Out of Bounds (The Summer Games #2)(99)

The lie was surprisingly easy to tell and after that, they let me settle back into comfortable silence. I didn’t pay much attention to the conversation as they finished eating. Then, after we’d dumped our trash and trays, I followed them up to the condo and made an excuse about needing extra sleep before the competition. In reality, my head was a swirling mess. I couldn’t pick one thing to focus on. I jumped from Erik to my mom to the all-around finals, around and around and around. Each topic was as vomit-inducing as the last.

After a long shower and a short, strained phone call with my mom, I lay in bed, thinking about the $25,000 I’d earned from the team gold. It was a ton of money, way more than I’d ever had, but it still didn’t touch the amount my mother had contributed to my training over the years. One time, I’d tallied up what she must have spent on my gymnastics career, and even my conservative estimate made me sick. The private lessons, the years of training, the private tutors when I could no longer manage a normal high school schedule, the international competition, not to mention all the small things: leotards, grips, gym gear, tape. I just knew I needed to win more.

I considered what our lives would be like if I had been a normal daughter. If I’d put all my effort toward my academics instead of gymnastics, could I have earned a full ride to college and pursued a career with a steady income? Could I have bought my mom a nice house and given her a little room to breathe?

Unfortunately, while I was an average student, I never felt excitement for learning equations the way I did for mastering skills in the gym. It was in my blood. In school, kids complained about studying and huffed in disbelief when teachers assured them they would absolutely need the quadratic equation someday, but in the gym I could stand on the beam and feel it in my bones. Everything my body learned built on itself, and the allure of progression was intoxicating. All of it, from day one, had been streamlined for one very clear purpose, and I knew winning all six gold medals was the culminating light I’d been tunneling toward.

I would have assumed having secured one of the six would settle my nerves proportionately, but no. I’d already competed on the Olympic stage once, but the next morning, when I walked into the arena for the individual all-around competition, my knees nearly buckled with stress. I now had to contend with the idea that for the remainder of the competition, I was on my own. Competing for individual gold in the all-around competition and event finals meant I was even pitted against Molly for the next four days. For me to win, she had to lose, and what had been a team sport two days before was now unapologetically individual.

During the opening ceremonies, we were announced by name rather than by country. We each wore a different colored leotard to further signify the “every gymnast for herself” mentality, and though I tried to ignore it, the tension between competitors hung thick in the air.

My first rotation was bars. I pulled off my warm-ups and stuffed them into my gym bag. I reached for my grips and shook off the excess chalk. I could see the judges out of the corner of my eye. They sat behind a small rectangular table, wearing black suits and grim expressions. Their glasses sat on the bridges of their noses, and their pens were already in their hands, ready to go.

I turned away and tried to force their existence from my mind, but it was no use. They only added to the stress eating away at me. My mom, Erik, the chance for a second gold medal—my mind circled around and around as I stood in line to chalk my grips and then before I could push everything to the side, I was stepping up to the bars for my warm-up routine. I eased into it, feeling my heart dip into my stomach as I moved to the high bar. I skipped over my hardest release move and then finished with a simple dismount.

“What’s wrong?” Erik asked as I walked off the mat to take my place at the back of the line.

I jolted at the sound of his voice. “Nothing.”

“Then why did you just warm up a routine that isn’t even half as difficult as the one you’re about to submit to the judges?”

I swallowed slowly. “I don’t know.” I averted eye contact, staring into the stands behind him. “I’m feeling off.”

He shook his head, torn. “I want be sympathetic, Brie, but there’s no time. I need you to get your head in this arena.”

“It is,” I stressed, ignoring his glare.

Fuck him. Couldn’t he see how nervous I was? My own body was sabotaging me.

My next routine was wobbly; I nearly ate shit on my first release move and I took four steps after my dismount.

Erik didn’t even look me in the eye as I lined back up behind Molly. I could practically hear the announcers in my head.

“Brie Watson has tremendous potential, but she’s the least experienced when it comes to competition on the Olympic stage. She wouldn’t be the first rookie to buckle under the pressure.”

“Brie,” Erik urged, pointing to the empty bars. “You’re up.”

I shook my head clear of thoughts and reached down into the chalk bucket. This was my last warm-up routine and I wasn’t ready. I needed everything to slow down. If I could only go back in time and get a better night’s sleep. If I could have just nailed this routine one more time in practice. My chest was already tight and the more I tried to tell myself to calm down, the less I felt in control of my own body. Is this what a nervous breakdown feels like?

“It’s time,” Erik said, rattling my brain.