Letters to Nowhere(26)

My cheeks flared up even though no one was around to see me blush. “Okay, you’ve obviously learned nothing at all from me,” I said, laughing. “Think about it, Jordan…do you really think I have any experience with this subject whatsoever?”

“Wait,” he said. “You mean you’ve never kissed anyone?”

“Not a nonrelative,” I said. “It’s not like I go around advertising this to people, but I figured you would get that I’m a little behind in that area. If I had known you thought otherwise I probably would have been happy living a lie just to avoid this conversation.”

“Seriously? Not even during an innocent game of spin–the–bottle? Or seven minutes in heaven?”

“No,” I said more firmly this time. “Nothing. I went to parties with kids from gymnastics and we talked about Disney Channel movie star crushes and gymnastics—that’s it. No boys. No spin–the–bottle or whatever that other game you mentioned is.”

“Well,” he said. “I think it’s cool.”

“No you don’t. It’s weird, even I know that, but I’m okay with it.”

“Really, it’s kinda cool.” His voice held no hint of the patronizing tone I’d expected. “I wish I could have my first kiss all over again, but better. Or just that feeling of anticipating something that seems so ordinary to me now. Once you cross that line you can’t take it back.” He laughed. “And I don’t mean that in an abstinence, wait–for–marriage kind of way, but in the sense that…I don’t know…it’s like the feeling you got on Christmas morning, as a little kid, looking at all the wrapped gifts and endless possibilities that came with not knowing what was in them. Once you open the gifts, that feeling is gone.”

“So what you’re saying is, anticipating a first kiss is better than the kiss itself?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Depending on who you’re kissing. But I think my jealousy of your lack of experience stems from my resistance to the whole growing–up concept. I’d rather not. Just between you and me.”

I smiled to myself. “I’m sure ninety–nine percent of people our age feel the same way. But I doubt many are able to admit it like you have or even realize it at all.”

“Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?”

“Right,” I said, smiling again. “I should get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be hard enough without adding sleep deprivation.”

“Talk to you later, Karen.”

I hung up my phone and tucked it under my pillow, my ears still lingering on the sound of my name…Jordan saying my name…it rolled off his tongue, smooth and fluid and I was pretty sure I’d be happy listening to him saying it over and over again.





CHAPTER EIGHT





February 14

Mom and Dad,




Did it hurt? Who was driving? If I had been in the car, would it have changed anything? Please don’t answer this. I don’t want a concrete reason to believe in ghosts.




Love, Karen




Coach Bentley,




I want to ask you so many things about your family, but most of the time, I force myself to not think about it. You’re the most stable person in my life and you probably were even before my parents’ accident and now I really need you to stay that way. I’m sorry if that’s selfish.




—Karen




P.S. Thank you for never asking me about going home or getting my car. I’m not ready.




Jordan,




I’m glad you haven’t been making out with Sara.




—Karen



***


“Karen Campbell!”

I froze in my spot up on the high beam, watching Nina Jones, our National Team coordinator, walking toward me, followed by two committee members. Nina was basically the person who made the final decision on every women’s gymnastics team that represented the USA, including World and Olympic teams. Despite her short stature and wild gray hair, Nina was the single most intimidating person I’d ever met.

The most intimidating thing I’d ever met was Nina’s clipboard, which she now held pressed to her chest.

“Have you ever trained a tucked full on beam?” she drilled, snapping her fingers in the air, indicating I should hop down and stand at attention in front of the three committee members.

Stacey had been teaching me an even more difficult skill, an Arabian somersault, but Coach Bentley had quickly positioned himself behind Nina. He shook his head slightly, reminding me of our discussion on the flight to Houston. “Just…uh…on a line…in the off–season.”

Bentley nodded his approval. Nina exchanged glances with the other committee members and then her eyes beamed like lasers right at me. “Show me on the line, please.”

She snapped again and I hurried over to the gymnastics floor, placing my feet on one of the white taped lines.

I quickly showed Nina and her two sidekicks my back tucked full, which is basically a back tucked flip with a full twist. I bent my knees on the landing, pressing my feet into the slick white tape as if it were a beam high in the air.