Letters to Nowhere (22 page)

After dragging another eight–inch mat into the pit, I attempted the new vault again and landed with only a small hop.

So did Stevie.

Ellen could sense the tension and didn’t say anything to either of us, just whistled under her breath a couple times and kept her eyes away from mine while continuing to do her Yurchenko doubles with no problem.

I wasn’t sure how close I actually was to doing this vault, but I figured it didn’t hurt to be going head–to–head with the vault world champion from two years ago. Unfortunately, my duel with Stevie didn’t allow me to notice Bentley exiting his office and reentering the gym. He waited until I returned to the end of the vault runway, joining me there before asking, “Did you do your doubles on the regular vault already?”

I felt my heart pounding, knowing I’d screwed up big–time. Again. “No, I—”

He turned his back to me and said, very low, “You owe me ten extra competition vaults tonight before doing any more of the new vaults into the pit.”

“Okay,” I said, barely above a whisper.

“Your run looks fantastic,” he added, then clapped his hands together and raised his voice so all four of us could hear. We were usually the only ones in the gym in the morning besides some preschool classes, and they had their own area. “Take a five–minute break, and then I need you in my office for a Skype with Nina Jones.”

We all looked at each other and Bentley just shrugged. “You’ll find out in five minutes, all right?”

Ellen bounded over to her mother in the viewing area. Ellen’s mom was meticulous about watching nearly every practice. It would have driven me nuts if my mom did that; now I couldn’t help the wistful feeling I had whenever I saw them together.

Stevie and Blair came up on either side of me as we walked to get drinks and snacks from our gym bags.

“How’s Jaren doing?” Stevie asked, lowering her voice, eyes dancing with amusement, like we hadn’t just been enemy competitors a few minutes ago.

“Jaren?” I asked.

“You know, Jordan and Karen,” Blair whispered.

“It’s our code name,” Stevie added. “For your relationship. Don’t want E or Bentley to hear us.”

I could feel my cheeks heat up and I dropped my eyes to the floor. “It’s not exactly a relationship. I mean, not yet. We text from our bedrooms. That’s pretty much it.”

Blair nudged her shoulder into mine. “Like sexting?”

“No!” I said even though I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what actually defined sexting. Maybe that was something I could ask Jackie?

“Come on,” Blair pleaded. “We need more details. He was totally watching you last night during practice. I caught him looking our way several times when he was supposed to be teaching his classes.”

“Yeah,” I grumbled. “Probably trying to figure out why his dad decided to torment me.”

“Totally,” Blair agreed. “Bentley is so sneaky with the hard–ass coach stuff. He’s gradually hitting us with new corrections and then he has this way of making it sound like this was the plan all along and we just forgot.”

“Maybe it
was
the plan all along,” Stevie said, pulling a Kashi bar from her bag.

I sat on the floor and started peeling my banana. “I think he’s too nice to tell me I’m not good enough to add these new skills and he thinks I should figure it out on my own, and honestly, I wish he’d just tell me. Coach Cordes would have told me.”

Stevie’s eyebrows shot up and she opened her mouth to say something, but Bentley stuck his head out of his office and yelled for us to come in. My stomach tumbled with nerves and I dumped half my banana into the garbage can before springing to my feet.

“Sorry, just the girls,” Bentley said to Ellen’s mom, who had appeared behind Ellen at his office door.

Blair and I stifled giggles and dragged Ellen inside before her mom could fuss over her hair or tell her how to sit on the couch properly during a Skype with Nina Jones.

The office door was shut, leaving Ellen’s mom outside. The four of us squeezed onto the brown leather sofa behind the desk and watched Nina and her clipboard appear on Bentley’s monitor. He slid his desk chair to the side so we could see and he leaned back as if he wasn’t at all worried about this virtual meeting.

“Girls,” Nina said, getting right to the point. She doesn’t do hello. “First off, the March training camp is canceled.”

None of us said a word or made any kind of face, but I knew we were all cheering silently. I so wasn’t in the mood for Houston next weekend.

“We’ve decided to take two gymnasts to Australia for a junior competition at the end of the month,” Nina said.

Stevie and I both relaxed back into the couch. We wouldn’t have to face rejection today. Neither of us were juniors, thus not eligible for this competition.

“The committee and I have chosen Ellen and Kayla Dallas to represent the US.”

Ellen squealed beside me and I tossed an arm around her, giving her a little squeeze. Blair was on the far end of the couch, but from the corner of my eye, I could see her biting her nails, staying silent but hurt, I was sure. It might have been because of her leg, or it might have been because she wasn’t good enough in their eyes. I wasn’t sure which Blair preferred to be the truth, but I was betting on it being the injury.

“Congratulations, Ellen,” Nina said. “On to my next topic. Since nearly all the girls have decided to compete in Chicago the weekend before the American Cup, the National Committee and I have decided to hold the April training camp in Chicago at the competition arena. We’ll be doing a three–day verification meet, and from that we’ve decided to choose the six–member junior and senior teams for the Pan American Games in Rio this May.”

I could feel my pulse pounding with both excitement and anticipation. Pan Am games weren’t quite as competitive as the Olympics or World Championships, but they were a very big deal and run just like the Olympics, with several days of competition and multiple sports. And to have a chance to prove myself on a beam that wasn’t the one in Houston where I had nearly suffocated from that crazy panic attack—this could be huge for me. If they weren’t considering me for the team, I wouldn’t be in this Skype meeting right now.

“I just wanted to tell each of you the plan in person and to wish you luck. Making the Pan American team is a great honor, and the committee plans on fielding the best team possible. That means impressing international judges,” Nina said, then she looked right at me. “Karen, we’ll need a notarized letter from a legal guardian stating that you have permission to compete in Rio should you make the team. The old letter we have on file won’t be legal anymore. Please bring that with you to Chicago.”

Everyone stilled and tension filled the air in Bentley’s office. “Thank you, Nina,” Bentley said, pulling his chair in front of the monitor. “I’m sure the girls are all thrilled with the opportunity you’ve presented.”

He finished the conversation and ended the Skype session, then shooed us out of his office and into the hands of our very strict, very demanding dance teacher before any of us had the chance to absorb the news.

I couldn’t help wondering if Bentley had known about the possibility of all of us making the Pan Am team all along. I had been thinking of Chicago as a practice meet, a very important practice meet, but still a competition where I could throw a layout Jaeger on the bars and as long as it looked decent, it wouldn’t be a huge deal if I fell because they’d see that it was a work–in–progress. But now it seemed that the committee wasn’t looking for work–in–progress routines next month; they wanted polished, Rio–ready routines and maybe that was why Bentley had come down so hard on me with these new skills. He wanted me to play it safe in Chicago so I could have a chance at making the team. And maybe the whole dead parent thing made it hard for him to tell me no, and he needed to let me go through the process myself. But was I really good enough to make the team without the new stuff? It didn’t seem possible. And if I did make the team, would I come back from Rio and head right to UCLA?

***

***

“Ready, Karen?”

I glanced up from my copy of
Catcher in the Rye
and saw Jackie smiling at me as a grouchy looking middle–aged woman shuffled out of Jackie’s office and toward the receptionist’s desk.

I stood up and she pointed at my book. “One of my favorites.”

“Required reading for English.”

She led me inside her flowery smelling office. “How are you today? What’s new in the world of elite gymnastics?”

The first twenty minutes of our session was spent updating her on Bentley’s current hard–ass attitude and the upcoming competition and the Skype session today. She just listened like this was the most interesting story ever.

“Coach Bentley really kicked you out of practice? And wait…did you say you drove home last night? I didn’t realize you had your license. I’ve noticed someone usually drops you off and picks you up here.” She flipped through her notebook, going back a bunch of pages.

I chewed on a dangling piece of skin around my thumbnail and stared at my lap. “I hadn’t driven since…since my parent’s accident. I freaked out being in the house and I thought the car would be the same, but I did it anyway.”
There. I mentioned freaking out. This was progress
.

Jackie surprised me by not taking on the dead parents look even when hit full–force with the subject. “What made you want to drive again?”

I finally looked up at her. “Something Blair said last week. She thought maybe if I pushed myself to tackle some part of my fear it would be like training for the bigger moment. And I don’t want to fall apart in Chicago. I’ve got to figure out how to fix…how to fix me…so I’m ready.”

“You can’t rush grieving any more than you can rush learning a new skill in gymnastics,” she said. “But I am glad you decided to drive again. It’s always good to put yourself back into your normal life, even if it’s just small pieces at a time. And I realize life is never going to be completely normal for you again, but it wouldn’t have been, regardless of whether your parents’ accident happened. You’re changing, and soon you’ll finish school and be moving on to something new…you’ve kissed a boy.” She smiled at that and I felt myself doing the same.

“He’s really great.”

“And totally cute.” Jackie leaned forward at her desk. “You did
not
tell me that part. I had to see it for myself.”

I laughed. “He sings and plays the guitar too.”

“Wow,” Jackie said. “That’s a lot of positives, and not enough negatives for you to avoid your feelings forever, I’m sure.”

I ignored the comment, since I didn’t really know what to call us besides
Jaren
. “His mom played cello for the London Symphony Orchestra. His family is oozing with talent. He must have million–dollar genes. All I have to inherit from my parents is my mom’s gift for fundraising and my dad’s ability to argue for a living.”

“Tell me about your dad,” Jackie said.

I took a deep breath, keeping my voice calm and even. “He was a bit of workaholic. Sometimes my parents would fight about that, but then he’d come home by seven every night for a couple weeks and my mom would forgive him until the next time. But he worshipped her, really he did. And with me, he was always afraid to…to…”

Jackie set her pen down, raising an eyebrow again. “To what?”

“To baby me, I guess.” I wasn’t totally sure those words were exactly right, but I couldn’t think of a better way to explain. “It’s like he was okay with my mom being this person whose goals were to make the best hair bows and not forget to get her nails done before a fancy event with his firm.”

I stared at the wall behind Jackie and something snapped inside of me. Suddenly, I saw my dad in a new light, and pieces flew together. All this anger and things I couldn’t even put into words poured out of me while I continued to answer Jackie’s question. “It’s not even that he was okay with her being like that, he actually liked her simple. But with me, he expected so much. Not in a way that he would verbalize, exactly, but it was always like I couldn’t just say,
‘I’m tired, Dad. I don’t feel well. My teammates are fighting with me,’
because I dreaded seeing that disappointment on his face, like he knew I could do better.”

“Do you think maybe it was you who were worried about failing him?” Jackie asked. “Maybe you invented the expectations because your mom wasn’t the pushy type?”

“I don’t know. It probably started when I was little and I’d hear him tell his friends and other parents how tough his little Karen was, and I didn’t want to show him any other side besides the tough one.” I moved my gaze from the wall back to Jackie. “But why was my mom just a woman to him, and I was someone who had to be great? It doesn’t seem fair to either of us, does it?”

“No,” Jackie said, surprising me with her honesty. “But you do want to be great, right?”

“I think so…
yes
. Yes, I do, but more so now than before.” I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, picturing my mother and trying to feel her presence again so I could put this into words. “My mom was really smart. She studied accounting in college. She was a math whiz, but I don’t think my dad ever really noticed that about her. He loved to correct her, not in a domineering way, but in a way that made him go from serious to more affectionate. Why did she put up with that? I don’t get it. Short of going to my dad’s office and doing his work for him, my mom took care of everything else. I mean everything.”