Delicate (19 page)

“I don’t want that either,” I admit. I’m not sure what the solution is for Grant and
me
, but I enjoyed our day together too much to go back to not speaking to him for Trevor’s sake.

“Friends?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” he says with his absurdly handsome smile. But just as quickly as it crosses his face, it falls again.

“What?” I ask. I’m totally lost as to why his demeanor has changed so quickly.

“Syd, I have to tell you something.”

“And I take it it
’
s bad?” I ask. Of course it is. Look at his expression.

“The documentary. I know more than I let on. I mean, I knew about your mom. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

My mind is spinning. My mom? How did he know? Why did he pretend not to? Things make even less sense than usual.

“What? How could you know? Who told you?”

The tendons in his neck flex as he swallows deeply.

I’m shaking. What the hell is going on?

“My mom is the producer of the show. I should’ve told you sooner, I know. I just didn’t want to weird you out or anything.”

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this now then? Because you feel guilty now that I told you all of my secrets?”

He exhales sharply.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

He reaches to touch me, but I flinch away. He’s left sitting there, staring at me, looking wounded as everyone else filters off of the bus.

“It’s more than that. I know why they picked you. You said you had no clue why they’d want you for the show, but I know. They chose you because they didn’t think
you could handle it. That the girl with the dead mom would crack under the pressure of it all. That you’d give them sweeps
-
worthy television.”

I feel like I’m having a panic attack. Like I can’t take in enough breath. Like I’m drowning.

“And all this time you knew?” I ask.

He nods.

“And what? You were in cahoots with them? By causing trouble with Trevor and I? By kissing me weeks ago? By turning my entire life upside down? Was it all just to help their cause?”

Everything is spinning. Blackness claws at my peripheral vision.
Breathe, Syd. Breathe.

“Of course not. That’s why I’m telling you.”

Silence. What more can we say. He’s kept this from me for months.

“Back out of the show, Syd,” Grant finally says.

“Are you crazy? I can’t do that. I signed a contract. And
they’re
paying me a lot of money.”

“I’ll get you the money, Sydney. I’ll ask my dad for it. I’ll figure something out. Just back out. It’s going to be a smear fest.”

I don’t know how to even begin to digest all of this.

“Thanks for the warning,” I say coldly.

Grant walks off the bus and toward his car without looking back.

The week flies by at
a
record pace. Grant and I make little more than small talk in class. It should feel better after his confession
, knowing t
hat I’m not the only one that’s been keeping a secret
. B
ut I can’t help but feel betrayed.
It’s easier to pretend that entire conversation never happened. That Grant never confessed that he’s been keeping something so big from me. After all, who the heck am I to judge about keeping secrets? I’ll deal with it after Nationals.

Trevor and I were back to getting along as normal
ly as we ever had
. We had a good, peaceful week, and I think I’ve almost got
ten
Dad convinced to let me go to the lake house with Trevor and his family.

I take Thursday and Friday off of school and spend the entire day in gym. I’m completely exhausted from all the extra training and yet totally exhilarated. Sam and I fly to Nashville late Friday night,
and
Dad and Maisy will arrive Sunday in time for the afternoon competition. I find myself secretly wishing they weren’t coming at all. I know that makes me
a terrible human being, but the added pressure of people in the audience makes
everything even more nerve
-
wracking. I really don’t want to let anyone down.

Somehow, I manage to keep my nerves in check and do well in preliminaries on Saturday. I’m even ranked third going into finals on Sunday. After an early morning workout, I walk back to the hotel to sneak in a cat nap. I dig my phone out of my gym bag and check my messages. There’s one from Trevor asking how things are going. I smile and send him a quick reply that everything is great and I’ll call him after the competition. I set the alarm on my phone and curl up under the flimsy blanket. The room is pitch black, thanks to the thick, canvas curtains
,
and I’d turned the air conditioning to its near arctic
temperature
.
Those are
all the things that should make it easy to drift
off;
still, I doubt the nerves w
ill
allow it.

I’m lying on the cream
-
colored sofa in Grant’s room, covered in that same comfortable quilt I’d been wrapped up in the night I was sick. Except this time, I’m not alone. Grant’s there
, l
ying next to me, with that trademarked messy hair falling in his face. I look at him for a long time, trying to remember why I’m there. My heart is racing at the feeling of his strong arm, pulling me in close at my waist. The warmth and security of it all is intoxicating. His free hand brushes across my face.

“I have to go,” I say. Knowing that whatever the reason for my being in his house,
in his room
more precisely, it isn’t a good enough one. I’m not even supposed to be talking to him, let along lying in his arms. Trevor will be furious. I have to leave.

Still…looking into Grant’s safe eyes, I feel…conflicted.

“Stay,” he whispers. He tenderly strokes my face and I can feel the
goose bumps
rise on my arms.

“I can’t. I’m not supposed to be here,” I say, pulling away from him.

He gently tugs me back down.

“I don’t want you to leave, Syd.” He pushes his hair back out of his face, revealing the hurt in his eyes.

“I don’t want to leave,” I admit. But still, I’m up, and my hand is lingering on the doorknob.

“Then stay.”
“But it’s so wrong for me to be here.”

He’s next to me now. It makes it harder to protest with him so close.

“Not if it’s what makes you happy,” he says. “Stay. Let me take care of you.”

I crumble at the adoring look in his eyes. He can tell I’ve surrendered, because he scoops me up like a small child and carries me back to the couch. My pulse quickens. I can stay. He’ll take care of me. I literally feel like I’m shaking with delight

Not shaking.

Vibrating.

It takes me a moment to realize I’ve fallen asleep with my phone still clutched in my hand. I don’t even check the caller id.

“Hello?” my voices scratches out.

“Sydney? Are you okay?” A voice of concern, just not the one I’d been dreaming about.

“Trevor? Yeah, I’m fine. I just dozed off. Sorry.” I pull myself upright and sip a bottle of water, trying to cure my grogginess.

“Okay. I just wanted to wish you luck, and tell you I love you.”

Shame washes over me.

“Thank you. I love you too. How are you?” I ask. I’m not ready to hang up now.

“Good, just waiting for you to come home. I don’t like when you’re away from me.”

“I miss you.” I mean it.

“Miss you too, Syd. Hey, are you coming to the lake with us next weekend? I never got a straight answer from you.”

I smile. He’s going to be thrilled.

“Yeah, I am
,
actually. I can’t believe I’ve been so busy I forgot to tell you. I can’t stay Saturday night, though, it’s Maisy’s birthday. But Friday night, I’m all yours.”

“That’s perfect,” he says. “I can’t wait to see you. Love you, baby.”

We hang up and I toss the phone onto the nightstand and stretch. At the same moment, Sam
pounds on
the door to wake me up.

The arena is too cold. I
k
now I’ll be fine once I
start
moving around, but right now the frigid air isn’t helping my nerves. The feeling of elitism is practically visible in the air. Every gymnast here feels that they’re truly better than the one next to them, not just in the gym. It’s always harder on me to come in to finals near the top. There are
more people watching you. It’s easier, for me at least, to come in from behind, where no one is expecting anything from you.

Of course, the constant cameras trailing me don’t
make
blending into
the background any easier. And
,
just like at school, I’m either scowled at, or people that generally don’t know I exist are now my best friends in order to cement their chance of being on TV.

Vault is my first event, which in itself does a number on my stress level. I stand off to the side of the runway, waiting for my turn. I run through each movement of my vault in my head while my competitors go. The gymnast in front of me sits down her landing and I can’t help but cringe. It should be a relief to me that she’d done so poorly, but I feel bad. I know, just like everyone else in this arena
,
all of the hours that have gone into her making it here. To fall is such a huge blow to your confidence.

I smile sympathetically as she passes me on my way up the short flight of steps to the vaulting runway. She glares back with stabby eyes. I’m taken aback by her wicked scowl and almost lose my footing on the padded steps. I grab at the railing, righting myself before I fall. I giggle to myself, thinking of the first day that I met Grant. I really need to stop thinking about him.

I float gracefully to the end of the runway and stare at the vault. Running full speed at a stationary object has never been my favorite thing.
You can do this, Sydney. You can do this.
The judges raise the green flag and I throw my arms up to salute them.

I bound toward the vaulting table. Hurdle. Round-off. My feet pound into the springboard. I throw my arms back. Back hand spring onto the vault. My fingertips press into the vault, as I push myself high into the air. Twisting. Once. Twice. Until I land, digging my feet firmly into the mat. I raise my arms above my head to salute the judges. I scan the sideline for Sam. When I finally lay eyes on him, he’s beaming. One event down, three to go.