Letters to Nowhere (33 page)

***

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.”

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.

J
ordan 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–passenger 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.

After I put the headphones on and started playing the first song, I pulled my phone out to text Jordan.

Money. That was why he couldn’t go. Stanford probably cost a fortune. A lot more than Missouri State, that much I knew for sure. But Bentley had said they would figure something out. He wouldn’t have said that if he didn’t mean it. That was my impression of Coach Bentley, but maybe Jordan’s version of his dad didn’t come with the same kind of certainty, because he hadn’t looked convinced when Bentley said those words to him.

But the look on Jordan’s face when he read that acceptance letter, it was like seeing a perfect moment from the outside. He could tell me a million times that it didn’t matter if he went to Stanford or not, but I’d never believe him.

***

We might not have been in Houston at the National Team Training Center, but that didn’t seem to affect Nina Jones at all. She held the intimidation factor just as strong as ever when we lined up for her before our second workout today. The morning had been strength testing and basics and of course those lovely physicals that we all looked forward to.

I had done very well this morning on my strength testing, despite my fading drive. It hurt to push myself through the press handstands and the leg lifts and all of it, but it was a different kind of pain than what had been crushing me the past couple days. And it was a short relief to feel something new. But tonight, I couldn’t find a reason to fight through this workout. To make myself stand out in a field of twenty–four of the best gymnasts in the country.

“You nervous?” Stevie asked from beside me.

“I’m just tired,” I said. “Really tired.”

“Well, snap out of it,” she hissed. “I’m gonna be pissed at you if you so much as water down one single event.”

I glanced at her, totally shocked, but I couldn’t respond because Nina had begun dividing us into groups. Stevie and I were together and Ellen and Blair in another group. Stacey went with the juniors and Bentley stayed with us. We had been assigned to start on vault.

Bentley stretched our shoulders while we waited for Nina to join us with her clipboard. Panic crawled through my insides just seeing her stern face, her hand ready to make all kinds of negative comments in the notes we never saw. And the words,
I can’t, I can’t
…played over and over in my head.

“I just want to do doubles today,” I whispered to Bentley, trying not to look at Stevie, whose glare I could already feel.

He nodded and prepared to take his place closer to the vault table with the other coaches.

“Henry’s girls,” Nina said, addressing me and Stevie. “What are you showing us today?”

“I’m doing an Amanar, and so is Karen,” Stevie answered before I could stop her.

“No, I’m doing a double.”

Nina moved closer and lowered her voice. “Have you been working on Amanars, Karen? You did doubles at the last camp in February.”

“I have, but…but…my shoulder’s sore,” I lied.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Perhaps tomorrow?”

I let out a sigh. “Maybe.”

She walked off to the opposite end of the runway and Stevie leaned close to whisper in my ear. “Liar.”

I ignored her and shrugged off her words. Bentley set the springboard for me and I got the go–ahead for my first vault. I landed it clean, with no steps or other form errors. None of the three National Team staff said anything
to
me, but they started talking
about
me before I even got off the landing mat.

“Her height is amazing, but we’ve got four girls doing Amanars. She can’t beat those scores with a double,” someone said.