’t know what to make of it.

  “Alex, Alex!” Coach shouts at practice, heading toward us. We’ve just rotated from vault to bars, and I’m warming up on one set while Alex warms up on the other. She drops down from the high bar. “Your form is atrocious. Your back isn’t straight, your legs are like jelly. What is going on with you?”

  Alex just shrugs, like she doesn’t care. “Bad day, I guess,” she says.

  Coach stops at the edge of the floor and stares at her. “Champions can’t afford bad days.”

  She’s at the chalk box, her hands sending up thin clouds of white into the air. “I guess I’m not a champion, then,” she mutters.

  My jaw drops. Nobody talks back to Coach.

  “What did you say?” he bellows.

  She takes a deep breath. Plasters a smile on her face. “Nothing. Just that next time, I’ll be more careful about my form.”

  “You’re right, you will,” Coach says, watching Alex for a long time before he turns to me. “Joey, you’re up. Show me what you got.”

  I give Alex a guilty look over the chalk box. “Yes, Coach,” I say.

  “I don’t care. Really,” she whispers.

  But I don’t believe her.

  When I’m chalked up and ready to go, I approach the low bar, eye level to it. The chatter of my teammates falls away and so do all the worries about Alex. I take one step across the mat, and another, then I launch into a kip, my hands on the bar, my body gliding smoothly underneath until I shoot up over it, hips along the curve, straight into a back hip circle. The momentum shoots me into a handstand, followed by another kip, but this time, it leads to a release move, and the high bar is just within reach. My hands grab it, sending up two puffs of chalk on impact, my palm screaming in protest even under the protection of the leather grips I wear. When my feet circle all the way to the top, my toes pointing straight at the ceiling, I hover there a moment before swinging into a series of giants, one after the other, my body extended and whipping around the high bar. Each one gets faster, more exhilarating, even while the friction on my hands becomes more and more intense, the velocity making me fly until, at just the right moment, I release the bar into a double back dismount. My feet come down straight and solid, and once I secure my balance, I throw my arms behind my ears, my back a slight, graceful arch.