Delicate (11 page)

I don’t care.

I unlock the door and flip on the lights inside the deserted gym. The familiar buzz of the overhead lights calms me and reminds me that I’m still the same Sydney I was yesterday.

Stretching on the springy mat feels good. I’m not only sore from missing yesterdays work-out, but from my
other
activities. I decide to work on floor exercise today since
I’m alone
. No equipment to fall off of, plus, Sam and I had added a new tumbling pass that I’m just getting used to for Nationals. I’m hoping to iron out some of the kinks and impress him in the morning.

I pound out one pass after another, until I’m about to drop from exhaustion. I decide to take a little break and grab my water bottle. It’s near lunch time. I picture Quinn and Tessa still sleeping. Trevor probably drove back out to the lake house and passed back out after dropping me off at my car. I try to block the images from last night out long enough to get in a couple more tumbling runs.

“You made it!” Sam exclaims, startling me.

“Of course I did, I told you I would,” I say. I wipe the sweat from my brow and smile.

“Pass looks great, kid. Good work,” he says.

Sam and I have worked together for years. His demeanor is usually nonchalant; he never gets overly excited about much that I do, even when I win- so making him proud feels amazing.

“So, you really came by to check up on me?” I ask.

“Not entirely. Your dad called.”

My entire body stiffens.
Crappity crap crap crap.

“The producers of the documentary called him last night. Did he tell you this yet?” Sam asks.

I shake my head.

“Okay, well,
they’re
concerned about the material that you’ve been giving them.”

I think back over the last couple of weeks. I have been slacking on my confessionals. I didn’t do any spots while I was sick, and the ones I have done so far, have been more recaps of gym, leaving out anything personal. I know that’s not what they were looking for.

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means that
they’re
coming with us to Nationals. It means that
they’re
going to be filming a lot more here. Also, you’re dad is supposed to talk to you about them filming social things. You know, what’s that boyfriend of yours name?”

The air leaves me.

“Trevor,” I squeak.

“Yeah, have him take you out. Go out with Quinn. She should have plenty of time, it’s not like she’s ever here.”

I nod. I can’t say no. I’ll finally be able to do something to help take the burden off of Dad with this documentary. But…

Trevor is going to freak.

Confessional

“I went to prom over the weekend. It was the first school dance I’ve ever been to. I went with a group of friends.”
And my boyfriend, Trevor
. “It was amazing. I had such a great time.”
I had sex for the first time
. “When I got home, I watched a movie with Dad and Maisy.”
I wished the entire time that I was back at Trevor’s lake house with him. In bed
. “My workouts are running longer and longer in preparation for Nationals, but I think I finally have my tumbling pass near perfect. At least I hope so. I saw the list of names of the girls that I’ll be competing against at Nationals, and it’s a little nerve-wracking. I just hope to do well.”
I’m the new girl to
them;
they have more experience than me. I have something to prove.

-
Twelve
-

“Morning, baby,” Trevor says. I almost jog right past him on my way to first period, trying not to be late. I back up and kiss him quickly. “Did you oversleep?”

“No, I just lost track of time at gym. Then I had to get back home to make sure Maisy was up…”

“You take on too much,” he says, pulling me in as we walk together. I try to pick up the pace. I really don’t want to be late, but Trevor is in no hurry. He’s a senior and it’s second
semester.
H
e’s got all the time in the world.

“Not anymore than usual, I guess.”

“Maybe not. I just wish we could spend more time together,” he says.

“We spend a lot of time together,” I say.

“Not really. Not outside of school anymore. Think about it, when was the last time you let me take you to dinner?”

I shrug.

“It’s just Nationals are coming up, and I’ve been swamped with homework…”

“Okay. But will you let me take you out?”

I smile. I love this new attentiveness, but, when Trevor finds out about the cameras wanting to follow me around now… As quick as I think it, I replace the thought with the look of dad’s look of relief when I was picked for the show. Though he’d never said anything, I kn
o
w what a big deal it
i
s. How much it
will
help.

“Yes. Absolutely. We’ll talk about it at lunch.”

I slip into the door of Oceanography just as the second bell rings.

Grant glances up as I slide into my chair. As soon as I see his face, I remember my annoyance
from
Saturday night. I unpack my binder and book and don’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him, but I can feel him staring at me.

Mrs. Drez walks down the aisles passing out permission slips for a field trip to the Atlanta Aquarium. Quinn would be happy to know that her assessment of the class
’
s activities was half true. Instead of sliding mine to me, Grant holds it hostage.

“Sydney?” he says, holding the paper to his chest.

He’s going to freaking force me to have to look at him.

“What?” I ask, reaching for the permission slip. He doesn’t hand it over.

“Did you have a good time Saturday night?” he asks politely.

“Did you?” I snap.

He doesn’t seem affected by my sour tone.

“Eh,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

Oh, nice. You stay the night with the most beautiful girl in school and all she garners is an, “eh?” He’s more arrogant than I had thought.

“I had an incredible time, actually,” I say smugly.

“What’d you do after prom?” he asks.

I let out a loud laugh and Mrs. Drez shoots a warning look my direction.

“What do you
think
I did?”

“Um, is this a trick question? I have no idea. I was just trying to make conversation,” he says. Did he seriously not see me at the lake house? Was he really that oblivious when he was with Shayna? I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt since he’s never lied to me before.

“I went to my boyfriend’s lake house. And you were there, too,” I say flatly.

He mulls this over for a second.

“That was your boyfriends place?” His voice holds a twinge of amusement.

“Yep. And it sure seemed like you were enjoying yourself,” I mumble. “Now, can I have my permission slip?”

“What?” he asks.

I shake my head without repeating myself. He looks puzzled as he processes the accusation.

“No, Sydney, it’s not like that,” he says. “I can totally explain.”

“I’m sure you can,” I say.

“Sydney, just listen.”

“I’m not interested in what happened, Grant. Just answer this for me. Was Shayna to get back at me for not telling you about Trevor?”

He scoffs.

“So, what, Trevor was the quid and Shayna was the
pro quo
? I don’t think so, Syd. Playing games
isn’t
my style.”

He slides the permission slip across the table and positions his chair away from mine.

When I get to English, Quinn is practically foaming at the mouth for details about my night with Trevor. Her round of questioning is unending, but I told her everything. Or, as much as I could without blushing. Or mentioning Grant. 

She and I are so engrossed in our conversation, we don’t notice Mr. Brody standing right next to our desks. My face flushes
as I wonder
  how much of our conversation he had heard, but Quinn just leans back in her chair casually and reaches up to pull her long brown hair back into a ponytail, as if she’s clueless
as to
why
he’s
standing here.

He sets a small, pink slip of paper on each
of
our desks and walks away with a grunt. Quinn rolls her eyes. Detention doesn’t faze her, but to me,
it’s a different story.
I
have to go tell Sam that I have to miss another workout with Nationals around the corner.

When the bell rings, I tell Quinn to leave without me so that I can talk with Mr. Brody. I plaster on my best guilty face.

“Yes, Miss. Pierce?” he says curtly without looking up from his stack of papers. He’s balding badly, but he tries to conceal that fact by parting his existing patch of hair in
ways which
it w
as
never meant to be parted.

“I, um…” I stutter. I’ve never been in trouble at school before,
so
I don’t know how to do this. “I’m so sorry for disrupting class, sir.”

“And?” he says, briefly glancing up from his grading.

“And, I have gymnastics every day after school. I really can’t miss. Is there a way that I could do, like, an extra assignment or something rather than detention?”

“No,” he says categorically.

“Oh.” My heart sinks.

“What I
will
do is schedule it for later in the week so that you can give adequate notice to whomever it is that you report to,” he says.

I guess I could plan on working out extra this week to make up for what I’d miss later on. He hands me a new detention slip for Friday afternoon.