Anything but Ordinary(38)

“Thank you,” Gabby whispered. She let go and turned to the rest of the group, the tiara perched perfectly on her head. “I feel like a princess!” She poured everyone a tequila shot.

Zen and Mary tossed their shots back, twisted their faces, and looked at each other.

“It’s time.”

They left briefly, returning with a projector they had rented from the conference center at the hotel, and portable laptop speakers. Zen dimmed the private dining room’s lights as the words GABBY GORDON + GREG TRAVERS appeared on the wall.

The first slide was their baby pictures side by side—Gabby in a pumpkin outfit, already with thick curly hair, and Greg wearing a sailor suit, looking cherubic with thin blond curls sprouting from his round head.

“We’re going to project this at the reception. But we thought it would be fun to get a little sneak peek,” Mary said.

“Plus there are some embarrassing-ass photos we can’t show with your grandparents in the room,” Zen quipped. The other girls tittered. “We couldn’t let them go to waste.”

The second slide showed Gabby, eight, in a pink polka-dot swimsuit, drinking out of a hose.

I was there that day, Bryce thought. My suit had watermelons on it.

Greg, still chubby in a sport coat and khakis, outside his first middle school dance.

Gabby, fourteen, hair down to her waist, competing in the Nashville spelling bee.

She got eleventh. Out on the word exacerbate.

Greg at fifteen in an AAU uniform, flexing his muscles.

The first tournament we all dove together. Fifteen and under. Heat was rising up on Bryce’s forehead. The colors on the wall flashed bright.

“I can barely remember those days,” Gabby said dreamily.

Bryce closed her eyes, and in a flash, she was there again. It was more than a memory; she was actually there, inside that day seven years ago. The smell of chlorine tingled her nose.

Sunbeams filtered through the mist above the pool, the team gathering on the bleachers for the group picture. She slipped her arm around Greg’s waist, her thigh feeling the heat of his. As someone held a camera up before them, Bryce and Greg shared a glance. But Gabby had also sidled next to Greg, nestling her head comfortably on his shoulder.

She’s happy, Bryce could tell, and at the snap of the camera, Bryce was no longer at the poolside, the smell of chlorine leaving her.

The frame flashed to another picture of the three of them, a more recent picture. Recent, at least, to Bryce.

Gabby and Greg were unsuited, and Bryce was giving her tense, camera-ready smile, her warm-up unzipped, the USA suit shining through. The day of the Trials. The day that changed it all.

Gabby looked at Bryce through the darkened room, tears dotting her eyes. I’m sorry, she seemed to say. Bryce looked back to the slide show, her jaw clenching.

Then it was just the two of them. Gabby Gordon + Greg Travers.

Caught in the middle of a conversation in the halls of Hilwood, their backpacks beside them.

In a tentative, posed embrace at senior prom.

Outside their Stanford dorm, pointing with silly faces up to a palm tree.

Gabby’s hair cut short, her arm around a younger-looking Zen.

Greg, his hair long again, smiling cheesily, holding up a fraternity pledge pin.

Greg, a pot on his head, kissing Gabby wearing cat ears with a grin on her face.

Gabby and Greg facing one another with their eyes locked, not realizing the camera was on them.

A self-taken picture at the beach, Greg’s sunburned face slightly cut out.

Greg in a suit, cradling Gabby, the hem of her formal gown dangling from his arms.

Greg on one knee in front of Gabby on a beach, the Mediterranean sparkling behind them, holding a ring.

Bryce had had enough. The slide show went on for several more minutes. She watched the distorted reflections in Gabby’s wineglass.

When it finally ended they all stood, swaying in their tequila-soaked state, and filtered out of the restaurant.

“Good night, Nashville!” Mary yelled as they exited.

When Zen opened the heavy wooden door to their suite, they all jumped. A chorus of male voices came from inside.

The girls pushed their way into the room. Gabby gasped. The brunettes screeched. Six young men in suits of various shades of blue and gray stood in the tiled foyer with their arms around each another, swaying as they sang out of tune. Their ties were loose. Their hair was mussed. In the middle stood Greg, singing louder than anyone. Bryce watched him as he sang the Stanford fight song they all knew so well. To Bryce, it sounded like a song in an old movie, something she’d never heard.

The chorus drew out the last note as long as they could. Greg fell into a high five and a hug with the guy on his right, who almost looked like his identical twin. Peter, his older brother. Bryce didn’t know him well; he’d already been off at college when they were in high school. The rest of the guys stumbled into hugs with Zen, Mary, and the brunettes, shouting reunion greetings.

“What are you guys doing here?” Gabby finally managed to get out among more, louder renditions of the Stanford fight song.

“We’re crashing the party!” Peter threw up his long arms, landing them around Gabby’s shoulders.

A tall, broad-shouldered guy with tousled red-brown hair swiped Gabby’s antique tiara and put it on his head.

“Hey!” Gabby attempted a scolding tone, stomping her sequined heels. But Bryce could tell she was pleased. “This was supposed to be a girls-only night!”