The Flip Side (28 page)

I've done it. I finished the routine without any major mistakes, without my ankle giving out on me, without any huge blunders. But I still don't know if it was enough to make the team. What I do know is that, for today, it was my best.

•  •  •

“You're a fighter,” Coach Chris says into my ear, patting my back.

I don't want to see the scoreboard. My routine was riddled with tiny flaws that are likely to affect my score. But I did it. I gave it everything I had—110 percent, like I promised I would.

“I'm proud of you,” he says. “Whatever happens.”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

Gwen hugs me. Neither of us can speak. We've reached the part of the journey where all the striving, at least for the time being, is behind us. Glory or bitter disappointment is ahead. It's a moment that allows only silence.

We cling to each other as we wait for my score. I check the seats for my parents and find them quickly now, in the first row behind the railing. Mom is sitting, her hands clasped in front of her like she's praying, the American flag folded on her lap.

Dad and Bobby are talking, their eyes on the scoreboard.

What is taking so long?

Every second that ticks past feels like an hour. I bite my lip, feel the lenses of a hundred cameras, which translate into thousands of eyes, staring at me.

“Come on, come on,” Gwen says under her breath.

I feel that same urgency. If I'm clearly out with this score, then I'm out. I mean, there's always a chance I could go to the Olympics just to compete in beam, but Team USA has plenty of other girls who are solid on beam, and in everything else, too.

Coach Rachel brings me more ice for my ankle and settles down next to me and Gwen to wait for my scores.

Coach Chris paces.

The scoreboard changes.
Charlie Ryland,
it reads.
Floor: 14.85.

I take a deep breath.

My floor score puts me in fourth place all around.

I'm not sure it's enough, because more than the scores are factored into the final decision regarding who makes the team.

Gwen holds on to first, which means she's an automatic in for the Olympic team. I scream and am the first to embrace her. “Yes! You did it!” I shout as the other girls from Gold Star gather around to congratulate her.

“I can't believe it!” She places her hands over her mouth to hide her huge smile. She's made the Olympic team, while the rest of us are still in limbo.

“Enjoy the moment,” I tell her.

She nods. “I want all of you to make it.”

But we know that all of us won't. There are only five spots on the team, and the competition area is filled with Olympic hopefuls.

As we head off the floor to the room where we'll wait with the rest of the gymnasts for the Olympic committee's decision and the official introduction of the women's U.S. Olympic team, I know Gwen is trying not to smile too brightly.

“You have to make it too,” she whispers. “You just have to.”

“Gwen, I'm so happy for you.”

“I'm afraid to believe it, Charlie.”

“Don't be. You earned it.” I give her arm a squeeze. If my ankle weren't throbbing, I'd be doing cartwheels down the hallway to celebrate that my best friend made the Olympic team.

Gwen looks over at me. “I'm proud of you. You fought for what you wanted.”

I'm proud of myself too. But mostly I'm proud of my friend. “I'm going to be your biggest cheerleader at the Olympic Games, no matter what.”

As soon as we step into the room where we're supposed to wait, Gwen pulls me into a hug. Other girls join us, crowding around, until we're a large knot of group huggers, a mass of white USA Gymnastics warm-up suits, swaying quietly, proud of each other for being there.

“We're all winners,” Gwen says. “Every one of us.”

Which makes us all tear up. So, there we are—sniffling, wiping our eyes, clinging to one another—when the head of the Olympic committee arrives.

“We've come to an agreement,” she says. “Before we return to the auditorium to formally and publicly introduce the Team USA women's artistic gymnastics team for the Montreal Olympics, I'd like to announce the five team members, as well as name the three alternates.”

A heavy silence falls over the room.

The woman flips a paper on her clipboard. “Without further ado, here is the women's Olympic team. Please hold your applause until the end.”

I'm not breathing. But my heart is thundering. I can practically hear the blood rushing in my ears. There's nothing else I can do. I've done everything that I can, but I don't know if it was enough. I close my eyes and wait as the names are called.

“Gwendolyn Edwards from Gold Star Gymnastics, Columbus, Ohio.”

Deep inside I release another screech for Gwen. I'm so incredibly happy for her.

“Anna Zhang from Burtinelli's, Manchester, New Hampshire.

“Fatima Akbar from Twisters West, Palo Alto, California.

“Genevieve Patel from White Cliff Gymnastics, Dallas, Texas.

“And Charlie Ryland from Gold Star Gymnastics, Columbus, Ohio.”

She names off the alternates, but I'm barely listening. I can't believe it. I did it. I actually did it. I want to do backflips. Not that I have any room to maneuver. Gwen grips me so hard, I might lose feeling in my arms, and my ankle is pulsing with pain. But none of that matters, because I'm going to the Olympics.

“We did it!” we both cry out at the same time. We hug each other, rock side to side.

“I'm so proud of us, Gwen.”

All the hard work, long hours, sacrifices, and pushing through the pain has paid off.

I'm going to be an Olympian.

•  •  •

The march out onto the floor, the presentation of the U.S. women's Olympic team, are a blur. My heart feels like it's beating somewhere outside my body, and all I can concentrate on is gripping the flowers they handed me at the door before I walked out here. My ears ring from the cheering coming from the moving, churning crowd. I clutch the medal at my chest.

I hear my name announced and lift my arm to wave. I search for my family. I want them here with me. They deserve to be up here on this podium, taking all this praise along with me.

After the presentation we're swept back into the anteroom, where our coaches are waiting to congratulate us. There are tears and hugs, and I'm whimpering my thanks into Coach Chris's chest when my parents find me.

Mom's mascara is running down her face, and she blots her eyes with a tissue. Dad's sweatshirt is crooked, like it's been yanked and pulled from many directions. I can imagine Mom gripping his shirt when my name was called, shouting, jumping up and down. They're hugging me so tight that I can't breathe.

They release me, and Mom turns to Josh and shrieks, “She's going to Montreal!”

“I know, Mom,” Josh says. “Duh. I was in the stands watching.”

“Come here, you!” I order, spreading my arms wide. Josh isn't big into hugging, but he suffers through it, even hugging me back.

“I'm proud of you, Sis.”

I release my hold on him, step back. “Thanks, Josh.”

“You're a hero,” Dad says. “I never saw anyone fight like you fought out there. Great job, kiddo.”

“We've got to get that ankle checked out again, pronto,” Mom says. “How's it feeling now, hon?”

“I'm barely aware that I have any feet at all,” I say, which is the truth. In my present state of euphoria, my leg could have been bitten off by a great white shark and I probably wouldn't have noticed yet. “I feel like I'm flying. There's some slight pain, but it's going to be okay.”

Then I notice Bobby standing by the wall, watching me, only me.

I pull away from my family. “Bobby!” I limp toward him. Yes, limp, because my leg won't do anything else, apparently. “What are you doing here?”

“Josh invited me to drive up here with him and your dad. We didn't get in until late last night, too late to see you.” He smiles. “And today you were a little busy.”

“Yeah, Coach Chris keeps us pretty isolated on the day of an event so we can stay focused. And Mom didn't say anything.”

“She probably didn't want to give you any distractions. Hope it didn't bother you when you saw me in the stands.”

I shake my head. “Not at all.” I grimace, because from now on I intend to be completely honest with him. “Okay, maybe for a couple of minutes. But in a good way. It means a lot to me that you came.”

“You were totally amazing.”

At his compliment I feel the heat warming my cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I saw you limping after a couple of the routines. I was worried that you weren't going to make it.”

I shrug. “My ankle has bothered me since I broke it when I was eight. I'm used to having discomfort now and then. I just concentrate and push through it.”

“Charlotte!” Spinning around, I see Zoe and Michael striding toward us.

“I can't believe you're here!” I give her a great big hug.

“Your dad drove us,” Zoe says, hugging me back. “I couldn't miss watching my bestest friend compete for a place on the Olympic team.”

Tears sting my eyes as I push back and study her. “Am I, Zoe? Are we best friends again?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course we are. Even if you don't get me a T-shirt.”

I laugh. “I'll get you a T-shirt.” I spot Gwen. “Gwen! Come over. Look who's here.”

Gwen prances over. “It's so great that you all came to root for Charlie.”

“We were rooting for you, too,” Zoe says. “You were awesome!”

“Oh, thanks.”

“I mean, when you did that double backflip . . .”

As they start talking about Gwen's routine, I know they're going to become fast friends. I can see us doing so much together in the future.

I turn back to Bobby. “It's really special that you're here.”

“I have something for you.” He holds out his balled fist and slowly unfurls his fingers to reveal a cardboard badge that reads,
I SURVIVED PROM
.

Laughing, I take it and press it against my chest, near the medal dangling from the ribbon around my neck. “Prom wasn't
that
bad. Actually, it was pretty wonderful, except for the Rollerblading
incident
.”

“Maybe we'll give it another shot next year.”

My heart kicks against my ribs. I don't think I'm going to do homeschooling. “The good news is that I won't be preparing for Olympic trials.”

“So, what's next?” he asks.

“I've got to go directly to training camp. Since the school year is basically over, I won't be going back to finish out the classes. I'll just take my finals and be done.”

He nods, gives me a small grin. “I'd like to come to Montreal and watch you compete there. Unless you think I'll be a distraction.”

I think of all the warnings from Coach Rachel, my mom, even Gwen. I slowly shake my head. “Not one bit.”

“How about a kiss? Would that be a distraction?”

“Absolutely, but it's the kind of distraction I'd like. I think. I've never been kissed.”

“We can fix that easily enough.”

He lowers his head until his lips touch mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and close my eyes. Definitely a distraction. A very warm, pleasant, lovely distraction.

When he draws back, I smile. “Remember when you took me stargazing and I told you my wish?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn't really my wish. I said one silently first. I wished you'd kiss me.”

A corner of his mouth curls up. “Funny. I wished for the same thing.”

“We have the power to make our wish come true.”

“We absolutely do.”

And he kisses me again.

•  •  •

“Charlie, Gwen,” says the woman in the blue suit coat. She holds the microphone in between us, to catch both our voices. “How are you feeling at this moment? Best friends, heading to the Olympics together.”

“It's surreal,” Gwen says, flashing her brilliant smile. “To have all these friends and family and fans here to cheer us on. It's amazing.”

I nod my head in total agreement.

“Gwen, you beat out everyone for the only guaranteed place on the women's Olympic gymnastics team. How does that feel?”

“Oh, well, it feels great, but I couldn't have done what I did today without all these other girls, especially Charlie. I mean, all of us, we've all trained so hard together. It's great to see our hard work paying off.”

“And, Charlie?” The woman turns the microphone toward me. “The question we've all been wondering . . . how's the ankle? And do you think you'll be recovered enough to perform at your best at the Olympic Games in August?”

“I worked through the pain today,” I say. “I'm certain I can keep doing whatever it takes to be in top form for Montreal. Just, no more school dances for a while.”

The reporter laughs along with me.

“Who needs school dances when you've got a guy like Bobby in the stands watching you and cheering you on?” whispers Gwen after the interview as we're weaving our way to the doorway. Our families are waiting outside. “Can you believe he came?”

“No, I cannot. Not at all.”

“It's all going to be okay, isn't it?” Gwen asks, slipping her hand into mine. “I mean, we're really making it.”

“We're official Olympians now.” I give her hand a squeeze. “No turning back.”

The stands are filled with red, white, and blue. The chant of “U-S-A! U-S-A!” rises into the huge domed ceiling above my head.

I adjust the sleeves on my leo, a rich raspberry color, adorned with rhinestones that sparkle in the overhead lights. I'm wearing the uniform of Team USA and going for gold.