I’d thought about it, briefly—competing all around the world against other individual gymnasts to earn my own spot for the Olympics instead of letting Gibby decide whether or not I would make the team, but my injury made that option impossible. Plus, Gibby wasn’t exactly thrilled when Sarah and Brooke decided to go that route, and alienating the head of the NGC wasn’t high on my list of priorities the year before the Olympics.
“We don’t have to get dressed up for this, do we?” Emma asks, picking at the velvet fabric of her tracksuit pants.
“Doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Sierra shoots back. “Thanks to Audrey, we’re already late to the party.”
“Not enough time to change,” Jaime says from beside her.
“It doesn’t matter,” Chelsea says in that way she has that makes it sound like her word is the final word on something. “It’s just family, the NGC, and maybe some sponsors, and they’ll all love the fresh-from-competition look.”
“Will Leo Adams?” Emma teases quietly, but not quietly enough. The rest of the girls definitely hear her.
“I have no idea.”
The really honest answer is that I hadn’t even thought about him since Gibby had walked into the locker room and read off our names. Leo Adams is cute and all, but going to the Olympics definitely trumps a cute boy.
Jaime pops her head out from behind Sierra, her shiny blond curls rapidly escaping her attempt at a bun. “I bet he’ll be there. His mom got an award, and they’re from all the way down in Coronado. They’re definitely staying overnight.”
“It’ll be cool if he’s there, but I’m pretty sure hanging out with a boy the whole time won’t impress Gibby.”
Emma glares at me. “C’mon, Audrey. We made the team. You can relax for one night—barely a night. Just a few hours.”
I actually have to physically bite my tongue to keep from snapping back at her. The last thing I want to do is reveal what Gibby said to the entire group.
Something in my face must give away my annoyance, because her expression softens almost immediately. “I don’t mean, like, dance on the bar or anything. Try to have a good time. You’ve been a big ball of tension for months, and tonight you deserve to celebrate.”
“We all do,” I agree. Of course—we deserve to celebrate.
“Right, and if you celebrate a little bit with a cute guy, where’s the harm?”
Sierra nods. “I mean, look at Chelsea. She’s got a boyfriend, and look how much her gymnastics has improved since the last Olympics.”
Emma sits back in her seat and rolls her eyes. Chelsea doesn’t even acknowledge the jab. Sierra’s such a little troll, and sometimes she’s funny, but she never seems to know where the line is.
The bus pulls to a stop in front of the hotel. There are crowds of people lined up behind barricades, and a ripple of excitement flows through the sea of bodies when they realize exactly who is on the bus. Emma slides out from her seat, and everyone else falls in behind her.
“You’re right, you know, about Gibby and not letting down your guard,” Dani says, her nose wrinkling. “Nothing is guaranteed. You got this far doing what worked for you.”
“Exactly.”
She nods in approval and leads me toward the front of the bus. Dani’s only a year older than me, and I’ve known her since we were little, but we’ve never been that close. In the last couple of years, she’s skyrocketed from the fringes of the elite ranks into a top contender.
The rest of the team is at the front of bus. “Ladies, unfortunately the crowds are way too big for us to manage, so I’m going to ask you to smile and wave to them and not stop for autographs or pictures. We need you to keep walking,” our security guard says.
“Got it,” Chelsea agrees for all of us, and he nods at her words.
“We’ll go on my signal,” he says, turning around to say something into his walkie-talkie.
“Girls, before we go out there, presents!” Chelsea says. Reaching into her bag, she pulls out seven little gift bags with two gymnasts flying through the air in the shape of Cs emblazoned on the front. It’s the logo from her personal cosmetics brand. I remember seeing an interview where she talked about how, as a Black woman, she wanted to create totally inclusive line with tons of shades and tones. New products always sell out within five minutes of release.
“Okay, let’s go,” the security guard says and waves us forward.
Chelsea hands a bag to each of us as we pass her on the way to the front of the bus. She won two Olympic golds at the age of sixteen, and since then she’s been in movies and music videos. She’s famous in a way that I’m pretty sure I never want for myself.
“Thanks.” I take my bag from her, and she smiles and pats me on the shoulder.
“No sweat, Rey.”
The driver pulls the lever opening the bus door, and we’re hit with a wall of shrieks and camera flashes. I follow Dani down the stairs, just ahead of Chelsea. The lane the hotel created with metal barriers for us to walk through isn’t wide enough to keep the fans from reaching over and touching us as we walk by. The crowd surges against the barriers. I slap a few outreached hands and try to keep a smile on my face, but my blood is pumping hard, and the urge to flee is tingling down toward my toes as my body starts to overheat at the way the crowd closes in around us. I bend my shoulders in and duck my head, trying to stay as small as possible.
Once we’re in the hotel, it’s not much better. A lot of the fans are guests too, and the lobby is a total crush. I follow the security guard’s shiny bald head because he towers over almost everyone in the madness, and finally we reach an elevator that the guard needs a key card to activate. I assume that means we’re going somewhere the rest of these people can’t get to, and the relief that courses through me is way too real. I suddenly feel a ton of sympathy for every celebrity in the world. There are very few people who would recognize me walking down the street, and I’m more than happy to let Chelsea and Emma take up the spotlight. It seems like I’m the only one, though.
“That was incredible,” Sierra breathes out, and Jaime laughs, a huge grin plastered across her face.
Emma’s cheeks were flushed. “A total rush.”
“Insane,” Dani says, but her eyes are wide and joyful.
Chelsea smiles. “Get used to it, girls. Your lives just changed forever.”
I’m not really sure I believe her, but then the doors to the elevator open, and another crowd—this one made up of friends and family and sponsors and NGC and United States Olympic Federation officials and coaches and former Olympians—turns as one toward us in a large room, where the music is rocking and drinks are already flowing. For a moment it’s silent, and then a huge cheer erupts, along with thunderous applause.
Gibby slides forward out of the crowd, his usual tracksuit long gone, replaced by dress pants and a collared shirt. I’ve rarely seen him out of his official gym clothes, and the transformation is astounding. He looks so much less intimidating—almost normal, like someone’s dad. He smiles at us and then lifts his arms, and the crowd quiets. “Ladies and gentlemen, your United States Olympic gymnastics team!”