The Flip Side (16 page)

Things don't go quite as smoothly for the decorating committee.

“We still have so much to do,” Tasha says. “We're trying to build an Eiffel Tower, and we want people to stand beneath an Arc de Triomphe for their prom photos. We just don't know if we'll have everything ready in time.”

“All right,” Kristine says. “We have to jump on this. The athletes”—she gives Bobby a knowing smile—“have practice, so they are excused, but everyone else will need to meet every day after school and three hours this Saturday to get the decorations done. Then, of course, we'll all be expected to meet the Saturday morning of prom to get the decorations put up.”

I can't do any of that. I start to raise my hand, but stop. I'm not going to argue with her about it. I'll just tell Mr. Alto.

Kristine goes on about some other things. Finally she adjourns the meeting. I close my notebook and start to get up to talk with Mr. Alto, when Bobby's hand comes to rest on my arm.

“You were saying?” he asks.

And I remember what we were talking about when Kristine called the meeting to order. Everything suddenly seems so complicated, and I have so much that I need to do. I take a deep breath, calm my racing heart. I can handle all this. It's what I do.

“I'm going to be staying with a friend,” I tell Bobby.

“Would it be okay if I pick you up there?”

I don't want to ruin this night for him. I don't want to be a selfish or demanding date. “Let me check. I'll get back to you. Oh, and don't say anything about our going to prom together to my brother.” With four hundred people in the building at prom, there's a chance I won't even cross paths with Josh, but if I do, I'll deal with it then.

“Charlotte, what are you not telling me?”

So much, and I hate it, but I don't want him to have doubts about our going, and I don't want him to change his mind. I squeeze his hand. “Nothing. I really want to go with you.”

“Okay. I have to scoot to class.”

He walks out, and I approach Mr. Alto. He looks up from his phone and smiles. “Charlotte.”

“Mr. Alto, I have other commitments that I've made for after school and on Saturday. I absolutely cannot blow them off, so I'm not going to be able to help the decorating committee. If that means that I need to resign from the student council—”

“No.” He waves a hand. “I'm really impressed with the minutes you write up, and you've done an excellent job with the food committee. You weren't expecting to have to help with the decorating. I'll excuse you.”

I grin. “Thank you.”

When I get to my locker, Zoe is waiting for me.

“Okay,” she says. “I promised I wasn't going to bug you about this, but I'm dying to know what you told Bobby about prom.”

I've actually been totally surprised that she's gone this long without insisting that I tell her. I've waited because I needed to know if Gwen was on board. If she wasn't, then I would have had to back out of what I told Bobby. I can't help the broad smile stretching across my face. “I'm going.”

“Yes! Michael and I will double with you. This is going to be the best night of our lives! We're going to have so much fun!”

I hope so. I hope it's going to be as wonderful as we both think it will be, so wonderful that it makes what I'm doing worth the risk.

“The thing is, Zoe,” I whisper, “my mom said no, and I don't want Bobby to know, so we need to keep this on the down-low.”

Her eyes widen. “Why did she say no?”

I shake my head. “She just thinks it's too much too soon. I'm too young. A bunch of reasons. But I'm going to go. I just need to make sure my family doesn't find out. I'm working on that.”

“Okay. Whatever I can do . . .”

“Go shopping for a dress Sunday?”

She smiles. “Absolutely. I still need to get mine.”

“Which will be my excuse for going with you. Can your sister give us a ride?”

“Probably. I'll check.”

She studies me a minute. “Charlotte. You're, like, being a rebel. I didn't know you had it in you.”

I didn't know I had it in me either, but then, I've spent years doing whatever I've had to do to reach for my dreams. Maybe I've been a rebel all along and just didn't know it.

•  •  •

Zoe and I walk across the shiny tiled floor of the mall, the tinkling elevator music filling our ears. I'd say we were walking shoulder to shoulder, except, since I'm a whole head shorter than Zoe, my shoulder hits somewhere above her elbow. As soon as we entered the mall, her sister told us to meet her at that entrance in two hours and took off. Apparently she has no interest in hanging with two high schoolers. That makes everything better for us, since we're here on a mission.

Zoe steers me into a store. “This is the place I wanted you to see. I totally think we'll find something in here.”

The shop assistant approaches us. Her name tag reads
MINDY
. “Can I help you find something?”

“Prom dresses,” Zoe says, smiling brightly. “One for each of us because we're both going to prom with the cutest guys.”

Mindy smiles, her gaze going from Zoe to me. “First time?”

“Yep,” Zoe replies. “For both of us.”

“Okay,” Mindy says. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“I want long!” Zoe cries. “Glamorous.”

“Something short,” I say. “Long dresses make me look smaller than I already am.”

“You know, that's actually a myth,” Mindy says. “The right long length can make you look taller.”

“Seriously?” I ask. I love the idea of long dresses—I just never thought I could pull them off.

“Pick out something short that you like. I'll find something for you in long. Then you can decide.”

I emerge from the dressing room fifteen minutes later in a hot-pink dress with a swishy skirt that ends around my midthigh.

“This might be too short,” I say, tugging on it. “Plus, this pink is too—”

“Bright? Obnoxious? Hideous?” Zoe finishes for me.

I was thinking
too Olympics
. During the last Olympics the Americans all wore pink leos exactly this shade. “No, I like pink. It's just . . . not looking like I thought it would.”

I gaze into the mirror one more time. It is a nice dress, but I have nothing to fill out the bust. And it makes my shoulders look wider than they are.

“All right,” Mindy says, holding up a long, lacy navy-blue dress. “Try this.”

When I step out of the dressing room, I'm stunned. The lining of the dress is a stretchy material that hugs my body across my chest and just under my arms, and stops midthigh. Lace covers it, rising to the neck and creating sleeves that stop just below my elbows. The lace flows down my body, pooling on the floor, with a slit that ends just above my knee. I do look taller. I look—

“Oh my gosh,” Zoe says. “Charlotte, it's gorgeous.”

“The key,” Mindy says, “is straight lines and solid colors. You'll need to wear heels, of course.”

“Of course,” I murmur in breathless disbelief.

“What can you do for me?” Zoe asks.

“Tall is easy,” Mindy says. “We need to find something that emphasizes your gorgeous red hair. I have a green that I think will work.”

“I'll look like Christmas.”

Mindy gives her a slow smile. “Let's see it on you first before you make a judgment.”

It's a deep-emerald-green, satiny halter gown that shimmers whenever Zoe moves—which she is doing a lot, swinging her hips, twirling around.

“It's stunning!” I exclaim.

“You think so?” Zoe asks.

“Absolutely.”

“You should both wear your hair in some kind of chignon,” Mindy says, gathering my hair in her hands. “And get your makeup done.”

“Charlie's a whiz at makeup,” Zoe says. “She's going to do mine.” Then she looks at me. “Right?”

“Right.”

We both change into our street clothes. I'm a little surprised by how regular I suddenly feel. The gown made me feel so elegant.

At the cash register I take out the credit card that my parents gave me to use whenever I travel with the team.

From there Zoe and I head to a shoe store and purchase shoes—with three-inch heels—to match our gowns.

“We still have a little time left,” Zoe says. “Let's go to the food court.”

I'm not at all surprised to see Bobby and Michael sitting at a table and sipping smoothies.

“You know,” I say to Zoe as she steers us toward them, “you don't have to keep arranging these little trysts without telling me.”

“But this way is so much more fun.”

“Hey,” Michael says as he and Bobby stand. “What a surprise. We just came to the mall to order our tuxes.”

“And you had no idea we'd be here?” I ask in disbelief.

“A little birdie might have said something,” says Michael. “What can we get you to drink?”

Zoe gets a latte. I go with an iced skinny chai.

“So . . . ,” Bobby says, resting his crossed arms on the table. “We thought we should make sure we're all on the same page about Saturday. We've rented a limo.”

Zoe gives a little squeal. “I've always wanted to ride in one.”

“We'll have it pick us up at Zoe's at six,” Michael says. “Bobby will pick you up, bring you over,” he says to me. “We'll grab dinner somewhere and be at prom by eight.”

This is happening. This is really happening.

I look at Bobby. “Because of the family thing, it'll work better if I just meet you at Zoe's.”

“Are you sure? Because I don't mind picking you up.”

“I appreciate that, but everything will be crazy on Saturday. It's just less complicated to meet you there rather than have to figure out all the timing.”

He nods. “Okay.”

“That works better,” Zoe says, “because Charlotte is going to help me with my makeup.” She grins broadly. “We're going to have a blast!”

Unless I get caught.

Coach Chris pulls me and Gwen out from the rest of the development team—the girls he's preparing to take to trials. He wants to work with us individually on bars. On Saturday, Gwen ran into a slight block with her Kovacs that worried Coach Chris, but nothing ever stops her for long. I have my new dismount to work on—a full twisting double back. I've mastered it into the foam pit. Now it's time to put it to the test. Coach Chris is quiet and nervous, chewing gum rapidly as he paces beside the mat. He likes us to be doing full routines this close to competing, especially with the high stakes of this particular competition. It's crucial that we all give our best these last two weeks before trials.

Gwen toe-shoots up to the high bar and begins her series of giants—starting with a handstand and then rotating her body 360 degrees, circling the bar—building up to her Kovacs. I dip my hands into the chalk bin. “Come on, Gwen! Go, girl!”

Gwen comes up high, releases, flips twice, and grabs the bar again. It all happens in a smooth, fluid whoosh. She doesn't even lose momentum, whips right up into a perfect handstand on the high bar and rotates in a pirouette.

“Yeah!” I cry out.

I check to see if Coach Chris is reacting, but his face is expressionless, and if he notices me looking at him, he ignores me. His eyes are trained on Gwen. She whips through her dismount and nails her landing.

“All right, Charlie,” Coach Chris says. “Let's go.”

I dust more chalk onto my hands. I slide the springboard into place and take my position on the far side of the high bar. Closing my eyes for a moment helps to block out any distraction. After a deep breath I spring into my routine. While I'm flying, everything around me is a beautiful blur.

But when I come to the dismount, my body doesn't cooperate. I hit the floor standing, wobble, stumble, lose my balance and land on my backside.

“Tight mind, Charlie,” Coach says. “Tight body. Let's get this done. You want to head back to the pit?” he says, referring to the foam pit.

“No, I got it,” I say.

“One more time,” Coach says. “Just the dismount.”

I hear impatience in his tone, and I don't blame him. I need this dismount if I'm going to stand a chance at trials. I take the bar again.

“Higher!” Coach's voice rings out when I swing around fast in my final 360-degree rotation. I need height to get all those twists in. But when I come down, my feet slide out from under me and I slam onto my back instead of sticking my landing. The jarring pain knocks the breath out of me and makes my eyes water. I struggle for a few seconds to get air back into my lungs.

Coach claps in one, short staccato. “Back to the pit!” he orders.

I shove myself to my feet, my heart beating in my temples. Before I can take a step, Coach is there, both hands on my shoulders. He gives me a steady look. “Usually I'd tell you not to get frustrated, to take your time, it'll come. But we don't have time for that, and you know it.”

“I know.”

“So, work that dismount over there. You've got the ability. Get back over here as soon as you can and give me something I can work with.”

“Yes, Coach.”

•  •  •

“He knows about Saturday,” Gwen whispers to me later when we're in the locker room.

“He doesn't know,” I assure her as I take my bag out of my locker. Inside it I have my gown, shoes, and makeup bag to pass off to Gwen when we get to her car. She's giving me a ride home tonight.

“But he was watching us so closely.”

“Because we have to perfect our routines.”

“You were struggling tonight,” she says. “Were you thinking about prom? Because I can't stop thinking about it and about what will happen if we get caught.”