Letters to Nowhere(6)

“Karen!” Mrs. Martin, Blair’s mother strode quickly toward me; cue dead parent face. “Coach Bentley is still at the McKays’, we can give you a ride, honey.”

Blair’s mom was second only to Ellen’s as the scariest gym mom ever. Maybe it was her Asian heritage that caused her to push and push and obsess over every detail of her daughter’s career, but even before losing my parents, I had found it suffocating. Now it was even more so, because being around her reminded me of houses and families and things I didn’t want to think about.

From the corner of my eye I saw Blair’s face brighten. “Awesome! Can we get sushi, Mom? Maybe Karen can just sleep over?”

I sucked in a breath, feeling my heart race. Right after Coach Bentley had made his offer, the Martins had wanted me to stay with them, and Blair was still stung by my refusal, though she wouldn’t admit it, because you can’t be pissed off at your best friend after her parents died. It was like the best get–out–of–jail–free card ever.

Before things got any more awkward, Stevie spoke the most magical words ever. “I can take her. It’s on my way.”

I stared at her, wondering how she knew where Bentley lived.

After a serious injury right before Olympic trials and a yearlong retirement from gymnastics, Stevie had just come back to the gym two months ago, and I hadn’t really spoken to her outside of practice much. She was almost twenty now, and I kept thinking about her spending over a year out in the real world, and she’d seemed like a stranger. And Coach Cordes had been so broken up by Stevie’s abrupt departure that it’d become a silent rule that we didn’t bring up her name. Of course Bentley, the new guy, had no history of coaching her and welcomed her back to the group with ease.

Avoiding eye contact with Blair, I hurried behind Stevie as she opened the door, calling over my shoulder, “Maybe tomorrow. I haven’t even unpacked.”

Stevie’s brand new silver sports car was a much smoother ride than the rusty putter of Jordan’s vehicle, and I found myself relaxing into the seat. Stevie, a former world champion and daughter of an Olympic gold medal sprinter, was all business all the time, and I had no worries about her bringing up my parents or any other uncomfortable topic.

“So where does Bentley live?” Stevie asked, laughing. “I don’t know if it’s on my way or not, but you looked like you needed a Plan B.”

I blew air out of my cheeks, nodding before giving her the address and basic directions. I totally needed a savior in there. Stevie’s very perceptive.

“Bars are killing me,” she said after a couple minutes of driving in silence. She lifted a hand from the steering wheel to check out her calluses. “If I had known what a year off of gymnastics would do to my hands, I might have stuck it out.” She laughed and I made an effort to join her. “They’re letting me go to training camp next month,” she added.

“Really? You’re going to Houston with us?” Both junior and senior elite gymnasts had to endure four–day training camps under the judgmental eye of USA Gymnastics Coordinator Nina Jones. It wasn’t exactly your fun kind of camp, despite the woods and the animals on the property. It was a test. A four–day–long exhausting test, both mental and physical.

Stevie rolled her eyes, acknowledging the lack of excitement revolving around this event. “Yep. It’s now or never, right? Either they welcome me back or tell me I’m a disgrace—too old, too fat, too slow, too sloppy, too weak…what else is there?”

I laughed nervously, not sure if it was a rhetorical question. “Or completely unnoticeable, like me,” I said, thinking about my last training camp, when Nina Jones gave individual corrections and comments to nearly everyone except me. I’d done the same routines for years, she knew them well enough already. I had nothing to wow her with.

“Well, that’s not happening this time,” Stevie said. “It’s Bentley’s first National team camp.”

“Yeah but—”

“I know, I know, he’s coached elite guys and pre–elite girls,” Stevie interrupted. “He’s plenty experienced, but you know how obsessed Nina and the rest of her committee are with Ellen, so they’ll be watching Bentley’s every move to make sure he’s coaching her to her full potential.”

I wasn’t sure if this revelation made me more excited for next month or less. Probably less if they were looking for a reason to criticize our coaching in an effort to protect Ellen, the thirteen–year–old phenom and current Junior National champion.

“At least we have time to mentally prepare for that.”

The conversation ended there because we’d arrived at Bentley’s place. I shouted thanks to Stevie and crunched through the week–old snow on my way to open one of an entire row of identical red front doors. I unlocked the door with the key Coach Bentley had given me this afternoon and quietly stepped into the foyer, leaving my coat and boots by the door.

My stomach growled loudly in the near silence, steering me through the living room on my way to the kitchen. I let out a much too loud and very un–cool gasp when my eyes took in the two tangled bodies on the living room couch. Jordan’s red striped tie lay on the floor and his khaki pants were twisted around skinny, spray–tanned, carefully shaven legs, his hand inching toward the hemline of the red and blue plaid skirt.