“He said she’s off the team, though,” I say. “Like, it doesn’t feel like there’s a lot of wiggle room there.”
“She cheated,” Sierra joins in, with Jaime on her heels, “so I’m not giving up the spot that should have been mine in the first place.”
Chelsea whirls around, but the photographer calling us over stops her from saying whatever was about to fly out of her mouth. She just quirks an eyebrow at Sierra and then spins away, leading us to where they want the four girls on the team to pose for a group shot.
Over the next hour, we take pictures in every combination possible to make sure the NGC has photos ready to go, no matter what happens between now and the actual competition. We each sit out one of the group shots, and it really hits home that despite everything we’ve been through to get to this point, nothing is guaranteed, especially now that Dani is gone.
We’re brought to a room where we fill out paperwork for the US Olympic Federation, which will be sent on to the International Olympic Federation. It’s full of basic information like our birthdays and our favorite hobbies and TV shows, along with more personal medical information in case something happens to us while we’re in Japan.
I’m glad I said goodbye to my parents earlier, because I definitely missed the time they left by more than an hour. And then suddenly all of us are in an elevator, the same one I took upstairs with Leo, and it’s completely silent. Seven when there should be eight.
I pull out my phone and quickly type a message to Dani I’ve wanted to send since we first got the news.
Are you okay?
For the briefest moment, there’s a small bubble with a “…” and then nothing. She saw the text and maybe even started to type a reply, but then decided not to answer. Or someone stopped her from answering.
By the time I look up from my phone again, Emma and I are at our door and she’s letting us in. The room is a bit neater, but still mostly the mess we left it in that morning. There’s stuff everywhere— makeup strewn across the bathroom counters, training clothes, street clothes for the small amount of time we actually got to spend not in the gym, leos and the special underwear that goes beneath them, regular underwear and bras, what looks like an entire slab of half-empty water bottles, and a lot of towels.
“Em, did you text Dani? She’s not answering me.”
“No,” she says and yanks her suitcase off the luggage rack in the corner of the room, tossing it on her bed and throwing her clothes into it. “C’mon. We have to pack. Pauline said we have to leave for the airport in less than an hour.”
“Em, seriously? I know stuff never bothers you, but how are you not freaked out by this?”
She sighs heavily and plops down on the bed beside me. “I am freaked out by it, but I don’t want to think about it. Like, I know it sounds selfish, but I can’t focus on Dani because the Olympics are nearly here and I’m supposed to—I’m supposed to win everything, and if I don’t focus on that, I can’t …”
And there it is. The moment when making the team isn’t enough. It’s the truth, though. We’re not going to the Olympics for the experience. We’re going to win. Her shoulders are drawn up near her ears, and her eyes are faraway. She’s getting in her own head, and that can be a scary place, so I crack a joke to break the tension.
“I mean, you can try to win bars, but we both know how that’s going to turn out.”
Emma snorts. “Sorry, you’re going to have to settle for silver there, Rey.”
“We’ll see.”
I check my phone again. Dani still hasn’t responded.
“If I got kicked off the Olympic team, I don’t think I’d be answering my texts,” Emma says, rolling over on her side and propping herself up on her elbow.
“You’re not even curious?”
“What are you going to say if she answers?”
“I …” I trail off. I have absolutely no idea.
“Exactly,” Emma says when my silence stretches out long enough. She sighs and reaches down to grab my hand. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we should think about all of this after the Olympics. Preferably on a beach somewhere with cabana boys who bring us drinks with umbrellas and the only gymnastics we worry about is whether or not you’ll be doing any with Leo Adams back at the hotel.”
“Oh my God,” I protest, grabbing one of the pillows and thwacking her right in the stomach. “You’re seriously deluded. I just met him.”
“We’ve known him for years.”
“That’s not really … I mean, liking posts isn’t knowing someone,” I protest. It might feel like it is, but it’s really not.
The words are barely out of my mouth when my phone blings.
It’s a message from Leo—a picture of him, his green eyes still a little bleary from a long night of travel. I grin and quickly snap a shot of myself, crinkling up my nose and making a funny expression.
“Is that him?” Emma asks. “Twice in one day! Take a picture and tell him I’m stealing you from him.” She mashes her mouth against my temple in the worst fake-romantic moment ever. I follow her instructions and send it, which results in a bunch of laughing emojis.
“It sucks he had to leave last night. Not that you would have had time to hang out with him today, though.” She flops back onto the bed with a sigh. “God, I won Olympic trials yesterday, and you totally managed to top it.” She’s laughing, but there’s a note of honesty in her voice. It’s an odd feeling. I’m not sure if in all the time I’ve known her, Emma has ever been jealous of me.
“I promise you, cute boys absolutely do not top winning trials, and we’ll find you a super-hot guy on that beach we’re gonna go to after Tokyo.”
“We better. I am never, ever going to look as good as I do right now. We are physical specimens, and we need to take advantage of it before we eat ourselves into oblivion postgymnastics.”
A knock sounds at the door. “Ladies, are you all packed? Our car will be here soon!” Pauline calls from the hallway.
Together, we leap from the bed and stare at each other in panic. Then, as one, we start tossing the weeks’ worth of clothes into our bags, not even bothering to check what belongs to who. We’ll figure it out when we get home. One week of training back in New York, then it’s off to NGC training camp, and from there, on to Tokyo and the Olympic Games.
chapter five
Sweat runs down my back in rivulets, and my chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. My lungs are screaming for air, and my back is throbbing. I grit my teeth and twist around, stretching the tight muscles as much as possible, trying to free up my range of motion. I had physical therapy this morning. Now, just a few hours of pounding later, the pain is back.
At least training is almost over.
The balloons and streamers from this morning’s send-off party are still hanging up in the corner of the gym. One balloon escaped from its bunch and is bouncing up in the rafters of the hangar-size building that I’ve trained in since I was four years old.
Emma’s floor music is tinny through the crappy gym speakers, but it’s actually better that we can barely hear it. During competition, you never know what will happen with your music. It might start at the wrong point or skip or cut out altogether, so it’s better to learn not to rely on it for your cues.