“My elbow used to pop out of place all the time. Something with the bone or the cartilage. My daughter’s elbow did the same thing, and I taught myself how to fix it after a few trips to the emergency room. Genetics, I guess. Six hundred dollars in the emergency room practically broke the bank for us. Then they’d send an intern in for about twenty seconds and bill us for it.”
My eyes locked with Jordan’s. He was as surprised as I was that Bentley had just mentioned his sister so casually.
“Can you do shoulders, too?” Stevie asked.
“Haven’t tried.” Bentley gave her a tiny smile. “We’ll give Jordan a couple more drinks and maybe he’ll dislocate something else.”
“Can I look now?” Tony said. “I’m getting a headache.”
Bentley gave Tony a pat on the back. “All clear. Why don’t you take off?” He turned to me and Stevie. “You girls should head home, too. I’m sure it’ll be a while before we can get a plastic surgeon in here and get those stitches taken care of.”
“Oh God,” Tony groaned. “Sorry, Jordy, I’m so out of here.”
I glanced at Jordan, who looked like the last thing he wanted was to be left here with his dad, but I didn’t really have a choice. Plus, Bentley was obviously doing a better job with this emergency room thing than we were. We would have taken Jordan home with a funky elbow.
“Well, that was educational,” Stevie said when we got back in the car.
“Yeah, totally.”
“Think he’s going to be in a lot of trouble?” Stevie asked.
“I don’t know. Jordan looked worried, but I think he just doesn’t want to disappoint his dad. He’d probably never admit that, though.”
Stevie laughed. “Probably not.”
When I got into bed later, Bentley and Jordan were still gone. I fell asleep with my light on and a book in my hand and woke up when I felt someone sliding the paperback out from under me.
“Jordan,” I whispered. He had clean clothes on and was dirt–free and smelled like his aftershave. “Are you okay?”
He lifted his left arm, revealing a removable splint. “Yeah, gotta wear this for a couple weeks.” He squatted down in front of the bed and pushed my hair off my face. Then he broke our very important rules and kissed my cheek. “Just this once.”
I reached up and touched his head, where the cut had been. “Did you get a plastic surgeon?”
He smiled. “I did. And now my scalp won’t be ugly.”
“That’s very important.”
His hand moved through my hair. “What did I miss in the life of Karen Campbell while I was at school and then crazy drunk?”
“I did a bunch of Amanar vaults, but Stevie’s were better. I scared a little girl by screaming at her when I thought her basketball was my dad’s head rolling around in the gym and probably a whole bunch of preschool parents have now announced my insanity on Twitter. I haven’t checked today. That drama led me to go looking for obituaries in the garage, and then you know the rest.”
“A day in the life of an elite athlete,” Jordan said. “I’m skipping school tomorrow. Want to go somewhere after practice?”
“If you can help me with my Catcher in the Rye essay? I kind of slacked on my schoolwork today.”
“I can do that.” He walked toward the door and flipped the light off. “Night, Karen.”
“Night, Jordan.”
I sighed to myself after he walked away. I wished I could tell if he was really okay or just pretending to be because he thought I had too much to deal with already.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I love the dark blue and black with Karen’s hair.”
“Much better than the pink leos.”
“The dark colors aren’t quite as bold with Stevie’s skin tones.”
“The cut is a little high on the hips with Blair’s long torso.”
Stacey had me and my teammates lined up in the training room after morning practice, modeling our new competition leotards that we’d be wearing in Chicago. This was Stacey’s department one hundred percent, now that Bentley was head coach. He wanted nothing to do with “costume choice,” as he called it. She had elected two helpers to walk behind her making notes—Mrs. Garrett, the old receptionist, and Ally, our athletic training coach. We all thought Stacey was taking this job a little too seriously. Any time one of us moved or spoke up without being told it was okay, she snapped her fingers to shut us up. Blair and I were about five seconds from collapsing into a fit of giggles.
“Are we doing the nude colored brief and brassiere?” Mrs. Garrett asked. “I want to make sure I’ve got all their sizes in stock.”
Brassiere. Seriously? I glanced at Blair again and that was it for us, we both busted out laughing.
“Girls!” Stacey continued her slow walk past Ellen. “Ellen can still wear anything, so we don’t need to worry about her. And I’m still deciding between nude and black on the briefs and sports bras, probably nude.”
Mrs. Garrett scribbled on her clipboard, her old body hunched over as she walked. Stacey was in front of me again, tugging at the top of my leotard. This style had a lower neckline in the front, almost heart shaped. Whenever we’d had this style in the past, especially when I was really young, me being on the skinnier side always made it not fit right. If I put my arms together in the front and leaned forward, the leo would bunch and you could see right down it.
“Look at that,” Stacey said, still tugging at me. “You’ve finally got enough boobs to make this stay in place.”
I glanced down at my chest, feeling my face redden. Mrs. Garrett whipped out a tape measure and wrapped it around my chest, then she scribbled more on her clipboard.
“Stacey, hon,” Mrs. Garrett interrupted. “Can you show me styles you want for the undergarments? I’ve got the catalog over here.”
They moved to the table on the far side of the room just as Jordan poked his head in the training room. His hand covered his eyes. “Is it safe to enter? I heard this was the new dressing room.”
“I like the term multipurpose room better,” Ally said.
I walked over to Jordan while Stacey and Mrs. Garrett were still huddled in deep discussion over sports bras on the other side of the room. “What are you doing here, school skipper? The truancy officer might show up with a big van to haul you away.”
“I’m in charge of feeding you lunch today, Coach Bentley’s orders. He was a little busy last night and didn’t get to the grocery store,” he said. “And he wants Ally to look at my elbow.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Stacey and back at Jordan. “I think my self–esteem has been lowered from this try–on session,” I whispered. “I’m so ready to get out of here.”
“Let me see your arm, Jordan,” Ally said. “ER doctors are so incompetent when it comes to dislocations.”
“Actually, Coach Bentley did it himself,” Jordan said.
Ally’s eyebrows lifted. “Then you’re fine, I’m sure. Of course, he’d get sued if it was anyone but his own kid.”
“I’m done with you girls!” Stacey yelled over her shoulder. “See you at three, and do not stuff those leos in your gym bags. There’s a purpose for that hanger it came on.”
Ally was carefully removing the splint from Jordan’s arm, examining it closely.
“If you guys are done,” Jordan said. “There’s a big guy in the lobby waiting for you.”
The four of us looked at each other and then Blair’s face brightened. “Oh! Coach Cordes is here, he’s having lunch with my parents today. I guess I should have figured he’d stop by the gym.”
“He’s in town?” My stomach wadded up into a ball of knots. “I didn’t know that.”
Blair turned me around, giving me her I’m–trying–to–mentally–tell–you–something face. And then it dawned on me. He’s having lunch with her parents…UCLA probably has a meet in Iowa or Illinois this weekend. He’s recruiting.
“Oh my God,” I mumbled.
“I know,” Blair
said. “I can’t jinx it, but seriously, you’ll be two years ahead of me. Promise you won’t get too attached to your roommate so we can be college roomies, please, please, please.”
I smiled at Blair, and before we could even enter the lobby, Coach Cordes walked right into the training room. He was a big guy and famous for his giant bear hugs. Ellen and Blair got the first hugs. Stevie was a little old for it, I guess, because she got a one–armed awkward hug. “I’m so glad to see you back in the gym, Stevie,” he said.
I got lifted off my feet. Then, when he set me down and held on to my hands, sure enough, there was the dead parents face. We had talked on the phone right after it happened, and I hardly remembered what he’d said because I was trying so hard not to cry on the phone with my old/future coach.
“Karen, honey, how are you?” He even leaned down and was practically eye–level with me.
“Fine—I mean, okay, I guess.” There were too many people in the room for my body to even process the idea of shedding a tear, and I’d done this so many times already that it wasn’t nearly as hard as that day on the phone.
Blair slung an arm around my shoulders. “She’s great, actually, kicking some serious ass in the gym.”
A grin spread across his face. “That’s what I like to hear, as your former and future coach. I thought you might have taken some time off.”
I hadn’t taken any time off. I was back in the gym the day after my parents’ funeral.
“Doesn’t matter,” Cordes said, after I didn’t respond. “You still have plenty of time to get those old skills ready for UCLA. No one will be in top form when we start practices in June. Lydia, our beam coach, can’t wait to get her hands on you. We’ve been struggling on that event this season.”
June. Here it was again.
Stevie made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a snort, but I couldn’t understand why she’d be laughing right now. “Karen’s done a lot more than maintain her old skills. You should see her bar routine. She’s got an Amanar and a layout Jaeger, a tucked full on beam . . .”
My face felt hotter than hell and I turned to Stevie, glaring at her and hoping she’d shut up. She’d made it sound like those skills were a sure thing, and Bentley hadn’t confirmed I’d be competing any of them. Ever. I already gotten into UCLA based on my old skills. I didn’t want to come there with all these extra expectations. What if Cordes started bragging to the other coaches about these new skills, and then I couldn’t even do them anymore in a year and a half?
March 31
Stevie,
Sometimes you don’t know when to shut up! Is this because you were homeschooled? I’m going to make you a progress chart and you’re going to master the skill of minding your own gymnastics business!
Love, Karen
Cordes’s face scrunched up and he stared at me. “Wait, you changed your routines?”
“No,” I said firmly. “Nothing’s definite. If I stick my old routines, then Bentley lets me work on new skills, that’s all. Just like always.”
‘You should see how high her vault is,” Ellen squealed. “It’s like McKayla Maroney high.”
God, not Ellen, too!
I could feel Jordan’s eyes on the back of my head. He was seated at one of the training tables, still getting his arm examined. Stacey seemed to have stopped talking right then, too, and gave Cordes a smile and a wave.
“Did you hear about Ellen’s meet in Australia?” I said, since we were obviously playing the talk–about–your–teammate game. “She won all–around and floor.”
Cordes gave Ellen a high five and she beamed, flashing her smile full of braces. “Great job, E. So proud of you!” Then he turned back to me. “Karen, honey, you can be NCAA National all–around champion with a Yurchenko full or a one and a half. There’s always been a chance we’d water down that double. You certainly don’t need an Amanar.”
Stevie shrugged. “Well, she’s got one.”
“Is this Nina Jones’s influence?” he asked. “I can talk to her and let her know your plans for June and get her to back off at the camp coming up.”
My heart raced, but there was no way around me answering this question with as much truth as I could muster. “I want to compete at Nationals,” I said. “And if it goes well, then World trials.”
It felt like a giant weight had lifted off me, finally speaking this goal aloud. But I hadn’t even said it to Bentley, hadn’t asked if I was welcome at his house for a few months longer.
Coach Cordes drew in a deep breath, his jaw tightening. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Well, this is unexpected. We talked about this last summer, Karen. Your parents and I sat in my office and—”
He stopped, abruptly realizing his casual mention of my parents, and his expression smoothed into a more calm one as if he was putting several pieces together. “I’ll talk to Bentley. We’ll figure everything out, okay?”
I honestly had no idea what that meant. Would he try to get Bentley to ship me to California in June, or would he figure out how to let me join the team late? And I couldn’t believe that the decision was finally made, just like that. I’m going to compete at Nationals. I’m going to try for a spot on the World team.
We chatted for a few more minutes, and then my teammates and I went into the locker room to change. I waited until I was totally dressed to say anything to Stevie. “What were you doing? You know Bentley’s not going to add all that stuff to my routines, and I don’t want anyone having these huge expectations.”
“Well you should want that,” Stevie said.
Now I was getting really pissed at her. “That’s for me to decide, not you!”
“I’m getting out of here before you guys start throwing around Gatorade and ruin my new leotard,” Ellen said, trying to lighten the mood before she rushed out of the locker room.
Blair was at my side in seconds. “She’s right, Stevie. You’re just bitter because Karen was always Cordes’s favorite. We all had to deal with it, but it’s not her fault.”
Stevie shook her head. “If by favorite, you mean the gymnast he had the lowest expectations for, then you’re right. That would be Karen.”
I stared at Stevie, shocked. “God, what is your problem?”
“Every coach has a favorite,” Blair said. “You know you’re Bentley’s favorite.”
This stalled my anger for a second. I’d never gotten the impression Stevie was the favorite with the head coach now. It just seemed like Bentley respected the fact that Stevie was an adult and aware of her limits. Not just an adult but a seasoned veteran in this sport. If she said she was tired, he’d assume she meant it, whereas with the rest of us, he’d assume it was his job to tell us when we should be tired. That hadn’t really bothered me before, and I didn’t realize it bothered Blair until now.
“I was okay with how Cordes treated you before,” Stevie said to me. “Because I figured he was right…”
“Right about what?!” Blair and I said together.
“Several years ago,” Stevie said, “my mom and I were in his office for a meeting. She was complaining about my progress and why hadn’t I won Nationals and why was Karen Campbell getting all the special treatment and why did he let you back in the gym after he kicked you out of practice when I’d have to miss an entire workout…”
Blair’s arms were folded over her chest, her foot tapping like she was in major defensive mode. I, on the other hand, had no clue where Stevie was going with this.
“I sat right in his office while he told me and my mom that you weren’t as talented as I was and he didn’t see international elite competitions in your future,” Stevie said. “I remember feeling relieved, and then I had this almost permanent smirk on my face when I was around you because I had a secret that you didn’t have. But once I got out of my egotistical Ellen phase, I could see that he was wrong.”
“He might not be wrong,” I said. “You’ve won world championships. I haven’t gotten any senior internatio
nal assignments and I might not. Ever. Yes, I’d like to, but getting a full ride to UCLA for gymnastics isn’t exactly displaying a lack of talent.”
“Seriously,” Blair chimed in.
Stevie laughed derisively. “I’m so not spelling this out for you.” She spun around and left before either of us could respond.
I was numb with confusion when I finally exited the locker room. Jordan was waiting for me outside, a new, smaller splint on his left arm. He also had a baseball cap on, probably to cover up the stitches in his head.
“You look pensive,” he said, eyeing me carefully.
“I think I feel pensive.” I could see Bentley and Cordes talking in Bentley’s office and I tried and failed to read lips for about thirty seconds.
“Lunch?” Jordan prompted, nodding toward the front doors.
“Right, lunch.”
***
As soon as we were seated at a small table at a nearby deli, I dove into questioning Jordan about last night. “So are you in trouble? Did he yell? Did someone throw a punch? Because I was waiting for that yesterday afternoon.”
Jordan let out a long breath and set down his giant sandwich. “I’m sorry. I feel so bad for sticking you in the middle of that. Kind of embarrassed, too.”
I gave him a half–smile and continued pouring dressing on my salad. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re not right in the middle of my family drama or anything.”
He shrugged. “I guess, but my dad and I haven’t had a fight like that for a long time. Usually we just brood in silence, or at least I do.”
“Maybe it was a good thing, then?” I ate a few bites before speaking again. “What did he say last night?”
“Not much,” Jordan said. “He didn’t yell at me or say that I proved his point about memories causing me to go out of control. I know he’s wrong about that, because I look at those pictures all the time. He just doesn’t know it.”
“You do?” I felt that all–too–familiar flutter in my stomach. This boy was just too cute for his own good. I could totally picture Jordan in that garage, looking through those albums. Jordan, the one person who made me say out loud that my parents were dead, would be able to handle remembering his loss.