The Flip Side (21 page)

He actually considers it for a minute. “Yeah, I think so.”

I toss a pillow at him. With a laugh, he sets it aside and gets up. “To be honest, I can understand why he wouldn't want to hang around with me. I was acting like an idiot, trying to get in close to him just because he was spending time with you.”

“I think he would want to hang around with you if you didn't try so hard to impress him. Actually, the way you acted around him . . . that's part of the reason why I didn't tell people about my gymnastics life. I thought they would try to be friends with me because of my ‘star' power. Not because of who I am. Although, I realize that makes me sound a little conceited, to think I'm a star.”

“You are a star. Or you will be after the Olympics.”

“If I can make the team.”

•  •  •

The next afternoon my phone vibrates against the desk. I'm sitting in my room with my foot in ice water.

“Hey, Charlotte.” Zoe's voice sounds strained.

“Hey.”

“How're you doing? How's the ankle?”

I swallow. “It's swollen.”

“Have you been to the doctor?”

“Yep. It's just sprained.”

“Not the best prom night, huh?”

I'm not going to lie. It was a disastrous prom night. But there's always a bright side. There has to be. “I had fun until skating boy happened upon the scene.” I force out a laugh.

“I feel so bad. I should have left when you did.”

“No, you shouldn't have,” I say. “Then I would have felt worse than I feel now. How was prom after I left?”

“Wonderful. Which makes me feel guilty, because it wasn't wonderful for you.”

“You shouldn't feel guilty,” I insist.

“Michael kissed me.”

I release a little squeal. “How was it?”

“Nice. Really nice.”

“You guys make a cute couple.”

“If you hadn't gotten hurt, it would have been the best night ever.”

“It's all right, Zoe, if for you it was the best night ever.”

“It can't be when my bestest friend gets hurt. Devon Winters is such a doofus. Who wears skates to a prom? Kristine was so mad at him for getting kicked out.”

“Why would she be mad?”

“Because he was her date. Did you not know?”

No. She failed to mention that when she was talking to Bobby. “Zoe, how do you keep up with all this stuff?”

“I follow just about everyone on Facebook and Instagram.”

“It must take you hours to go through your timelines.”

“Sometimes, but I love it. It's like reading a gossip magazine.”

Maybe I'll have Zoe handle my social media if I make the Olympic team.

“I should probably get back to studying,” I tell her.

“Me too. I'm glad it's just a sprain.”

I lift my foot up out of the ice. “I think the swelling is going down. I'll be as good as new tomorrow.” A little lie, but there's no point in bringing her down.

“Great! I'll see you at school.”

We hang up, and I lower my foot back into the ice. Then I stare at my phone, wishing that Bobby would call.

Monday morning, with my ankle still in a compress wrap, I use my crutches to hobble down the hallways through school. Mom called Coach Chris and told him that I needed to skip my morning workout, but not why. She's going to tell him this afternoon. I'm dreading it.

After third period, as I'm heading to my locker before lunch, I notice the whispering and the odd looks that people are giving me, but I shrug them off, figuring there's gossip about the Rollerblading incident at prom. People must be looking and pointing because I'm the girl who got knocked off her feet.

It doesn't occur to me to think it's anything else, until Kristine stops in front of me in the hallway, plants her hands on her hips, and gives me a steely once-over.

“Is it true?” She slides her tongue into her cheek, like she's trying not to laugh.

“What? That your date knocked me over at prom?”

“If what they're saying is true, you should have been able to leap out of his way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Gymnastics! Woo-woo!” Kristine flaps her arms around. “It's not true, right? It's just coincidence that you have similar names.”

My insides freeze. “I don't know what you're talking about.” The lie comes out automatically.

“Exactly.” Kristine stalks away.

I barely notice anything around me as I make my way to my locker. I see Zoe at her locker. I'm surprised she doesn't rush over. Instead she's watching me like she doesn't know who I am. I stuff my book-filled backpack into my locker and then hobble over to her.

“Hey,” I say to her. “I just had the weirdest conversation with Kristine.”

“I bet. Do you want to hear something really funny? It's crazy. Totally nuts.”

“Sure.” I need something to distract me from Kristine's weirdness. Did Bobby say something to Kristine? Did he catch up with her at the prom after her date was thrown out? He's the only one who knows. . . .

“I posted the selfie from prom on Instagram, and I tagged you. And then Morgan Whitcomb tagged it, but with a different name—Charlie Ryland—that linked to a gymnast. She posted a comment that she went to prom with the gymnast's brother.”

Oh no. No, no, no.

“Zoe—”

“I followed the link. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my bestest friend is famous.”

“I'm not famous.”

She scoffs. “You're an Olympic hopeful, and you didn't even tell me. I feel so stupid, Charlotte.” Tears well in her eyes. “Oh, I mean,
Charlie
. People are asking me what it's like to be the friend of a famous person—”

“I'm not famous,” I repeat. Not like celebrity, paparazzi-followed famous.

“You will be.”

“Not if I don't make the team.”

“There were photos of you at a training ranch in Texas. You lied to me about that. I asked for pictures of cowboys. There's a photo of you on the cover of some gymnastics magazine. You have this whole other life, and I knew nothing about it. Why didn't you tell me?”

I shake my head. “I don't know,” I answer honestly. “I guess I thought things between us would change.”

“Like what? You think that I'm shallow and would only want to be with you because you're famous?”

It sounds so bad. “I'm sorry. I should have told you.”

“Yeah, you should have. But you're right. Things between us did change.” She slings her backpack over her shoulder and heads down the hallway.

“Charlie?”

I turn to find a girl looking at me hesitantly. I have no idea who she is, but she suddenly grins broadly. “Charlie Ryland. It is you. I can't believe you go to my school and I didn't know it. I train at another gym, nowhere near good enough to make the Olympic team, but I'm hoping for a college scholarship. Will you sign this for me?”

She holds out a notebook, turned to a blank page, and a pen. I'm reeling, trying to make sense of all this. “Sure.”

I take the pen while she steadies the notebook. “My name is Malia,” she says.

Good luck, Malia!
I write, and then sign
Charlie Ryland
with a flourish.

“Thanks,” she says, hugging the notebook to her chest.

“Keep working toward your dream,” I say automatically.

When she walks off, I fumble my phone out of my pocket and bite my lip as I pull up Instagram. I scroll through the photos, and horror sinks into my lungs, restricting my breath, into my stomach, making it plunge. Not only is the selfie that Zoe took there, but there is a photo of me sprawled on the floor and Bobby kneeling beside me and one of him carrying me. “Oh no . . .”

I stare at the screen. It feels like all the blood is draining to my feet. The photo of me sprawled on the floor has more than 10,000 likes and 654 shares.

Charlie Ryland Gymnast on Facebook has 450,000 followers. And all it took was one tag for all the people who know me in one life to get linked to the other life. I think of Coach Rachel. This isn't nearly as bad as what she went through, but it still hurts, and my mind is filling with thoughts of the various ways that this could play out badly.

I get a text from Josh.
We need to talk.

I'm at my locker.

Wait there.

I make my way over to my locker and lean against it. The hallway empties out somewhat as the other students head to the cafeteria. Then I spot Kristine talking with Bobby at the far end, where one hallway intersects with another. She's running her hand up and down his arm, like she's testing his muscles.

Then she sees me, points, and laughs. Bobby glances over his shoulder, says something to her. I try not to wonder if they got back together at prom after I was hurt. His date was no longer there, and neither was hers. At the very least she probably got her dance with Bobby.

Leaving her behind, Bobby approaches me. He doesn't give me his enticing grin. The dimple doesn't show.

“How's the ankle?” he asks with very little emotion.

“The doctor said it was just a sprain. I'll find out during practice this afternoon if it can withstand the impact.”

“Shouldn't you give it a few days?”

“I can't. Trials are this Saturday, and I have to know. My coaches have to know. This is it for me. If I miss trials, all my dedication and years of practice were for nothing.”

“Really?” He wrinkles his brow. “What about all the friendships you made, everything you've achieved up until now. Doesn't any of that count for anything?”

I don't know what to say. “Of course it does,” I finally manage. “But I want to go to trials. I will go to trials.” No matter how much my foot hurts.

“Good luck. I mean it, Charlotte. I hope—”

“Are you and Kristine back together?” I point as much as I'm able while holding on to the crutches. “She's waiting for you.”

“We're not back together. We're just going to lunch.”

I nod. “I guess you've heard that my secret is out.”

“Yeah, but I didn't have anything to do with it.”

“I know.”

“Bobby?” Kristine calls out, her voice echoing along the now-empty hallway.

“I need to go.” He starts to leave, looks back over his shoulder. “Good luck at the trials.”

Luck isn't going to be enough. It never is.

Watching them walk away, I'm feeling sad and alone. I want to feel relieved when Josh appears. Instead I feel betrayed.

“You told Morgan that I'm Charlie Ryland?” I ask when he's near enough to hear me.

He looks guilty. “Yeah. I guess you already know about her tagging you on Instagram and posting photos on Facebook.”

“Why? Why did you tell her?”

“I freaked out Saturday. You know that. When I saw your foot bruising . . . She wanted to know why I was so upset. Even after you left, I was worried and she was comforting . . . and everything spilled out. But it was just like you told me it would be. Suddenly she was impressed that she was at prom with the brother of an Olympian. Even though you're not yet an Olympian. She wanted to know if she could go to Montreal with us. Were we rich? Were we going to be on TV? It was like she thought we were the Kardashians or something. Anyway, when she saw Zoe's picture, she wanted to feel special, wanted everyone to know she knew a big secret. So she tagged you. She just told me after class. She wants your autograph.”

“You're kidding.”

He shakes his head. “Apparently she has a thing for celebrities. So, uh, I'm not going to see her anymore.”

“You don't have to not see her because of me.”

“Nah, it's gotten weird. I finally understand why you didn't want people to know. I'm just sorry I told her and ruined things for you.”

“It's okay, Josh. If the trade-off for making the Olympics is that everyone will know, then I guess I'm hoping that everyone finds out. Want to grab lunch with me?”

His eyes widen in surprise. “We've never had lunch together.”

“I know, but you might be the only friend I have left.”

“That's sad, Charlie. I'm sorry for my part in this.”

“I brought it all on myself. I should have been honest with everyone from the beginning. So, lunch?”

“Sure.”

As we head for the cafeteria, a couple of girls give me shiny smiles as they walk past me. Which would be fine if they'd ever given me shiny smiles before. It is so strange to be getting all this attention. I have to wonder if it's the end of normal as I know it.

When I arrive at practice, Gwen is at the entrance to the locker room sipping water.

“Hi, Gwen,” I say when I reach her.

She's streaked with dust from bars and still wears her grips. “Hey.”

From the locker room entry, I see Mom crossing the gym floor to talk to Coach Chris.

“So, what did you find out?” Gwen's normally exuberant voice is wooden.

“It's a sprain. Dr. Kwan says I can practice if I feel comfortable.”

She nods before moving over to her locker. “Good.”

I heave a sigh, glancing across the floor at my mom and my coach. They're deep in conversation. Mom looks over at me, and our eyes meet. Coach Chris, in his usual way, is focused intently on what she's saying. I step all the way into the room, set the crutches against my locker, and slide my jacket off.

“As far as my mom knows, I was only sleeping at your place. You weren't really involved,” I whisper, carefully placing my foot on the floor and adding a little weight. The pain is bearable.

“Really?” she asks incredulously, causing me to glance up to watch her. She pitches her grips into her locker. They land with a hollow thud. “Because your mom called my mom, and I'm grounded until after trials.”