Letters to Nowhere(24)

“Oh, he’s not alone,” Bentley said, thumbing through the airline magazine. “Mrs. Garrett is staying with him until Sunday night.”

I had to snort back laughter. Poor Jordan. Mrs. Garrett was the seventy–five–year–old receptionist at the gym, and it wasn’t like Jordan would be able to be mean or disobedient to an old woman.

“Actually, I’m glad you’re up here with me,” Bentley said after the first hour of the flight. “There’s something we need to discuss before we get to camp.”

I shut my book and stuffed it in the pouch of the seat in front of me. “Okay?”

“Word travels fast in gymnastics. You know that already, I’m sure?” I nodded, figuring he was talking about UCLA in June. “It’s possible some of the National Team staff might be aware of the new skills you’ve been working on.”

Wait, what?

I sat up straighter, turning toward him. “Really?” Excitement flooded through me. I’d love to be able to throw some of my new stuff and make an impression.

“I need you to promise me you won’t confirm anything. You don’t have to lie, just brush it off as nothing big or important, understood?”

That dampened my spirits. “So, I guess that means I won’t be performing any new skills either?”

Coach Bentley gave me a sad smile. “I know I’ve made this hard for you, but what you have to realize, Karen, is that all of you have been branded by the National Team staff.”

“What’s my brand?” I asked, though I had a pretty good guess.

“The consistent one. Someone that could be put on the Pan American team or the World team to go first or second on an event, get the team started off on a positive note.” He sighed and leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not saying we can’t change that, but if you do throw something new into the mix, it has to be perfect. You’ve got to keep your reputation as a clean gymnast, beautiful form—international judges are looking for that. This year is a whole new ball game for you and it’s my job to set you up for the best position possible.”

International judges? Not college judges.

“Does that mean I’ve earned back my layout Jaeger privileges?” I asked.

He nodded. “Starting Monday on a strictly probationary basis.”

“What about June?” I asked tentatively. “What about UCLA?” What about the plan I swore to follow?

Coach Bentley sat quietly for a minute before saying, “How about we put that on the back burner for now? I really don’t think you’re done with elite gymnastics yet, Karen. Besides, June is long ways off.”

I leaned back in my chair, releasing a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. A hundred–pound weight lifted off my shoulders. With that one sentence, Bentley had basically made it okay for me to keep pushing myself toward the top. Over the last month, my drive had tripled. I’d gained this hugely competitive edge I’d never had before in my entire life. I’d always focused on my routines and working to make them cleaner, but now I found myself watching my teammates, trying to constantly one–up them. And I wanted to one–up myself and my current routines by adding more. If the “Karen’s life plan” conversation had taken place today with my parents, I would have fought harder to get my way and probably wouldn’t have accepted my dad’s compromise.


February 13

Coach Bentley,




Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!!! I won’t let you down.




—Karen




P.S. You aren’t planning on talking to Coach Cordes about our little secret plan, are you? Not sure he’d be on board with that.



***

We always had physical abilities testing the second we arrived at the National Team Training Center, which was literally in the middle of nowhere. I was one of the lucky few who got cell phone reception.

I pushed through the rope climb, leg lifts, and sprint tests with really good scores. There were twenty–eight girls here this month, both seniors and juniors. A few of the other elite gymnasts had injuries that prevented them from attending, but other than that, everyone came. No excuses. We ranged in age from twelve all the way up to twenty–two.

Right before the press handstand test, Bentley walked over to me and whispered, “We can sit this one out if you think it’ll aggravate your shoulder.”

I knew it would aggravate my shoulder, but I wasn’t about to bail out of it and look like a baby before camp even started. The first two press handstands hurt like hell, but then it was tolerable. It was also my lowest scoring test. As soon as I finished, Blair was right behind me, rubbing my shoulder.

“That hurt me just to watch,” she whispered.

“How are your shins?” I whispered back to her.

“Bad,” she admitted. “It was just a dull ache, but when we were doing jumps in warm–ups, it turned into a sharp pain, right along the bone. Do you think it’s a stress fracture?”

Worry for my best friend overtook my own pain. We usually dropped our workout competiveness at training camps because any success from our gym improved all of our chances. It made Coach Bentley look more capable and more likely to produce multiple stars. Plus, we really were like sisters and needed the support in emotionally draining situations like these.