Letters to Nowhere(22)

“I’ll think about it.”

I took off and lunged into my round–off back handspring, before setting myself up high enough for the triple back. Halfway through the second flip, I got a little lost and was totally shocked to end up feet first in the foam pit. Jordan had jumped up, cheering loudly. “That was awesome! So awesome!”

“Karen!” a loud voice boomed from across the gym. “What the hell are you doing?”

I crawled out of the pit, landing on the mat beside Jordan. Coach Bentley and several of his staff were heading our way.

“What’s going on?” he snapped at Jordan, who had already reached for his shirt and was buttoning it up. “I asked you to take Karen home.”

Jordan scowled at him. “Try checking your cell phone once in a while, Dad. Glad I wasn’t choking or in great need of a guardian to sign off on medical procedures.”

“His car broke down,” I said.

Coach Bentley turned to me, eyes narrowing. “You know the rules, Karen. Nobody trains skills without a coach in the gym. What were you thinking? And triple backs?”

I shrunk back, not sure how to react. Bentley had never yelled at me before. Stacey was right behind him, arms crossed, glaring at me. “This is something I expect from the little girls.”

“This is something I expect from my irresponsible son,” Bentley said, “but not from you.”

The six or eight other coaches stayed back, watching this exchange from a distance. Coach Bentley strode over to the pit bar and yanked down my chart, which had already been marked up quite a bit in the last two days. My heart pounded, not knowing what was coming.

“We’re taking layout Jaegers off the bar training program for now. I thought you were mature enough to understand how to weigh the risk versus reward, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Come on, Dad,” Jordan argued. “She was just playing around.”

I shook my head at him, not wanting any help with this. It was already bad enough. “I’m sorry,” I said with a sigh, then left them to go and grab my stuff from the locker room.


Dad,




I know you said a long time ago that teenage boys are not likely to have a clean thought in their head and I should stay far, far away from all of them, but what about Jordan? Sure, he’s a little bit of a playboy, but he’s not just that. Are all boys like him? Were you like him? So far, I’ve talked to Jordan more about stuff that actually matters than anyone else. What if he’s done the same with me? What does that mean?




It doesn’t matter. I know he’s not bad. Not perfect either, but not bad.




Love, Karen




Coach Bentley,




You’re right. I did know better. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever I have to do to earn your trust back.




—Karen




P.S. You didn’t lose everything. You still have Jordan.



***


Later, after I had showered and put on my PJs, I came downstairs, ready to scrounge for food in the kitchen since I hadn’t had dinner yet. Bentley was at the stove, cooking. He set a plate at the table for me—pasta with red sauce and what looked like zucchini and broccoli tossed in it. I slid into the chair tentatively, waiting for another lecture. “Thanks, this looks really good.”

“It’s better than my eggs,” he said, giving me a half smile that looked so much like Jordan’s.

I thought maybe this was his way of telling me that what happens in the gym stays in the gym. However, there was something I had to clarify for him. “Jordan told me not to do it. He looked kind of freaked out, actually, but I did it anyway.”

Coach nodded, picking up his fork. “Jordan’s only irresponsible with his own life, not anyone else’s.”

“I didn’t know he did gymnastics before,” I said.

Coach Bentley surprised me by laughing. “He’s a victim of overambitious parents. You’ve seen this before, I’m sure?”

I laughed with him. “Uh, yeah. I’ve seen way too much of it over the years. Don’t you know that, statistically, those kids quit by age twelve?”

“I do now.” He pointed to my plate of pasta. “Eat your dinner. You’ll need the carbs to get through all the extra conditioning tomorrow.”

I groaned and stuffed my mouth full of noodles.

“Jordan didn’t throw a triple back, did he?” Coach Bentley asked after a few minutes of eating in comfortable silence.

“Just a double.”

“How was it?”

“Sloppy,” I said without hesitation. “Really high, but very sloppy.”

Coach Bentley laughed again, then his face turned more serious. “Is everything okay with you and Blair? I was under the impression that you two were practically inseparable inside and outside of the gym. It’s not a problem if you want to hang out after practice or—”

“I might. Just not right now. I’m still getting used to a new place…getting my routine and all that.”

I could tell he didn’t totally believe me, but he didn’t ask more questions. And if he had, I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to answer them. Avoiding sleepovers and between practice hang–out sessions wasn’t something I could explain in words.