No One Needs to Know (20 page)

“All I’ve had lately are off days.” I stand. “And I don’t think I want to do this anymore.”

“You’re still one of the best on the team,” she points out. “We need you.”

“I used to be
the
best. You said it yourself,” I say. “But the fire is gone. I don’t want this anymore. You’ve got plenty of new blood to take my place. Focus on them instead.”

Coach Vicks presses her lips into a thin line and stares into my eyes, as if searching for the truth. The truth I’ve hardly recognized but that I know, to my very core, is right.

“This isn’t who I am anymore,” I say, pointing to the beam and the floor and the bars and the vault. “Gymnastics is about perfection. And I don’t have the desire to find it.”

And it’s not just with gymnastics.

It’s everything. I don’t want to be perfect anymore, I want to be me. I want to be
happy
. I want the weight lifted and the stress gone, and I want to do things I actually
enjoy
.

Coach heaves a big sigh, crossing her arms. “You’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” I say. “It’s probably the first thing I’ve done right in a long time.”

“Okay,” she says, staring up at the ceiling as if she can’t stand to look at me. Can’t stand to see whatever talent I have being wasted.

But what would be a waste is spending one more day doing this.

One more day trying to become a person I’m never going to be.

“But if you change your mind … ”

“I won’t,” I reply. And I know it’s true. Because as I walk away—as I leave the floor and the bars and the beam and the vault behind me and the gym door slams shut—all I feel is freedom. Freedom from the pressure and the unrelenting burden I’d put on myself to be better than everyone else, better than the old me.

I stop outside the doors, fishing into my backpack for my purple pill box.

I’m done with this. I’m done freaking out over every little thing, I’m done pushing myself to be perfect at all costs. I toss the box into the garbage and then walk to my car, climb inside, and head straight to Burgerville as if guided by a homing beacon.

It’s Zoey who should know this first.

I pull into the lot a few minutes later, and lock my car before heading into the restaurant.

Zoey’s at the register helping an elderly man who’s having trouble hearing her. She repeats “$5.82” at least three times before he understands, and then waits patiently as he counts out the eighty-two cents.

When she dumps the coins into the register and looks up, her eyes meet mine. She grins, and I find myself smiling back. There’s warmth there—I didn’t realize it was what I was waiting to see.

It’s what I
needed
to see.

The man shuffles off, his receipt in hand, and I waltz up to the register.

“Double cheeseburger,” I say. “And French fries.”

She raises a brow and doesn’t punch the key on the register, as if she doesn’t believe I’m really ordering this.

“I quit gymnastics,” I say, a heartbeat later.

One corner of her mouth lifts and she hits the key to ring in my food.

“And one of those little ice cream flurry things.”

“M&M or Oreo?”

“Both.”

She keys it in, then waits, as if I’m going to order more.

“It was Xanax,” I blurt out, and heat rushes to my cheeks as I glance around, thankful no one is within earshot. I probably should have thought this through a little better, but the truth has been bubbling up since the moment I walked out of the gym, just waiting to be set free.

“What?”

“What I was hiding in my hand that first day we talked, in the bathroom at school. It was a pillbox. Xanax.”

Zoey swallows. “Oh.”

“I’ve been getting so stressed out all the time, and it’s all I can do to hold it together. My mom had the pills prescribed a couple of years ago, but I didn’t use to use them much. Lately, though, I’ve wanted them, more and more.”

“And now?”

“I threw them away. Which was really stupid,” I say, my cheeks burning. “I think I’m going to get withdrawals or something. So if I have a total meltdown in about two hours, I might have to go back to the gym and dig through the trash can.”

Zoey grins and punches another key. “That’ll be $6.42.”

I hand her a twenty. “Do you have time to sit with me?”

She glances at the clock beside the counter. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Let me tell Rita I’m going on break.”

I accept my change and go find a seat next to the window, where the sun is bathing a table in warm yellow light. A few minutes later Zoey shows up, food tray in hand. When she sets it down I realize she’s doubled the order, one meal for me and one for herself.

“So, tell me about this big epiphany,” she says, unwrapping her burger.

“I don’t know. It’s just … I can’t do it anymore. I just want room to
breathe
.”

She nods, her mouth full of burger.

“There was a time I really did enjoy gymnastics. In the beginning I improved really fast. I was the best, easily. And I like to be the best.”

“You don’t say,” she jokes.

“I know, but gymnastics kind of embodied my personality. It was all about precision and drive and practice. I could be exactly the person I wanted to be every time I was out there.”

Zoey studies my face. “When did it become something else?”

I take a big bite of my burger, as a way to give myself some time to think, then chew slowly. “I guess … when it stopped coming easy. When I had to actually work for it. When I had to see what it was like to fail. And then I started hating it.”

“Well, that’s good,” she says, tossing a fry at me.

“I wish I’d realized it sooner. But at least I finally did.”

I smile. There’s something about this moment, about being honest with Zoey, honest with myself, that feels freeing. Like I could float right out of here on a cloud of bliss.

“What does Liam have to say about this?” she asks, popping another fry in her mouth.

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Who have you told?”

“You,” I say.

“Oh.” She grins.

“I just thought you’d get it,” I say. “I’ll tell my brother later.”

“I do,” she says. “Get it, I mean. I get what this means to you.”

“Thanks.” I crumple up the empty burger wrapper, realizing I practically inhaled the thing, and then pick up the spoon for my ice cream.

“You should try dipping your fries in the ice cream,” Zoey says, doing just that. I watch in fascination as she sticks a fry right into the ice cream, scoops some up, and then pops it in her mouth.

“That’s gross,” I say.

“Don’t knock it til you try it.”

So I do as she directs, dipping the fry into the ice cream and eating it. “Huh,” I say, trying another. “Pretty good.”

“Yeah.” She picks up a spoon and rips open the plastic wrapper. “So my mom got a new job. We should be able to move to a better neighborhood.”

“That’s amazing!” I say. “You must be pumped.”

She nods, her smile surprisingly serious. “I am. It’s weird—all of a sudden all these possibilities are there. I might actually apply to college.”

We fall silent for a moment, our mouths full. Zoey sticks her spoon back into her ice cream, leveling a look at me that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s … intense. Searching.

“It’s been a week,” she says.

“Since?”

“Since you said you’d tell your brother. Remember? You said you needed a week. You’ve had it.”

“Tomorrow makes a week.”

She stares. “So you’re going to talk to him tomorrow?”

I swallow. Is that what I’ve just agreed to? But I can’t. I don’t want to. He’s going to freak out. I can’t just be like,
Oh hi, Liam, I’m dating your girlfriend so you’re going to have to break up with her.

“I’ll try.”

“You can’t just try,” Zoey says. “You have to.”

“I know.” I sit back in my chair and set down my spoon. “What time are you off?”

“Ten,” she replies.

“I’ll come back and give you a ride.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

We sit in the sun for what feels like only moments longer before Zoey’s break is over and she has to go back to work.

“Uh, so, I’ll see you in a bit,” I say.

“Okay, see ya then,” she calls over her shoulder, disappearing behind an
employees only
sign.

ZOEY

The next day, as I’m walking home from work and wondering whether Olivia has had the talk yet with Liam, I hear a deep rumble building behind me. When it slows down, I glance over my shoulder to see Liam’s glossy red Jeep Wrangler.

He rolls down his window—manual, not automatic like his sister’s car—and waves at me, flashing that same dopey smile I’ve come to know.

There’s no way Olivia has talked to him yet. Not when he’s flashing me that kind of a smile.

“Need a ride?”

I adjust my backpack, swinging it more fully over my shoulder as I smile back. “Sure. Thanks.”

I round the Jeep and toss my bag into the backseat, then grab the roll bar and haul myself up into the passenger seat.
Six inch lift
, Liam told me the first day I rode in it. I feel like it should have been installed with a step stool attached.

It’s fitting, really, that Liam would drive around in this sporty, lifted jeep while Olivia prefers something sleek and fast and pricey.

“How was work?”

Why are we talking about work? Why don’t we just talk about the weather while we’re at it?

Olivia really should have told him about us by now. What the heck is she waiting for?

“Zoey?”

“Uh, what?” I ask, realizing that the Jeep is moving and I’m not buckled up. I snap it into place just as Liam pulls up to a stop sign.

“I said, how was work?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old. It was pretty quiet.”

“That’s good.”

“Mhmmm,” I say noncommittally.

The Jeep roars off again, down a side street alongside Wright Park. It’s quiet now, though. Dark. I absently wonder if Carolyn convinced Mom to take her here today, before the sunset and the evening chill.

“So, I was thinking,” Liam says, as he takes a corner at thirty and I’m forced to grab onto the little bar in the dash.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Uh, so Homecoming is coming up at Stadium.”

“Oh?” I ask, feigning dumb, panic rising. He can’t ask me to Homecoming. I’m supposed to be breaking up with him!

“Uh-huh. In two weeks. I was hoping you’d like to go with me.”

“Oh,” I say, trying not to cringe. I’m not going to be with him in two weeks.

But how can I say that now? Olivia wants to talk to him first. I don’t want to drive those two apart. He means too much to her.

But … I don’t want to do this anymore, either. I don’t want to be with Liam.

“Um, I’ll have to check and see if I work that day,” I say when I realize he’s still staring, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, cool. Let me know.”

And then we’re pulling up at my house and Liam’s putting the Jeep into neutral, pulling the parking brake. I glance up at the windows, finding them blazing with light. Carolyn and Mom are definitely home.

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to walk me up. My mom will want to grill you. But, uh, thanks for the surprise ride.”

“Sure. Text me later, okay?”

“Yeah. Will do.”

But maybe I won’t have to. Maybe Olivia will talk to him first.

I realize too late he’s leaning over to kiss me, but I’m half out of his Jeep and dropping to the sidewalk. I give him an apologetic smile, then slam the door and head toward my house. My phone chirps.

I smile when I see there’s a text from Olivia.

Be ready in ten minutes. I’m picking you up. We only need a half hour, and then I’ll bring you back home before you turn into a pumpkin.

I laugh, shoving the phone back into my pocket and pushing my way into the house. Maybe she wants to strategize about what to say to Liam. Or, heck, maybe she wants us to talk to him together.

As I step closer inside the house, I hear it:

Music.

The beat-up boom box in the kitchen is blaring out a country song. And then I glimpse my mom, boot-scootin’ sideways across the cracked, stained vinyl, followed quickly by my sister.

“Heel, toe, heel, toe, twist,” my mom calls out over the music, apparently teaching Carolyn how to line dance.

I break out into laughter. Not at them, but with some weird mixture of amusement and relief and … I don’t know.