“You should be able to clean up here,” Beth whispers to me. The toad-like girl wobbles on her legs but doesn’t fall off. I roll my eyes at Beth and wish, once again, that I were competing varsity.
“Good luck,” Beth says when it’s my turn. Her bony elbow hits my rib cage in encouragement. Barbara goes out to help me place the vault springboard by the beam. I pull down my leotard and take a deep breath. Then I raise my hand to signal the judges. From opposite corners, the two nod simultaneously.
The springboard thumps woodenly as I hit it. When I land on the beam, I realize I have the most wonderful view from up here. I can see the bleachers, the judges, the sidelines. Everyone. The only problem is that they’re all staring at me.
I leap and dance my way down the beam—moves that I’ve practiced a million times on the chalk line drawn on my bedroom floor. My back feels nice and supple today, so it’s easy for me to do the trick where I bend backward, grab the beam, and swing my body over. My bare feet hit the beam accurately with a quiet slap-slap on the wood, and I hear cheers from our side of the gym. I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I finish my routine and dismount.
I trot back to my waiting spot, and Beth pats me on the back with her taped fingers. From where she’s sitting, Barbara calls, “Nice job, Ellen!”
The little kids who serve as runners lift their scorecards high: 7.10 and 7.15. A full point higher than anyone on Aurora’s team, which means I’ve probably won the event. Another cheer rises. I look up in the stands and see Jessie. She is holding up the go ln sign, which on the back reads 10.0. I can’t see what Tomper is doing.
In the floor exercise, the Aurora JV team is much braver at tumbling than I. The toad-like girl throws wobbly back handsprings and a shaky back somersault, her head dipping dangerously close to the mat. When she waves to the judges after her routine, I notice that her back arches so much that it makes her stomach stick out—it reminds me of little kids in swimsuits. She can’t be more than a freshman.
Hold your head up, I tell myself fiercely when it’s my turn to go out. I nod to Barbara, who puts on the Gymnastics Rhythms album, the one record we all pick songs from. My body automatically tenses upon hearing the linty crackle that precedes my routine’s song.
“Ain’t she sweet,” giggles the piano. “Walking down the street . . .” Crackle.
I run, jump, and walk around like Charlie Chaplin. I do my showy moves, a no-hands cartwheel and a back handspring. I end the routine with a jump that you can do only if you’re very small and flexible: I jump up waist-high and touch my fingertips to the toes of my outstretched legs. People cheer. I take second place to the toad-like girl.
When the JV meet is over, the varsity meet begins. By then, more people have come in, and the gym is quite full. Marsha is as cool as a cucumber, swathed in her varsity sweats like she’s on a fashion shoot for Vogue. She’s one of the few people on our team who compete in all four events.
When it’s her turn on the beam, I peek out to spy on Tomper to see how involved he looks. I can see only Jessie, who is absently fanning herself with the sign.
Marsha jumps up lightly as a cat and bends her body close to the beam. Then she literally dives backward, bringing her legs with her so that she reaches a perfect handstand, which she holds for the judges’ inspection. The audience collectively sucks in its breath. Then she lets her feet land, one exactly behind the other.
“Wow,” says Beth, over the cheers. “A Valdez.”
Of course, Marsha wins the beam event.
“Good luck, Beth,” I say, when her turn comes for the uneven bars. She pulls her leotard down a final time and scuffles over to the judges. When she gets there, she timidly waves to each judge, her hand barely making a motion from her limp wrist.
I love the Jekyll-and-Hyde change as Beth charges the bars, hitting the springboard with a thunk surprisingly loud for someone so small. This always astonishes the judges after Beth’s mousy salute.
Beth said she became good at bars by swinging from old iron railings on her farm. I picture her swinging in the hayloft as she swoops down fearlessly from the top bar and then hits the lower bar square on her hips, folding her body in half and making the bar bend inward with the force. She pulls herself up to the top, swings down again, changes bars, and twists—mad-dog Beth. For her dismount, she propels herself off the lower bar, zings through the air, and lands, fighting for a second not to take a step, then doesn’t. I clap wildly.
The big event, though, is Marsha Randall doing the floor exercise. The Aurora girls seem to apologetically rush through their floor routines so Marsha can go.
Even Marsha’s song is a special one. It is a Spanish dance with full instrumentals, including maracas, played on a tape player hooked up to a sound system—no tinny pianos from Gymnastics Rhythms.
At her cue, she runs full speed down the diagonal to do a series of handsprings and back somersaults, then melts into a dance, her long legs striding and her blond ponytail streaming out behind her like a kite’s tail. She runs down the diagonal again, doing a no-handed cartwheel and then flipping into back handsprings. Marsha is the only one who’s succeeded in sewing together beautiful dancing with a strong tumbling routine.
People stomp and cheer for Marsha, the star. She graciously gives us all her bright-white smile, bows to the judges as though this is the Olympics, then trots off to the trenches, where Barbara is waiting with a towel and her sweats.
After the meet, Tomper climbs down from the bleachers.
Come talk to me, come talk to me, I chant mentally as I stand in the middle of the gym waiting for Jessie.
“You did really good, Ellen,” he says, grinning and walking over.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling self-conscious of my skinny body in a tight green leotard. I must look like a grasshopper. “Thanks for coming.”
“I told you I would,” he says. “Remember?”
“Yes,” I say. I look at him and imagine pine trees. I would give anything to feel his arms around me again.
“Tomper!” squeals Marsha, jumping into his arms, with her back to me. My stomach hardens when I see his arms close familiarly around her slim body.
I think of Tomper telling me about the Big Dipper and the North Star and finding my way home. I turn away to go find Jessie. She is over on the sidelines talking to Beth.
“You were really great,” Jessie says, giving me a hug.
“That’s right,” Beth agrees. “Varsity material.”
As we exit the gym, all three of us see Tomper holding hands with Marsha. Jessie grabs my arm to steer me out of the gym faster. I feel my heart croak a few times.
“I think I like him, Jessie, I really do,” I whisper.
“It’s not healthy for you,” she hisses back. “Marsha Randall obviously already has her claws in him—it’s not worth it.”