“I should probably …” I trail off.
“You should definitely,” he agrees, and I laugh.
“Ladies and gentlemen, in fifteen minutes we’ll be announcing the next USA women’s Olympic gymnastics team!” the announcer calls out.
I take a step toward the locker room and then another. Don’t look back, Audrey; boys are for a month from now, after you have an Olympic medal. Or two.
The door swings shut behind me. The rest of the girls are there, even Sarah Pecoraro and Brooke Cohen. They qualified last year as individual athletes. They’re going to Tokyo, but they won’t have a shot at the team medal like the rest of us—if we make it.
“Where were you?” Emma demands, dragging me over to two empty seats.
“Do you remember Leo Adams?”
“What?” she shrieks. “He’s here? Wait, how much longer until they announce?”
She’s all over the place, and I don’t blame her. She’s just won the Olympic trials, but she has to wait like the rest of us, and it’s not like I don’t need a distraction too.
“Fifteen minutes.”
My phone vibrates in my bag. There are a few thousand notifications waiting for me. Being on national TV during the trials process has made social media more than a little bit insane, but I’ve learned to ignore most of it.
It’s the last alert that catches my eye. A mention from @Leo_Adams_Roars.
I bite my bottom lip, trying to keep that same smile he prompted from emerging again as I open his account. The profile pic does him justice: the same freckles, the same smile, plus a set of dimples I somehow managed to miss moments before.
“Wow. He’s super hot,” Emma says, probably louder than she meant to.
“Who’s super hot?” Sierra asks, head whipping around from whispering something to Jaime.
“Leo Adams,” Emma supplies for her, pointing to my phone. In an instant, my brief little moment with Leo turns into the distraction we all need.
“Is that Janet’s son?” Jaime asks.
“No, there’s just a random guy with her last name hanging out in the tunnel during her award presentation, Jaime,” Sierra drawls with an eye roll.
“Is he a snowboarder?” Chelsea asks when my thumb hovers over a black-and-white picture of him sitting on a mountain— shirtless—with a board strapped to his feet, the sun rising in the distance.
“A snowboarder who appreciates aesthetic,” Emma quips with a perfectly shaped ginger eyebrow raised.
“He won junior worlds last year,” I say casually, trying to pretend I don’t check up on his career pretty regularly. I mean, it’s not like it’s hard. We all post at least once a day, and he remembered my name, so odds are he knows the same stuff about me. Probably. Maybe.
Dani leans around Chelsea from her seat. “Boys who look like him should always walk around without a shirt. Look at those shoulders.”
I nearly have a coronary when Sierra reaches over and likes the picture for me. “Oh my God!” I pull my phone away way too late. I don’t have a ton of experience with boys—forty-hour weeks at training don’t exactly make for epic teenage romance—but I know enough to know that liking a picture from months ago looks incredibly desperate.
Sierra laughs, and the other girls giggle. “It’ll be fine. Look.”
And she’s right. I finally look at the message he wrote.
@Leo_Adams_Roars: Ran into @Rey_Lee, literally! It’s okay. She’s fine. That uneven bars gold is still ours! #NGCTrials
A knock interrupts, and together our eyes fly away from the screen. The distraction is over. Gibby and the rest of the selection committee are hovering at the door.
It’s time.
chapter two
Shallow, gasping breaths are all I can manage as we enter the arena in a line, arms raised, waving to the crowd. Their answering wall of noise is a humming buzz in the background. Not even a lifetime of dreaming has prepared me for this. My skin is tingling and numb at the same time.
Gibby is at the center of the floor, a spotlight shining on him in the otherwise dark arena. His hair is impeccable, his shoulders high, back straight, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen! It is my honor to announce to you the athletes selected to represent the United States of America at the Olympic Games in Tokyo, Japan. Along with our individual athletes, Sarah Pecoraro and Brooke Cohen, please join me in congratulating …
“… Chelsea Cameron …
“… Audrey Lee …
“… Daniela Olivero …
“… Emma Sadowsky …”
Gibby’s voice cuts in again. “Our alternates are Sierra Montgomery and Jaime Pederson.”
I burst into tears as soon Gibby announced our names in that locker room, and it’s only gotten worse since. My cheeks are raw from wiping the tears away. My throat is thick, and it’s impossible to get my breathing under control. For once, I don’t care. Being under control is totally overrated. At least, for now.
Emma is beside me as we move up the stairs that lead to the raised floor, the arena lights blinding us. She hasn’t broken yet. Not one tear or choking gasp, just the serenity appropriate for the best gymnast in the world. I clutch her hand tightly. Holding it keeps all of this real. If I let go, it might slip away into the ether. I’ll wake up from this elaborate, torturously perfect dream.
It’s everything I thought it would be and at the same time completely different from what I imagined. Not making the team would have been way more devastating than making the team makes me happy. It’s strange to know that about yourself, that you take your failures far more to heart than your achievements. It’s not exactly healthy, but it’s who I am.
A resounding crack makes me jump as confetti explodes from somewhere above us and glittery bits of red, white, and blue paper tumble down from the ceiling, getting caught in our hair. For an awkward moment, one even lands in my mouth. There’s another round of laughing and hugging as it rains down on us. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever hugged so much in my entire life. It’s not my usual thing, but I could totally get used to it.
“Girls, huddle up!” Chelsea calls over the din. She’s been to the Olympics before and knows what this feels like, but all I want to do is soak in the moment. With my back, this is a one-time thing for me. Sierra’s arm slides around my shoulders as we all come together. What must it feel like for her and Jaime? Alternates. I’m not sure I’d feel much like celebrating if I were in their shoes.
Emma’s arm comes around my other shoulder and I’m in a circle with these girls, all eight of us, all together. Their names will be connected to mine forever, no matter what happens between now and the closing ceremonies.
“We’re a team now.” Chelsea says, having to shout. Even so, her voice doesn’t carry beyond our tight circle. “It’s us against the world, and we’re going to come out on top.”
I nod along with her words. We all do.
“Hands in,” Chelsea says. Looks like someone is making a play for the captaincy. I mean, it’s an easy choice. She’s the oldest and the most experienced gymnast. Chelsea puts her hand out, then Emma, then Jaime and Sierra, me and Dani, and finally Sarah and Brooke. “USA on three—one, two, three …”