Her eyes fly open wide, but then she giggles. “Just preparing you for that bars podium.”
“Oh my God! Okay, you look great, let’s go.”
We slide into almost-fancy flip-flops and grab our phones and race down the hallway together. The bass from the music is still pounding away, and when the door flies open, Chelsea is on the other side, taking our hands with a wide smile and leading us into the suite.
Emma links her fingers through mine, and we head straight for the group of people dancing. My pulse matches the quick beat as Emma and I find the rhythm of the track and start dancing and singing and laughing along. It’s dark in the room. Though the city-scape shines in through the windows—the same view Leo and I looked out over just a little while ago—it’s tough to make out who is who in the sea of bodies, but that doesn’t matter. I’m going to the Olympics with my best friend, and even if it’s just for tonight, I’m going to celebrate.
chapter four
“Imade the Olympic team.”
That doesn’t sound real.
“I’m going to the Olympics.”
Nope. Still sounds fake.
In the bed I woke up in yesterday, where the words I’m saying weren’t true yet, it’s really hard to make my mind accept this new reality.
“I’m an Olympian.”
I blink away the last vestiges of sleep and roll over, only to be met with the sight of Emma’s body launching across the space from her bed to mine.
“We’re Olympians!” she shrieks, landing at my side, her red hair flying into her face.
Yeah, that one sounded real.
She lifts her phone and leans her head against mine. “Smile, Rey—we’re going to Tokyo,” she sings as she records, and I let a smile spread across my face. Her thumb swipes against the screen. “Perfect. Steve said I should post at least three or four times a day leading up to the Games. Oh! I forgot, while I was totally running interference with the parents for you and Leo yesterday, Steve was chatting up your mom and dad. He wants us to do some promo together before we leave for training camp.”
Steve Serrano is Emma’s agent. She signed with him after world championships last year, giving up her amateur status and going professional. Technically, I’m pro too. It was an easy choice to make once we realized I wouldn’t be able to compete in college.
My phone buzzes somewhere near my head, and I dig it out from under my pillow, where it ended up after we crashed back into the room last night, totally exhausted in every possible way.
It’s a direct message from Leo.
Not sure if I made it clear before. It was really great talking to you last night.
And then beneath it, it’s his number, his actual phone number, which feels kind of serious.
“Who is it?” Emma asks, rolling over and squinting at the screen and then letting out a small squeak.
“What do I say?”
I pull up a new blank message.
“Tell him that he missed a great party,” Em suggests, “and that you wanted to dance with him.”
Yeah, that sounds good. Normal, but kind of flirty, without being too much. I type it out and press send.
I swipe out of the message and look at the time. “Ugh, I’m going to be late. I’m supposed to meet my parents.”
One foot gets tangled in the sheets as I leap out of bed, which causes my back to spasm, but I ignore the pain. Wracking my brain, I try to remember what Gibby told us to wear to the meeting, but realize he said we’ll be getting our new Olympic team clothes there, so for once it doesn’t matter what we wear. I follow Emma’s lead, yanking on a pair of shorts and an NYC GYM T-shirt, then throw my hair up into a ponytail, slide on a pair of flip-flops, grab my phone, and race out the door.
The door where Leo almost kissed me last night.
I’m an Olympian, and I had an amazing almost-kiss with a really hot guy last night.
This is going to be a good day.
The lobby restaurant is relatively empty. It was a long night for everyone, even the fans. Most people probably won’t be up for a few hours, but I spot my parents at a table near the windows.
“See you later,” Emma says, sliding away from me. Her parents and Steve are at the other end of the restaurant. Chelsea and her boyfriend are in a booth in the corner, and she shoots me a quick wave before looking at whatever papers he’s showing her. I wave back and then head for my parents.
“Morning, guys!” I slide into the chair beside Dad. They already got me an egg-white omelet with veggies and a huge glass of orange juice.
“Morning, Rey,” Mom says, smiling widely. She and Dad stare at me for a long moment.
“What?” I ask, looking between them. “What is it?”
“You’re an Olympian,” they say together.
A brilliant chill runs through me from head to toe, and I smile with them. It’s been a fourteen-year journey, and my parents have been with me every step of the way, through state championships and elite qualification, through NGC camps and international assignments, through injuries and surgeries and doctors and physical therapists and finally Olympic trials.
The pride radiates off of them in their smiles.
“So, that boy, Leo, he seemed very nice,” Mom says, her eyes twinkling at me with mischief.
“Mo-om,” I protest. It figures she’d want to talk about Leo and has no problem being awkward enough to do it in front of Dad.
“What? He seemed nice, didn’t he, Greg?”
“Lots of people seem nice,” he grumbles before picking up his coffee mug and hiding behind it, but I can tell he’s still sort of smiling.
“He is nice, but he also flew home last night with his mom, like, less than an hour after you met him.”
“Who is nice?” A new voice joins the conversation and I flinch. Gibby is beside our table, smiling down on us.
“Coach Gibson,” Dad says, reaching out to shake his hand. “Good morning.”
“Morning to you folks too. Audrey,” he says, nodding. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re all doing well and congratulate you again on what you’ve achieved as a family.”
“Thank you,” Mom says, grinning and looking to me.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I know Audrey has a lot more to offer than what we saw this weekend. But I don’t mean to interrupt. I’ll let you folks get back to your breakfast, and, Audrey, I’m truly excited to see you at training camp.”
And with that he’s gone. I force myself to take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. That wasn’t so bad.
“He’s excited you’re on the team,” Mom says, her smile spreading wide across her face.
“Yeah.” I don’t really want to share what he said last night about beam and needing more from me. My parents are happy and proud. I can deal with Gibby’s mind games on my own. “There’s still a lot of work to be done, though.”
“There is,” Dad agrees through a mouthful of eggs. “And speaking of, I got in touch with the airline this morning and had you, Emma, and Pauline moved to the red-eye tonight.”
“Thanks,” I say before taking a large bite of my breakfast. We didn’t want to assume anything when we booked our return flight from trials, so we figured the hassle of having to change our travel arrangements was better than jinxing my chances of making the team. I’m not superstitious exactly, but Olympic trials didn’t seem like the time to tempt fate.