Out of Bounds (The Summer Games #2)(11)

But even if I closed my ears to the noise coming from outside my team, I knew the girls weren’t going to go easy on me. Yes, they behaved as consummate professionals on the world stage, but until then, they were just like any other group of young girls. To them, I was the new substitute teacher: young and naive. I had to prove to them I was in charge and worthy of the same respect my father’s age and legacy commanded. The five of them had the power to make my life a living hell for the next eight weeks and if I didn’t start off strong from day one, it’d be an uphill battle the whole way to Rio.

I cleared my throat, trying to get their attention again. After I’d forced Brie to call me sir, the mood in the room had shifted. The girls sat with nervous energy, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Brie sat back against the couch with narrowed eyes and a hard line where her smile had been a moment before. I’d pushed too hard, too fast, but of the five of them, Brie would be the most challenging to coach. I could already sense a storm brewing within her. She wanted to show me that she was a twenty-year-old with a mind of her own. In truth, I wasn’t even upset about the email misunderstanding; it was more the embarrassment of her catching me in a compromising position, and I hadn’t handled it well.

“The fourth and final rule is that you’ll respect each other and you’ll respect me.”

Brie’s eyes bored into me.

“Got it?”

“Yes sir,” they answered.

Brie pushed up off the couch. “Is that all?”

“Be ready to work out in twenty minutes. We’ll meet at the hangar.”

Before the second sentence had left my lips, she was brushing past the couch and heading up the stairs. The other girls stared back and forth between us, studying my reaction.

“I think she’s really tired,” Molly said with a tight smile. “She had a super early flight.”

Brie wasn’t tired, she was indignant. I’d dealt with plenty of gymnasts like her in my years of coaching. In my experience, there were two ways to get a gymnast’s respect: earn it or demand it. Brie’s temperament proved she would resent me if I continued to force it, so I made a mental note to ease up on her during the workout.

Twenty minutes later, the five of them strolled in wearing tank tops and yoga pants. Brie was the last one to walk in, eyeing the place tentatively and keeping her distance from the other girls. I’d embarrassed her earlier in front of them and she was still brooding.

I stood back and watched her as the girls started stretching on the mat. She was thin, delicate. Other gymnasts wore their muscle like a badge of honor, but Brie didn’t have that type of body. She looked more like a doll, soft and feminine. Maybe that’s why her fire continued to surprise me. I kept assuming she would fall into place, take her spot in line, keep her head down and work, but as I showed the girls around the facility, pointing out the ropes and weight sets, she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“You’ll do five circuits,” I said, walking them through the obstacle course-style workout I’d set up. “You’ll start by going up and down the rope twice without using your legs or feet to help. After that you’ll move to the high bar and then to the floor.”

I’d done the circuit earlier, testing it out. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but there was no sense in babying them. The next month wouldn’t be easy and the sooner they realized that, the better.

Brie was the first one to line up for the circuit and I almost worried she wouldn’t be able to handle it, but the second she took the rope, I saw a glimpse of the strength her body kept hidden away. Those slender arms were stronger than they looked. She didn’t flinch going up and down the rope and I watched, waiting to nail her for using her feet to assist her, but she had her legs straight out in a V the entire way up and down.

“Nice work, Brie,” I said once her feet hit the mat.

She brushed past me with her chin raised just enough to set my olive branch aflame. Her silence told me I hadn’t earned her respect.

Not yet.





Chapter Five


Brie





Gymnastics, like polo, tends to be a sport for the rich. My mom’s job as a social worker hardly brought home enough money to cover food, clothes, and rent. With no way to afford the thousands of dollars a month for gym dues and training, I knew she must have negotiated a special rate for me with the owners.

She always kept a smile on her face and tried hard to give me the same rose-colored memories as other kids—but I wasn’t deaf to her hushed phone calls with collection agencies, nor blind to the stress lines that appeared at the end of every month as the bills started to roll in.

I remembered being on a first-name basis with Chuck, the greasy, balding EZ Pawn owner that always remembered my favorite Dum Dum flavor was blue raspberry. At the beginning of every month, I’d watch my mom pass her late mother’s diamond pendant necklace over the counter, and I would giggle as the man looked at it closely with funny lighted eyeglasses. It had seemed like a game, part of our monthly routine, until the December our car broke down on the side of the highway a few miles from our house. After towing it to a nearby mechanic and hearing the diagnosis, we took a cold bus to see Chuck for the last time. Out of habit, he took the necklace out of a drawer and placed it on the counter when he saw us coming. But, rather than passing over the bank envelope like normal, my mom shook her head and put her old wedding ring down beside it. After a few whispered words, we left without either, and the bus ride home was one of the first times I’d seen my mom cry.