Letters to Nowhere(55)

“His mother was very musical.” Bentley already had one foot on the steps, ending this discussion.

His mom. That’s where he got it from.

I went into my room and shut the door before pulling out my phone to do what Jordan and I had been doing for the past few nights. Texting.


ME: So…your mom…?




JORDAN: She played cello in the London Symphony Orchestra




ME: Wow




JORDAN: I thought I mentioned that before? Guess not. But I know what you’re thinking…talented parents. Slacker kid…lol




ME: I wasn’t thinking that. Your dad doesn’t like you to play?




JORDAN: I don’t know. Guess I’ve just been afraid to. Maybe he doesn’t even care. Not sure




ME: He didn’t look angry. And I liked your arrogance better than your self–deprecation




JORDAN: Haha…okay. I’m awesome and sexy. How’s that?




ME: 7.2




JORDAN: I think we should go on a real date




ME: Are you asking? I couldn’t tell




JORDAN: KAREN, WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME? Better?




ME: Much. What about Coach Bentley?




JORDAN: I’ll take care of my dad. Don’t worry




ME: Ok. Then yes




JORDAN: Friday after practice?




ME: Ok



Dear Mom,

I’m going on a date with a boy…a really cute older boy (Well, a few months older). Please don’t tell Dad.

Love, Karen





CHAPTER FIFTEEN





When Jordan walked into the kitchen for breakfast, Coach Bentley was leaning against the counter reading the paper and drinking coffee, like every morning. Jordan grabbed a bowl and a box of cereal and sat down across from me. I knew he had said he’d take care of Bentley and the date issue, but I had no idea it would be right away and that it would be so easy.

“Hey, Dad? The new Batman movie comes out Friday…”

Bentley looked up from the paper. “I’m filling in for Patrick Friday evening. Sorry, bud.”

Jordan faked disappointment and shoveled a bite of cereal into his mouth before speaking again. “Karen? What about you?”

I looked up at him, my eyes wide, then stared down at my bowl, trying to shrug like it wasn’t a big plan he’d come up with without notifying me. “I guess…if I’m not too tired after practice.”

Jordan shrugged, too, and picked at his fingernail. “Cool.”

“Not too late, though,” Bentley said to me. “You’ve got practice Saturday. You and Blair were a little sluggish last week after that sleepover.”

“Yeah, okay.” I couldn’t look at either of them, so I don’t know if Jordan reacted to that at all. Jordan finished his cereal without another word, and that was that. We officially had a date.


March 4

Coach Bentley,




Are you really this good at turning off the practice drama at home? Or is this only going to last for a little while and eventually we’ll start talking shop twenty–four–seven? I’m still DYING to know what the hell is going through your head most of the time! How did Jordan survive seventeen and a half years of this unnatural calm? How have I survived eight or so months of it?




—Karen




P.S. I’m going on a date with your son and I’ll probably kiss him again and might even use my tongue. Would that get you a little riled up?



***

Before I started my tucked fulls for conditioning (the skill Bentley had made me do at least a hundred of last night), I made sure he was watching. I wasn’t going to have eighty failed attempts today.

Bentley was helping Stevie through her press handstands, but I caught his eye after making sure Blair held the foam tube at exactly the right height. My lower abs screamed at me from last night’s overuse as I launched myself into the first flip. My chest came up a little short.

“Tuck your hips under, Karen!” Stacey shouted from across the gym.

“It was really close,” Blair said. She was being unusually sweet. I think me getting kicked out last night created this walking–on–eggshells atmosphere for everyone except my coaches.

I drew in a deep breath, channeling my frustration from last night into my next attempt, which I nailed, finishing with my chest higher than the foam. After five more attempts (three good, two bad) I was starting to get the feel of timing the flip and twist just right to be able to open up sooner and land with my chest upright like Bentley wanted, all while still keeping it in the back of my head that I’d be doing this on a balance beam only four inches wide and four feet above the ground.

It took forty tries to make twenty good back fulls and I was the last one to move on to the rest of my conditioning. Of course, Blair hadn’t had to do any flips, and Stevie and Ellen were only doing regular standing back tucks—no full twists.

After beam and bars, Bentley left us with my old level 99 coach, Patrick. The one I’d had a major crush on five years ago. Patrick was coaching us on vault today while Bentley had a conference call in his office with Nina Jones, the God of gymnastics.