My hands had just slid right off the vault table while attempting my new vault in our last workout before training camp. Bad timing. Very bad. My palms had been sweaty and I hadn’t gotten enough chalk right before. Somehow I’d managed to turn the vault over and land flat on my back rather than breaking my neck.
I sat up slowly and then eventually got to my feet. Exhaustion weighed my entire body down, all the way to my bones. I couldn’t help thinking, looking at that vault table…Why the hell am I doing this? Who’s going to care if I don’t do it anymore, or if I do something easier?
I rolled out my neck, trying to loosen the stiff muscles, and glanced over at Jordan, who was teaching some classes tonight. He clutched his chest and let out of sigh of relief. I gave him a tiny smile before walking off the landing mat.
The past couple days had been strange between us. I didn’t think Jordan knew what else to say to me after the other night when he had admitted his failure to help me, and I didn’t know how to tell him that it didn’t matter. That he was still the same Jordan to me and I’d never expect him to have all the answers.
I watched him go back to teaching his class of little boys while Bentley had me stand beside the vault runway as he checked my neck, shoulders, back, and head, making sure I hadn’t done any real damage. He turned my head side–to–side, asking over and over, “Does this hurt? How about this?”
And I kept saying no, because it didn’t, but everything else did hurt. Whatever gave me that drive to keep going even though I was exhausted after five turns and ended up doing ten had dissipated after the other night, and I didn’t even have the energy to search for it. Maybe it would just come back on its own before Monday.
“Karen! Coach Bentley!” Mrs. Garrett called from the front desk.
A man in a dark blue suit stood near the old secretary, looking around and seeming very out of place in this chalk dust and sweat filled building that usually only housed barefooted kids and gossiping mothers.
Bentley nudged me forward and I followed behind him. The man stuck his hand out to me. “Nice to finally meet you, Karen. I’m Nick Stone, I worked with your father and Mr. Johnson. He’s the one who went over your parents’ will after the funeral.”
I looked up at Bentley and back to the man before shaking his hand. I didn’t know if I was glad to meet him or not, so I couldn’t say anything.
“Do you have a few minutes to chat? Mr. Bentley is welcome to join us.”
Bentley waved at Stacey to take over for him on vault and he led the way to his office. I had no idea what Nick Stone wanted from me, and I could only hope we weren’t going to have to do the awkward I’m–sorry–for–your–loss chat.
I sat beside Nick Stone and Bentley sat across from us, behind his desk. “As you probably already know, your father left the firm in charge of your parents’ estate and financial management in the event that you were still a minor during the time of their death. Your grandmother took over your tuition payments here and for your online courses, health insurance, as well as your additional monthly expenses. Your father’s life insurance policy is covering mortgage payments at the moment, and utilities as well as car payments and car insurance,” Nick said.
Bentley leaned on his elbows, listening carefully but giving away nothing in his expression. I didn’t actually know most of these details, because Grandma was good at getting things like this done. I nodded anyway so he’d get to the point.
“But the life insurance policy is only going to cover those expenses for a few years,” he continued. “We did a test run with realtors, and there’s already an offer up for your parents’ house. Twenty–four hours and there’s a potential buyer. And you might not be aware of this, Karen, but your parents took out a fifteen–year loan on your house thirteen years ago, so it’s nearly paid off. I would estimate that sale will get you somewhere in the range of four or five hundred thousand. You have a savings account with another hundred thousand that is set to be accessible when you turn eighteen next year, but with Mr. Bentley’s signature, we could turn that over to you as well if you needed the money for something. All we need is both your signatures on a few forms and we can put the house up for sale officially.”
“You want to sell my house?” I almost stood up in my chair. So many emotions had hit me at once. “And why would I need Coach Bentley’s permission?”
Bentley’s eyes widened, and then he let out a breath and looked right at me. “Your grandmother turned the legal guardian rights over to me. It’s just a technicality. If you needed medical attention, she’s so far away. It was easier this way. There was no reason to mention it because she’s still very involved in many of the details that I have nothing to do with.”
Grandma didn’t even want to be my legal guardian? Is that why Bentley had cut Nina Jones off when she asked about the notarized form to travel with a coach outside of the country? My coach was my guardian, apparently, so I didn’t even need a letter like everyone else.
Nick Stone looked extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden, and I had the feeling he didn’t usually do the personal interactions. He probably just showed up and delivered forms and technical stuff without having to sit in an office with an emotionally unstable teenager.
Nick scratched the back of his head, eyes bouncing between me and Bentley. “Well, I suppose we could turn the account over to her, use those funds for the mortgage payments, but it won’t last forever and there’re taxes and upkeep. If the house just sits there, the value is going to plummet if you do choose to sell it eventually.”
He was absolutely right. What the hell was I supposed to do with a house I wasn’t even willing to set foot in? Why hadn’t this crossed my mind before today?
Because I put them in there…because I’m away at camp writing letters.
It would be summer soon and the grass would start growing, and my dad wouldn’t be there to pull his riding mower out of the shed and my mom wouldn’t be there to plant flowers. And the hedge trimmer Dad had a sick obsession with had probably rusted over from the icy winter. And I couldn’t do all that stuff. Had Grandma even had it cleaned in the last four months? I was nearly positive she’d had something done to maintain it, but she wasn’t exactly young herself, so how long could I expect her to take care of all of that?
But all the logical thinking and rationalizing and analyzing didn’t make it physically possible for me to hold a pen and lift my hand and sign my parents’ house away. My house.
Bentley must have seen the panic on my face because he turned to Nick and said, “I think Karen might need to get back to you with a decision.”
I nodded, grateful for Bentley’s intervention.
Nick stood up right away. “Of course, take as much time as you need. I’ll check back with you next week.” He gave me a small smile. “It might be nice for you to have some funds for college or whatever you might need it for in the future. I think your dad would have wanted you to not have to worry about money.”
I looked away from him, hating that my dad could plan for things like life insurance and secret savings accounts for his only child, but he couldn’t keep himself from drinking and driving. “I don’t want the money. I don’t want any of it.”
Nick Stone’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but no words came out. I sat up straighter, trying to look more adult and less like a pouty teenager. “If I do decide to sell the house and the cars, you’re a lawyer, right? You can give the money to charity or something? I’ll pay all my bills first or whatever, but I don’t want the money.”
I must have stumped him, because Bentley finally got up and opened the door for the poor lawyer we had cornered in this office. “We’ll talk about it and get back to you. It’s kind of a bad time.”
Yeah. Indefinitely a bad time.
Nick handed Bentley a business card and then said a polite good–bye to both of us. I stood up to get back to practice, but Bentley stopped me at the door. “Let’s sit down and talk for a minute,” he said.
I shook my head. “There’s nothing to talk about. Not anything that’s going to change the situation.” I waited for him to argue, but there was no argument because I was right. “I’m going to Chicago, and I don’t need this kind of distraction right now.”
That seemed to satisfy him, because he opened the door and let me back in the gym. Jordan found a way to walk past me and asked who the dude in the blue suit was.
“Just a lawyer who needed some signatures. Insurance and stuff.”
He looked at me carefully and nodded. I could feel this distance growing between us and I wanted to pull him back, and at the same time, I cared about him too much to drag him under with me. How much more of my drama could he handle on top of his own dramatic life?
“You okay?” Blair whispered when I returned to vault.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” To prove my point I put on plenty of chalk and took off down the runway, completing a good vault that didn’t include slipping and landing on my back.
***
April 17
Jordan,
I want to say so many things right now but it feels like I’ve put this wall between us, or maybe you have because it’s just too much or because you feel like you failed and you haven’t. Except I’m back to writing you letters and that’s probably not a good sign, considering you’re sitting right beside me at the moment.
Love, Karen
We were sitting on living room couch, not talking about the man that showed up during tonight’s practice. Jordan was doing homework and I was doing homework and trying to salvage some part of us by asking him for help, which I actually kind of needed anyway.
“I need to write two thousand words interpreting that Catcher in the Rye quote,” I said, pointing to the paragraph on my laptop. “It’s not really much to work with, is it? Not for two thousand words.”
“You just need to find an angle,” he said as Bentley walked through the front door, dropping a stack of mail on the coffee table.
I glanced over at the document on his laptop. “What are you working on?”
“Also essay writing,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “AP senior composition. We have daily poetry responses we have to write. Basically, my teacher seems to give an A–plus if you’re opinionated, fearless, and mature. Even if you’re totally wrong.”
I grinned at him and pulled his laptop closer. “Let’s see if you’re all of those things.”
Response to the Poem “Sex Without Love” by Sharon Olds
Essay by Jordan Matthew Bentley
Sharon Olds’s poem focuses on the actual act of making love both with words and with form. She discusses the subject of how an individual can participate in intercourse without loving their partner. Olds seems to simulate an actual orgasm at the point of climax—
I stopped reading there and shoved the computer back toward Jordan, my face flaming hot. “I’d say you did just fine.”
He snorted back a laugh, glancing at Coach Bentley, who seemed to be watching this exchange from his seat in the recliner. “Ten bucks says I get extra credit for discussing mature themes in a mature way. But I think she’s nuts for expecting high school kids to discuss that poem maturely. I think you need to be at least thirty to give a valid interpretation.”
“I am so not looking forward to poetry.”
“It’s not all bad. I like the Robert Frost stuff we were reading before we moved on to the girl poets. I could interpret Frost just fine. Now I’m digging for feminist opinions and trying to think like a girl, but that’s really hard to do.”
I started to laugh but stopped when I saw the way Bentley was staring at Jordan, as though he had something really important to say. Jordan, on the other hand, had pulled a large envelope from the stack of mail and opened it quickly. I didn’t take much notice of this until he froze and fell completely silent.
“What?” I asked.
He continued to stare at the paper in his lap. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. Still nothing.
“Jordy?” Bentley said, getting up from his chair.
Jordan finally looked up, his eyes full of confusion or surprise. “I got into Stanford.”
“You applied to Stanford?” I knew he was smart and always doing homework, but I didn’t think he was the Ivy League type. Especially after he had rattled off the other schools he’d heard from, and they were pretty average and close by.
“I didn’t think I’d get in, my college counselor wanted me to…” He sat back against the couch, smiling a little and running his fingers through his hair.
Bentley took the papers from Jordan and looked them over. “Wow, this is amazing. I’m so proud of you,” he said, sounding completely genuine and excited.
I almost cried when I saw the look on Jordan’s face. It was like that was all he needed to hear from his dad. Or maybe all this talk of him being a screwup had stuck with him, and he needed Stanford to tell him he wasn’t one.
Bentley clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll go out to dinner and celebrate after I get back from Chicago, all right? Looks like you’ll have some decisions to make.”
Jordan turned his attention back to his laptop. “Yeah, I guess. But either way, it’s just cool to get accepted.”
I gave his shoulder a shove. “Oh come on, like you’re gonna pick Missouri State over Stanford?”
“College is not something that earns an impulsive decision. I have to think about it, consider all the pros and cons.” Jordan shrugged and flashed me his mischievous grin. “Plus, Stanford will expect me to actually work. I might want to take blow–off courses and gain fifteen pounds like every other normal kid in America. Maybe join a fraternity.”
Jordan the frat boy. I could see that being possible with his history of wild, drunken, backyard X Games performances.
Bentley handed Jordan the papers, looking right at him. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”
Those words seemed to have more weight for Jordan than they did for me, but I stayed out of it because maybe Jordan was telling the truth. I wasn’t sure I’d want to take on the workload of Stanford courses, and I’d be totally intimidated that I wouldn’t be smart enough and I’d get Bs or Cs. Maybe it was the same for Jordan.
CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE
Jordan got to the gym early on Monday afternoon before the time he needed to coach. My teammates, Stacey, and Bentley had the gym van loaded, leotards arranged on hangers (at Stacey’s insistence), and we were dressed in matching warm–ups (also Stacey’s insistence). We were ready to take off for Chicago.
Jordan cornered me before I got in the van and stuffed something in my backpack. “Is it pointless to ask you not to show this to your friends?” he whispered.
I turned around to look at him and was caught off guard by the amount of feelings that came just from seeing him. It had been six and a half days since the last time we kissed, and I knew it would be several more because it wasn’t going to happen right here, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that meant we weren’t Jaren anymore. And could we find our way back with all this stuff pulling us in a million directions?
I just smiled at him and said, “Then what would we have to talk about?”
“I don’t know…gymnastics? Third–world countries? Fashion? Glee?”
My fingers brushed his for a brief second and then Stacey was yelling for us to get in the van. “See you later, Jordan.”
“Good luck,” he said. Then he grabbed Ellen around the shoulders and rubbed the top of her head until her hair was messed up. He’d discovered a few weeks ago how mad she got when anyone messed up her hair and he’d been doing that ever since.
Of course, because it was Jordan, Ellen pretended to look mad while blushing and laughing at the same time. Blair got a high five and so did Stevie.
“Have fun with Mrs. Garrett!” Blair and I both said to him before hopping into the van and assuming our seat in the back row. We always rode together to meets if it wasn’t really close, and we took the eleven–passenge
r van to the airport whenever we had training camps or competitions. Ellen and Stevie got their own rows and Blair and I shared the very back.
“I love him,” Blair whispered, nodding toward Jordan. “You are so not allowed to break up, ever.”
I smiled at her and leaned against the window, feeling tired already. And missing Jordan already. And Nina Jones hadn’t even gotten her hands on us yet. I had a house that needed to be sold and cars that needed to be sold and a boyfriend whom I’d lost some of my connection with and parents who hadn’t loved me enough to not act like idiots.
I was so not in the mood for Nina Jones right now.
After Blair drifted off to sleep like she always does on long car rides, I dug in my bag for the secret items Jordan had stuffed inside. He had put his iPod in my bag, along with a note. I unfolded it carefully, concealing it behind my bag.
Sometimes I can’t find the right words and if someone else already has, I figure I could borrow them for a while. I hope you like the playlist. I think I’ve subconsciously been storing these songs up in my head for a long time. I’d hear them and think of you or you and me or something that I wanted to say and couldn’t. Anyway, I hope you like it.
SONGS FOR KAREN
Notbroken—Goo Goo Dolls (because we both “have a past that steals our sleep”)
I Won’t Give Up—Jason Mraz (because we are worth it)
Falling Slowly—Glen Hansard (the before song)
For You I Will—Teddy Geiger (the first song I played for you on guitar)
Fix You—Coldplay (“when you lose something you can’t replace”)
Home—Phillip Phillips (“settle down, it’ll all be clear. don’t pay no mind to the demons they fill you with fear”)
Storm—Lifehouse (this one makes me think of my mom)