Letters to Nowhere (11 page)

“Nina, I don’t think—” Bentley started to say, but Nina held up a hand right away to shut him up.

“Don’t baby her, Henry,” she snapped.

Only Nina Jones would get away with calling Coach Bentley by his first name.

I stood in the center of the high beam, raising my arms to prepare. I felt the weight of their eyes on me. Then I just went for it, landing with a thud back on the beam. I wobbled and one leg even came all the way out to the side as I tried to regain balance. Eventually, I bent my knees and held myself in place.

Now my legs were shaking. I couldn’t even look at Blair or Stevie and especially not Bentley. If they looked totally shocked, then I was likely to start freaking and never do it again, and I had a feeling that Nina—

“Again!” Nina said.

So, I did it again. After ten tries—three falls and seven successful landings—she had me come down and start reciting all the skills in my current routine. It only took me a second to realize she was looking for a place to put this move.

“After the straddle jump, in the middle of your routine, add the tucked full,” Nina said.

I didn’t wait for Bentley to protest or even give him a chance. I stood facing the high beam, ready to do my press handstand mount. The rush of excitement running through my veins drowned out all other thoughts. The good and the bad.

I got to the tucked full in the middle of my routine and performed it well, but fell off after wobbling for a few seconds.

“Start over,” Nina barked.

The second time through, I made the tucked full and it took all the focus in me to not smile or cheer since I still had half a routine to finish. Instead, I plunged myself into the next skill. But the emotional high, the shift in my world caused my focus to slip and outside noise I usually tuned out broke through my bubble.

“The American Cup in April could be a trial run for her,” one of Nina’s sidekicks said.

“We needed another five–tenths of difficulty for the team beam score at Pan Am championships,” the other one said. “I thought we’d have to upgrade everyone’s jumps and turns, but she just racked up seven–tenths for us with one move.”

“Which would also be fantastic for Worlds next fall,” Nina said.

Oh my God, Mom is going to freak when she hears this!

I stood at the end of the beam, completing the full turn right before my double pike dismount, but suddenly reality hit and glued me to my spot. The fog of adrenaline melted. I tried to draw in a breath but couldn’t. The end of the beam blurred in front of me.

No, not this again. Not now.

Tears trickled down my cheeks. My legs collapsed underneath me. I sat right down on the beam, my forehead hitting my knees, the room swaying around me.

“Karen?”
Stevie. It’s Stevie
.

“Are you okay?”
And Blair.

“I can’t breathe,” I whispered.

Stevie pulled me down to my feet and before I even realized what was happening, she and Blair were leading me into the training room.

“I think she’s hyperventilating,” Stevie said.

I am? How did that happen?

“God, Karen!” Blair said. “What happened? You were doing so amazing. Did you hear them talking?”

Sweat trickled down my neck and back. I lifted myself onto the table, feeling nothing but panic as air refused to enter my lungs.

“She’s white as a ghost,” Bentley said, rushing in with the team doctor. “Karen, is this like what happened to you before? Or is it something else?”

Through the panic, I knew what he was asking—
Is this like the time I saw the urns or do I actually have medical problems that need 9–1–1 assistance?

“It’s like before,” I managed to say.

I clutched my chest, knotting my leotard between my fingers, willing myself to take a breath. After a two–second glance at Coach Bentley’s worried expression and my teammates’ near panicked faces, I passed out.

And with that, I proved to Nina and the rest of the committee that mentally, I wasn’t anywhere near ready for a major international competition in the future.

What could have ended as my best training camp ever, turned out to be the worst ever. Not just for me, but for my entire team and Coach Bentley.

***

Coach Bentley and I walked through the front door of his town house, exhausted and defeated. Neither of us had been in the mood to talk for the last seven or eight hours. He carried my suitcase up the stairs and I trudged after him.

“What the hell,” Bentley muttered. “Jordan!”

Jordan’s bedroom door flew open and he stepped into the hallway, grinning at me. “Like it?”

I finally got a glimpse of what Bentley was shouting about. My bedroom furniture had been exchanged for Jordan’s mismatched twin bed and dresser. The twin bed in my new room was covered with the blanket I had been using in the closet. There were no more boxes lying around. My clothes were hanging in the closet, all of the trophies and various items from my old room were nowhere to be found.

I stared at Jordan, my eyes wide.
He knew
. Something I said the other night must have tipped him off.

“Fix this now,” Bentley boomed. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s all right,” Jordan said. “Karen agreed to this. She lost a bet. I won her furniture fair and square.”

“He’s right.” I stepped into the room inhaling deeply and feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. “A deal’s a deal.”

Bentley shook his head as if to say he had enough to worry about without adding Jordan’s interior design projects to the list. Then he left us to go and chat with Mrs. Garrett downstairs. Jordan came into my room and shut the door behind him.

“How did you know?” I asked immediately. I closed my eyes, breathing in deeply again and smelling something brand new. A new start.

“I came in to tell you something the other night and you were sound asleep in the closet,” he said. “And then when you told me on the phone, about memories being haunting, I just thought… It smells like home to you, right?”

I nodded my answer, afraid to test the steadiness of my voice. I had held so much in since having a panic attack during last night’s workout. Everyone had looked at me like I belonged in the loony bin, so I hadn’t wanted to break down in sobs to add to the rumors.

The fact that Jordan had managed to bring my spirits up after that horrible ending to camp was just amazing. I moved closer and wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him in the middle.

“Thank you,” I whispered. This time I had actually said it out loud rather than in a letter I’d never send.

But hugging a boy was very out of character for me, so of course I let go and backed away before he even had a chance to return the hug.

“What happened at camp?”

I sat down on the bed. “The National Committee…they were talking about me, in the middle of my beam routine. Basically the beam routine of my life. They went on about how valuable I would be to the Pan Am team and maybe the World team.”

He joined me on the bed, putting a decent amount of space between us so we could turn and face each other. “And then you fell off the beam, or what?”

“I just froze. It was probably the single greatest moment of my entire life and…and . . .” I sucked in a shaky breath, holding back tears. “It hit me that I didn’t have anyone to call and tell the good news to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And needless to say, when they announced the three girls who would represent the USA at the American Cup in April, none of Coach Bentley’s girls made the cut.” Honestly, I hadn’t expected to get picked anyway, but they had dangled the possibility in front of me and I wanted it. For a few minutes, I wanted it so bad.

I flopped onto my stomach, pressing my face into the pillow. “I really screwed up, Jordan. I might not be able to convince them I’m anything but a mental disaster.”

“What did my dad say?”

“Nothing. He’s hardly spoken ten words to me since last night. I don’t think he knows what to say. It’s not anything he can fix or help me through, you know? That’s what therapy is supposed to do.”

He was quiet for a minute, then he grabbed my ankle and tugged on it. “Get up. Put on some clothes that aren’t made for comfort.”

I raised my head. “Why? Where are we going?”

He grinned at me. “To a party.”

“I just want to go to sleep for twenty hours and forget about this weekend.” I put the pillow over my head, but Jordan yanked it off.

“Come on, Campbell, don’t be a baby,” he said. “You’ll just end up lying in bed crying all night instead of finding a healthy distraction.”

I sat up and glared at him. “Where is this party, anyway?”

“W
hat kind of celebration is this?” I asked Jordan after prying my fingers off the seat of the car and forcing my eyes to open. We were parked in front of a huge house, practically a mansion.

“It’s a high school party.” Jordan reached across me to open my door. “No specific purpose other than the absence of parental control.”

I climbed out of the car and looked down at my outfit—skinny jeans, a green V–neck sweater, and black boots. I had even put on a padded bra. That didn’t give me cleavage, though. I felt the sudden urge to button my jacket all the way up so my lack of boobs wouldn’t be the first thing everyone noticed.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look fine.” Jordan grinned at me. “There might be drinking here, so don’t tell my dad.”

We had sort of told Coach Bentley we were going to get low–fat nondairy pizza and then shop for toiletries at Walmart. Then we planned to add on to the story, saying that the wait for a table at the pizza place was an hour, buying us three to four total hours of freedom.

“I might need to have a few drinks,” I said. “Just to loosen me up. I’ll need some liquid courage for all those rounds of spin–the–bottle and twenty minutes in heaven.”

Jordan burst out laughing before leading us toward the door of the party house. “Twenty minutes in heaven, huh? That could get crazy.”

We stepped through the door and entered the world of loud music, beer kegs, and random hookups. Part of me was totally petrified, the other part, fascinated. I just wanted to watch and see what normal looked like.

“Hey! Bentley!” someone shouted from the back patio.

I jumped and then realized Jordan was also Bentley…
Jordan Bentley
. I let out a breath of relief. He bumped fists with a stocky dark–haired guy whose eyes swept briefly over me and then back to Jordan, one eyebrow raised. “Who’s the cute redhead?”

“Tony, this is Karen,” Jordan said, nodding toward me. “This is Tony’s house.”

“Are you a freshman?” Tony asked, then he snatched a cup from the counter and handed it to me. “You must be a freshman. Three’s your limit, maybe two. You look like a lightweight.”

I started to take a sip, but Jordan stopped me, leaning in to sniff the cup. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine,” I told him. Despite my lack of social experiences, I had drunk alcohol before. I had developed an early taste for wine and my parents had let me drink a glass sometimes. If they weren’t home, Blair and I had been known to sneak another glass.

The drink tasted like iced tea and lemonade…
with a kick
. It felt warm going down, which was good because Jordan led me outside to stand around a bonfire with about twenty other kids. “I have a confession to make,” he whispered into my ear before we got too close to any of the others. “I did have some selfish motives when I invited you tonight.”

“Like what?”

“There’re two girls I’m trying to avoid, and the best way to do that at a party is to bring another girl.”

I laughed really hard. “You’re kidding. You should have brought someone a little more intimidating than me.”

He grinned down at me when I looked over my shoulder. “No one knows you. The mystery in itself is intimidating enough. Trust me.”

“What do you want me to say?” I asked, half panicking and half looking forward to the challenge of helping Jordan for a change. “If anyone asks who I am?”

Two girls were already striding in our direction, fake smiles plastered on.

“Tell them anything you want,” he said before moving beside me, rather than behind me.

“Hey, Jordan,” the girls said together.

He introduced me without explaining my presence at all, then seconds later, he left to go talk to some guys on the other side of the bonfire. I wasn’t sure whether to be scared or ticked off by Jordan’s departure, but the girls were on me before I had a chance to decide.

“So,” one of the girls said to me, “you must be a freshman, right? I thought you looked familiar.”

I downed about two–thirds of my drink and placed it on a table. That would be just enough alcohol to loosen my tongue, but not enough to tip off Bentley when we got back home.

“How do you know Jordan?” the other girl asked.

“Well…we’re…uh,” I stammered.

They both nodded, looking impressed. “That’s so great you guys are together,” one girl said, holding her hand to her heart as if Jordan was a close relative or something. “I’ve been telling Jordan forever that he needed to get a girlfriend and quit messing around.”

I coughed loudly, nearly choking on the alcohol still burning my throat from thirty seconds ago. “Right…well, it’s only been two dates. It’s not like we’re living together.”

“Two dates is progress for him,” the girl on my left said, rolling her eyes. “Trust me on that.”

“Thanks, guys,” I heard Jordan say. He moved right behind me, resting his hands lightly on my shoulders. “Why don’t you just tell Karen everything you know about me?”