CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I love the dark blue and black with Karen’s hair.”
“Much better than the pink leos.”
“The dark colors aren’t quite as bold with Stevie’s skin tones.”
“The cut is a little high on the hips with Blair’s long torso.”
Stacey had me and my teammates lined up in the training room after morning practice, modeling our new competition leotards that we’d be wearing in Chicago. This was Stacey’s department one hundred percent, now that Bentley was head coach. He wanted nothing to do with “costume choice,” as he called it. She had elected two helpers to walk behind her making notes—Mrs. Garrett, the old receptionist, and Ally, our athletic training coach. We all thought Stacey was taking this job a little too seriously. Any time one of us moved or spoke up without being told it was okay, she snapped her fingers to shut us up. Blair and I were about five seconds from collapsing into a fit of giggles.
“Are we doing the nude colored brief and brassiere?” Mrs. Garrett asked. “I want to make sure I’ve got all their sizes in stock.”
Brassiere. Seriously? I glanced at Blair again and that was it for us, we both busted out laughing.
“Girls!” Stacey continued her slow walk past Ellen. “Ellen can still wear anything, so we don’t need to worry about her. And I’m still deciding between nude and black on the briefs and sports bras, probably nude.”
Mrs. Garrett scribbled on her clipboard, her old body hunched over as she walked. Stacey was in front of me again, tugging at the top of my leotard. This style had a lower neckline in the front, almost heart shaped. Whenever we’d had this style in the past, especially when I was really young, me being on the skinnier side always made it not fit right. If I put my arms together in the front and leaned forward, the leo would bunch and you could see right down it.
“Look at that,” Stacey said, still tugging at me. “You’ve finally got enough boobs to make this stay in place.”
I glanced down at my chest, feeling my face redden. Mrs. Garrett whipped out a tape measure and wrapped it around my chest, then she scribbled more on her clipboard.
“Stacey, hon,” Mrs. Garrett interrupted. “Can you show me styles you want for the undergarments? I’ve got the catalog over here.”
They moved to the table on the far side of the room just as Jordan poked his head in the training room. His hand covered his eyes. “Is it safe to enter? I heard this was the new dressing room.”
“I like the term multipurpose room better,” Ally said.
I walked over to Jordan while Stacey and Mrs. Garrett were still huddled in deep discussion over sports bras on the other side of the room. “What are you doing here, school skipper? The truancy officer might show up with a big van to haul you away.”
“I’m in charge of feeding you lunch today, Coach Bentley’s orders. He was a little busy last night and didn’t get to the grocery store,” he said. “And he wants Ally to look at my elbow.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Stacey and back at Jordan. “I think my self–esteem has been lowered from this try–on session,” I whispered. “I’m so ready to get out of here.”
“Let me see your arm, Jordan,” Ally said. “ER doctors are so incompetent when it comes to dislocations.”
“Actually, Coach Bentley did it himself,” Jordan said.
Ally’s eyebrows lifted. “Then you’re fine, I’m sure. Of course, he’d get sued if it was anyone but his own kid.”
“I’m done with you girls!” Stacey yelled over her shoulder. “See you at three, and do not stuff those leos in your gym bags. There’s a purpose for that hanger it came on.”
Ally was carefully removing the splint from Jordan’s arm, examining it closely.
“If you guys are done,” Jordan said. “There’s a big guy in the lobby waiting for you.”
The four of us looked at each other and then Blair’s face brightened. “Oh! Coach Cordes is here, he’s having lunch with my parents today. I guess I should have figured he’d stop by the gym.”
“He’s in town?” My stomach wadded up into a ball of knots. “I didn’t know that.”
Blair turned me around, giving me her I’m–trying–to–mentally–tell–you–something face. And then it dawned on me. He’s having lunch with her parents…UCLA probably has a meet in Iowa or Illinois this weekend. He’s recruiting.
“Oh my God,” I mumbled.
“I know,” Blair said. “I can’t jinx it, but seriously, you’ll be two years ahead of me. Promise you won’t get too attached to your roommate so we can be college roomies, please, please, please.”
I smiled at Blair, and before we could even enter the lobby, Coach Cordes walked right into the training room. He was a big guy and famous for his giant bear hugs. Ellen and Blair got the first hugs. Stevie was a little old for it, I guess, because she got a one–armed awkward hug. “I’m so glad to see you back in the gym, Stevie,” he said.
I got lifted off my feet. Then, when he set me down and held on to my hands, sure enough, there was the dead parents face. We had talked on the phone right after it happened, and I hardly remembered what he’d said because I was trying so hard not to cry on the phone with my old/future coach.
“Karen, honey, how are you?” He even leaned down and was practically eye–level with me.
“Fine—I mean, okay, I guess.” There were too many people in the room for my body to even process the idea of shedding a tear, and I’d done this so many times already that it wasn’t nearly as hard as that day on the phone.
Blair slung an arm around my shoulders. “She’s great, actually, kicking some serious ass in the gym.”
A grin spread across his face. “That’s what I like to hear, as your former and future coach. I thought you might have taken some time off.”
I hadn’t taken any time off. I was back in the gym the day after my parents’ funeral.
“Doesn’t matter,” Cordes said, after I didn’t respond. “You still have plenty of time to get those old skills ready for UCLA. No one will be in top form when we start practices in June. Lydia, our beam coach, can’t wait to get her hands on you. We’ve been struggling on that event this season.”
June. Here it was again.
Stevie made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a snort, but I couldn’t understand why she’d be laughing right now. “Karen’s done a lot more than maintain her old skills. You should see her bar routine. She’s got an Amanar and a layout Jaeger, a tucked full on beam . . .”
My face felt hotter than hell and I turned to Stevie, glaring at her and hoping she’d shut up. She’d made it sound like those skills were a sure thing, and Bentley hadn’t confirmed I’d be competing any of them. Ever. I already gotten into UCLA based on my old skills. I didn’t want to come there with all these extra expectations. What if Cordes started bragging to the other coaches about these new skills, and then I couldn’t even do them anymore in a year and a half?
March 31
Stevie,
Sometimes you don’t know when to shut up! Is this because you were homeschooled? I’m going to make you a progress chart and you’re going to master the skill of minding your own gymnastics business!
Love, Karen
Cordes’s face scrunched up and he stared at me. “Wait, you changed your routines?”
“No,” I said firmly. “Nothing’s definite. If I stick my old routines, then Bentley lets me work on new skills, that’s all. Just like always.”
‘You should see how high her vault is,” Ellen squealed. “It’s like McKayla Maroney high.”
God, not Ellen, too!
I could feel Jordan’s eyes on the back of my head. He was seated at one of the training tables, still getting his arm examined. Stacey seemed to have stopped talking right then, too, and gave Cordes a smile and a wave.
“Did you hear about Ellen’s meet in Australia?” I said, since we were obviously playing the talk–about–your–teammate game. “She won all–around and floor.”
Cordes gave Ellen a high five and she beamed, flashing her smile full of braces. “Great job, E. So proud of you!” Then he turned back to me. “Karen, honey, you can be NCAA National all–around champion with a Yurchenko full or a one and a half. There’s always been a chance we’d water down that double. You certainly don’t need an Amanar.”
Stevie shrugged. “Well, she’s got one.”
“Is this Nina Jones’s influence?” he asked. “I can talk to her and let her know your plans for June and get her to back off at the camp coming up.”
My heart raced, but there was no way around me answering this question with as much truth as I could muster. “I want to compete at Nationals,” I said. “And if it goes well, then World trials.”
It felt like a giant weight had lifted off me, finally speaking this goal aloud. But I hadn’t even said it to Bentley, hadn’t asked if I was welcome at his house for a few months longer.
Coach Cordes drew in a deep breath, his jaw tightening. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Well, this is unexpected. We talked about this last summer, Karen. Your parents and I sat in my office and—”
He stopped, abruptly realizing his casual mention of my parents, and his expression smoothed into a more calm one as if he was putting several pieces together. “I’ll talk to Bentley. We’ll figure everything out, okay?”
I honestly had no idea what that meant. Would he try to get Bentley to ship me to California in June, or would he figure out how to let me join the team late? And I couldn’t believe that the decision was finally made, just like that. I’m going to compete at Nationals. I’m going to try for a spot on the World team.
We chatted for a few more minutes, and then my teammates and I went into the locker room to change. I waited until I was totally dressed to say anything to Stevie. “What were you doing? You know Bentley’s not going to add all that stuff to my routines, and I don’t want anyone having these huge expectations.”
“Well you should want that,” Stevie said.
Now I was getting really pissed at her. “That’s for me to decide, not you!”
“I’m getting out of here before you guys start throwing around Gatorade and ruin my new leotard,” Ellen said, trying to lighten the mood before she rushed out of the locker room.
Blair was at my side in seconds. “She’s right, Stevie. You’re just bitter because Karen was always Cordes’s favorite. We all had to deal with it, but it’s not her fault.”
Stevie shook her head. “If by favorite, you mean the gymnast he had the lowest expectations for, then you’re right. That would be Karen.”
I stared at Stevie, shocked. “God, what is your problem?”
“Every coach has a favorite,” Blair said. “You know you’re Bentley’s favorite.”
This stalled my anger for a second. I’d never gotten the impression Stevie was the favorite with the head coach now. It just seemed like Bentley respected the fact that Stevie was an adult and aware of her limits. Not just an adult but a seasoned veteran in this sport. If she said she was tired, he’d assume she meant it, whereas with the rest of us, he’d assume it was his job to tell us when we should be tired. That hadn’t really bothered me before, and I didn’t realize it bothered Blair until now.
“I was okay with how Cordes treated you before,” Stevie said to me. “Because I figured he was right…”
“Right about what?!” Blair and I said together.
“Several years ago,” Stevie said, “my mom and I were in his office for a meeting. She was complaining about my progress and why hadn’t I won Nationals and why was Karen Campbell getting all the special treatment and why did he let you back in the gym after he kicked you out of practice when I’d have to miss an entire workout…”
Blair’s arms were folded over her chest, her foot tapping like she was in major defensive mode. I, on the other hand, had no clue where Stevie was going with this.
“I sat right in his office while he told me and my mom that you weren’t as talented as I was and he didn’t see international elite competitions in your future,” Stevie said. “I remember feeling relieved, and then I had this almost permanent smirk on my face when I was around you because I had a secret that you didn’t have. But once I got out of my egotistical Ellen phase, I could see that he was wrong.”
“He might not be wrong,” I said. “You’ve won world championships. I haven’t gotten any senior international assignments and I might not. Ever. Yes, I’d like to, but getting a full ride to UCLA for gymnastics isn’t exactly displaying a lack of talent.”
“Seriously,” Blair chimed in.
Stevie laughed derisively. “I’m so not spelling this out for you.” She spun around and left before either of us could respond.
I was numb with confusion when I finally exited the locker room. Jordan was waiting for me outside, a new, smaller splint on his left arm. He also had a baseball cap on, probably to cover up the stitches in his head.
“You look pensive,” he said, eyeing me carefully.
“I think I feel pensive.” I could see Bentley and Cordes talking in Bentley’s office and I tried and failed to read lips for about thirty seconds.
“Lunch?” Jordan prompted, nodding toward the front doors.
“Right, lunch.”
***
As soon as we were seated at a small table at a nearby deli, I dove into questioning Jordan about last night. “So are you in trouble? Did he yell? Did someone throw a punch? Because I was waiting for that yesterday afternoon.”
Jordan let out a long breath and set down his giant sandwich. “I’m sorry. I feel so bad for sticking you in the middle of that. Kind of embarrassed, too.”
I gave him a half–smile and continued pouring dressing on my salad. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re not right in the middle of my family drama or anything.”
He shrugged. “I guess, but my dad and I haven’t had a fight like that for a long time. Usually we just brood in silence, or at least I do.”
“Maybe it was a good thing, then?” I ate a few bites before speaking again. “What did he say last night?”
“Not much,” Jordan said. “He didn’t yell at me or say that I proved his point about memories causing me to go out of control. I know he’s wrong about that, because I look at those pictures all the time. He just doesn’t know it.”
“You do?” I felt that all–too–familiar flutter in my stomach. This boy was just too cute for his own good. I could totally picture Jordan in that garage, looking through those albums. Jordan, the one person who made me say out loud that my parents were dead, would be able to handle remembering his loss.
“The problem is this,” Jordan said, turning very serious all of a sudden. “When I try to remember what my mom and my sister and grandparents really looked like, how they moved around, little things like that, the mental picture is getting more blurred every day, and then I’m seeing the photos and not remembering the actual memories.”
“And you want him to tell you stuff so you can remember?”
Jordan’s eyes dropped to his food in front of him. “Yeah, I do.”
“Will it help if I tell you what he told me?” I asked, a little tentatively because I didn’t want to hit a sore spot.
He nodded, and we both went back to eating our food while I relayed every detail of the conversation Bentley and I had in the garage yesterday.
“I have another question about last night,” I said, after we’d exhausted the garage topic. “What exactly were you doing on the swing set?”
Jordan laughed. “Oh, that was kind of awesome, actually. A couple guys dared me to try a giant swing on the metal pole across the neighbors’ swing set.”
I slapped my hands over my face. “Oh man, did you do it? Or fall trying?”
“I did it,” he said. “But then I got cocky and tried a flyaway, I held on too long and came back and hit my head on the bar, then my arm must have broken the fall.”
“You may have a career as a Hollywood stunt man.” Now I really wanted to see that video. Maybe someone else had recorded it, since Tony had deleted his version on my instruction last night.
He smiled and lifted his eyes to meet mine. “Then I’d be in LA, like you, right?”
I tried not to linger too long on the awesomeness of that plan because there were a lot of maybes involved. Especially after my big announcement to Coach Cordes today. “Where are you going to college, anyway?”
“So far I’ve gotten a yes from Missouri State, Iowa State, and University of Illinois,” he said. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“U of I is a good school. That’s where my dad went.”
I think both of us didn’t want to think about the fact that Jordan might be sticking around the Midwest while I headed for the West Coast. I decided maybe it was a good time to tell Jordan that I might be around a bit longer. “I’m competing at Nationals for sure,” I said for the second time today. “You think I’ll be allowed to stick around here longer?”
Jordan set his fork down and stared at me. “I can tell you for sure that my dad has never planned on training you for NCAA competition. My guess is, he was already planning on you competing at Nationals. Maybe he didn’t want to pressure you into making a decision right now, considering everything going on.”
I thought about that for a minute, remembering Bentley telling me on the flight to Houston to put the college stuff on the back burner for now. That was exactly what I wanted to do. At least we’d agreed on one thing. I wasn’t sure if that would carry over to adding new skills soon.
“So, Coach Cordes…” Jordan said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m not sure I like him too much.”
“That’s because he’s not your dad.”
“Sometimes I don’t like him too much either.” He frowned. “He seemed like one of those people who listens but isn’t really listening. And Stevie has obviously put him in her not–favorite people pile.”
“We had a really weird fight about that in the locker room.” Both of us stood up to toss our trash, and I explained everything I could to him as we got in the car and drove around.
“Want to go to the park?” he asked.
“Sure.” I’d been hoping we could go somewhere besides home. If only Jordan could skip school every day. Maybe the summer would be like this, now that I’d decided to stick around. Or would he coach at camp again? With Liberty. Ugh. “What do you think Stevie meant that I’m supposed to figure out? And do you think Cordes is right? Should I just focus on staying healthy for college? Stevie acts like competing in college is for total losers or something.”
“First off, you are a hundred percent making the right choice, competing through Nationals. You haven’t gotten to do an all–around senior meet yet and you should at least have that experience before college, regardless of what happens.” He grinned at me. “And yes, I’m partly influenced by the fact that it means you’ll be here longer.”
I smiled down at my feet. “And the Stevie part?”
“Didn’t she give up her college eligibility years ago?”
This was true. She had taken endorsement money before she even reached high school because of training costs, and I think she thought she’d be done by eighteen. I had no idea if she regretted it or not, but I knew my parents would never have let me ruin my college chances so early on. But then again, we could afford to make that decision. Not everyone was that lucky.
“Yeah, she did.”
“I don’t know,” Jordan said as he pulled into a parking lot near the forest preserve. “But you want to make the Pan Am team, compete at Nationals, maybe Worlds, right? And you need elite level skills to do this, correct?”
“Yes, but I know it’s all up in the air. I’m only in control of so much. Like your dad not letting me add the extra difficulty and being a total hard–ass about every minor detail.” I groaned to myself, remembering the extra tumbling passes he had made me do today after not stretching my back handsprings enough and not having my legs tight enough on my triple full.
Jordan got out of the car and I followed him as he opened the trunk. I started laughing when he pulled out a blanket.
“Smooth. You keep that in your trunk just in case?”
He grinned at me. “I thought it might come in handy.”
We found the ultimate secluded spot and stretched out on the blue fleece blanket. “I love spring. It smells so good.”
“Me, too.” Jordan sat up and pulled my feet onto his lap, slipped off my shoes, and started rubbing my right foot. “Sometimes when I’m watching you guys practice in the evenings, it looks so painful I want to rub all your sore muscles right after.”
I laughed, feeling myself blushing.
“That sounded really dirty, didn’t it? I totally didn’t mean for it to sound dirty. I’m actually pretty accomplished in the art of massage.”
“Oh, I bet,” I said, still laughing. But the foot rub actually felt really good, so maybe he did have another skill I hadn’t discovered.
“I’m being serious. I took a sports medicine class last semester and we learned how to use massage to reduce soreness.”
I closed my eyes and breathed in deep, enjoying the many different and very good feelings I had from Jordan’s hands on my feet and the spring air. “Just be careful. Don’t hurt your elbow.”
“I won’t. Okay, so my dad, your routine issues…I think I’ve got a plan.”
“Does it involve illegal activity?” I was enjoying myself too much to be serious.
“Not Plan A.” He pushed my feet aside and stretched out beside me. I leaned in closer to kiss him and had to remove his hat first. His eyes fluttered shut and then he pulled away. “Stop distracting me. I’m trying to be helpful.”
I laughed and rested my head on his chest. “Plan A?”
“Yes, Plan A…” He wrapped his arms around me and ran a hand through my hair. “As much as I hate to admit it, my dad usually knows what he’s doing when it comes to coaching, so I think you should give him a week or two and then demand to know what skills you’ll be doing in Chicago, and if they aren’t the ones you want, then demand that he explain all his reasons. I think if you give him room to do his thing now, he’ll respect you enough to tell you the truth, eventually.”
I let out a huge dramatic sigh. “Letting him do his thing is killing me right now. I’m all about striving for perfection, but he’s taken it to a whole new level. Even my bones are sore. I’ve moved beyond the muscles.”
“I told you I can help with that,” Jordan taunted.
Anytime his voice was near my ear, I’d get goose bumps all over and my pulse would start racing. “I’ll give you one shot to impress me.” I sat up and pulled my sweatshirt over my head, tossing it to the side.
Jordan put his hands behind his head, crossed his feet and gave me a lazy smile. “Keep going, don’t stop with the sweatshirt.”
I pressed a hand to his chest. “In your dreams, Jordan Bentley.”
“That would be great, too.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me back down beside him, my cheek on his chest again. His fingers slipped under my tank top and he started massaging my back. And it did feel really good, but it was kind of like the singing and guitar playing. I might just love it because it was Jordan and not because he was actually superior to anyone as far as skills go.
“Will you be insulted if I fall asleep?” I asked after a few minutes. My eyes had already closed.
“As a boyfriend, I’ll be insulted, but as a masseur, I’ll be proud of myself.”
My heart sped up again. Neither of us had dropped the boyfriend/girlfriend terms into a conversation.
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see which one you’re better at.”
He laughed into my ear, and then quickly turned me over onto my back. “I know which one I’m going to make sure I’m better at.” And then he was kissing me, slow and perfect, his hand moving over my butt and down my jeans and eventually he pulled my leg around him.
I’d learned in the last few weeks that Jordan’s hands were totally ADD; they never stayed in one place for too long and they never stopped moving, even if at a very slow pace. And it wasn’t in a typical handsy–boy fashion. More like he’d touch my cheek and then decide my earlobes seemed interesting and then the back of my neck and then the skin behind my knees if I had shorts on. Sometimes I was so caught up in the feel of it that I wouldn’t even realize I’d hardly moved myself.
When his fingers drifted under the front of my tank top and danced around my belly button, I became aware of the fact that I was breathing very heavily and that he seemed to be waiting for my permission to move his hand higher. I opened my eyes and reached up to bring his head closer to mine. I couldn’t bring myself to verbally give him permission, but I saw that he was watching my face carefully as his hand slid farther up. I wasn’t wearing a bra because my tank top had one of those built–in bras and when I remembered this, it seemed like we were taking two steps forward all at once.
Jordan must have noticed this, too, because his fingers froze just before reaching my boobs and he leaned forward and whispered, “Want me to stop?”
I shook my head, unable to speak. It wasn’t that I expected this to be some great discovery like kissing was, but I expected it to feel good in the same way that it felt good when Jordan touched any of my bare skin with his.
“Are you sure?”
That made me laugh for some reason, maybe I was just nervous. “Are you trying to talk me out of it?”
He buried his face in my neck and laughed against my skin. “Of course not, but it just seems like a big deal, that’s all.”
“It is a big deal.” I combed my fingers through his hair, carefully avoiding the big bump and the stitches but making sure his head stayed down so I didn’t have to look at him. “But letting you touch them doesn’t seem like as big a deal as letting you see them.”
“So, no checking off my getting naked fantasy today?”
“Probably not.” I laughed again, loving the feel of his hair between my fingers. “I think the right side is bigger than the left. It’s a work in progress. Better to let you see the finished product.”
His head popped up, amusement written all over his face. “The right is bigger than the left? Seriously?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’m a freak of nature.”
“My left foot is bigger than my right,” he said, then his face turned serious. “I’m sorry, but I have to find out for myself.”
I was laughing too hard to be nervous anymore, and Jordan stopped again before he got all the way there and I kissed him and said, “Just do it, don’t be a wimp.”
He dropped his head and started kissing my neck as his fingers moved higher and I forgot where I was and what day it was and that my parents were dead. I forgot a lot of things right then, and it was an absolutely beautiful feeling. Like I could be a whole person again, even with all that bad stuff hovering over me.
And Jordan could be this whole person lying beside me and pushing my shirt up higher, kissing my stomach and laying his cheek against it. I didn’t even know there were so many body parts that could be kissed, and we were still working above the waist.
“Still planning on helping me with my paper?” I asked, in between kisses.
“Damn, I forgot. We should go soon.” He scooted away from me and lay flat on his stomach, pressing his face into the blanket. “Just give me a minute…or five.”
I laughed at him before sitting up. At times like this, I was more than grateful to be a girl and not have to hide the fact that I was turned on.
“What’s your technique?” I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and sat cross–legged on the blanket.
“What technique?”
“You know, like Finn on Glee. He always thinks about the mailman hitting his windshield.”
He laughed into the blanket. “First off, I don’t watch Glee so I have no idea who Finn is, and right now I’m thinking about Mrs. Garrett in her nightgown.”
“Is it working?”
He turned his head to the side and smiled at me. “It might if you would stop talking.”
I mimed zipping my lips and sat perfectly still until Jordan finally pulled himself up off the blanket. I folded it neatly and held it to my chest. “So…?” I prompted him.
“So…what?”
I turned my back to him, heading toward the car. “Was I right? About the size difference?”
Jordan hooked an arm around my waist and lifted me off the ground. He spun around a few times. “Is it even possible for you to get dizzy anymore? All those giant swings around the bars…”
He set me down and tried to kiss me, but I leaned back and lifted my eyebrows.
“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “You were right, the left one is smaller.”
I kissed him before climbing into the passenger seat. “Thanks for being honest,” I said once he had gotten in the car, too.
“Now you’re not going to let me see anything, are you?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Let me know whenever you decide.”
I started to say something, but he was busy digging around in his pocket for his cell phone. I watched him read a text and then frown.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, just Tony. He’s probably going to stay over tonight.”
“Is he okay? You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, I just can’t imagine something at his house could be that bad.”
Jordan glanced sideways at me and back at the road. “Promise you won’t say anything to anyone?”
“I swear.”
He exhaled, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “He’s probably battling his dad a lot more than his mom right now. So it’s worse when both are around, like tonight.”
“Battling them about what?”
“Catholic boy likes boys…”
The reality sank in slowly, and finally Tony made sense. A lot of sense. “Oh. Wow.”
“Please don’t try to talk to him about it or anything like that,” Jordan said. “He’s only managed to say it out loud once to me and I doubt he’s told anyone else, and every time he tries to talk to his parents about it, he hits a brick wall and then he starts going on about how there’s something wrong with him, and then he rationalizes it by saying he hasn’t actually done anything wrong yet.”
“Man…”
“It’s like he thinks if he doesn’t ever act on his feelings, he won’t actually be gay,” Jordan said. “I keep telling him I don’t think it works like that.”
“What do you think his parents will do if he tells them?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. They’re fighting so much because they’ve probably already guessed. I guessed it freshman year.” Jordan ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing the bump on his head. “At some point, though, it really doesn’t matter what they think. He is who he is and they either have to accept that, or not. And he’s got to accept the fact that they might not accept it.”
I leaned back against my seat, feeling heavier all of sudden. “Sometimes I hate reality.”
“And sometimes the right breast is bigger than the left, and you just have to accept it,” Jordan said.
I laughed really hard and punched him in the shoulder. “I’m totally not letting you look now.”
March 31
Jordan,
It’s totally possibly that I might totally be in love with you.
Love, (99.9% sure) Karen
When we got back home, Coach Bentley was the living room with his laptop. Jordan must have either sensed my need to talk to his dad or he was still avoiding serious conversation after last night, because he headed right for the stairs after seeing me take a seat in the recliner across from the couch.
“Today I told Coach Cordes that I wanted to compete at Nationals,” I said before he even glanced up from his laptop. When he did look up at me, I furiously rubbed at my mouth. Could he tell I’d been making out with his son? Was there physical evidence of it?
“He mentioned that to me,” Bentley said, giving me no indication of his feelings on the subject.
“I should have asked you first, though. I shouldn’t assume that I can stay—”
Bentley raised a hand to stop me and shook his head. “Of course you can stay, and I think you made the right choice. Let’s see how things go in Chicago, and then we’ll decide if we need to make plans beyond August. Until then, you’re still eligible to compete at UCLA next season. I reminded Coach Cordes of this today. The rules are very clear.”
I exhaled. “Okay.”
There. A very big–girl move on my part, and it hadn’t been as difficult as I’d built it up in my head all these months. Maybe because I’d imagined convincing my mom and dad of this and not my coach, whose job it was to train elite gymnasts.
I stood up and hesitated before walking upstairs. Bentley lifted an eyebrow and said, “Anything else on your mind?”
Yes, my routines, your picky hard–ass coaching. But Jordan had said to give it more time. I forced a smile. “Nope, that’s it.”
***
After two hours of attempting to fall back to sleep after another horrible car–jumping nightmare, I decided to go downstairs and get a snack or watch TV.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with this idea. Tony was sprawled out on the couch watching The Simpsons in his boxers and a T–shirt. It was a tribute to the months I’d now spent inside a man–house that I didn’t blush or giggle at the sight of Tony’s boxers. Instead, I grabbed a container of fruit and a jar of peanut butter from the kitchen before sitting down on the far end of the couch.
“Which episode is this?” I asked.
He glanced at me and smiled like he hadn’t seen me come down the stairs. “The one where Homer gambles all the Christmas money away and brings Santa’s Little Helper home from the racetrack.” He sat up and leaned closer to look at my snack. “You’re putting peanut butter on cantaloupe?”
“Don’t knock it until you try it.”
He sighed and grabbed a piece of melon, sticking it in the peanut butter, wrinkling his nose before tossing it into his mouth. “That’s terrible!”
“Maybe it’s different for me.” I shrugged. “I can put peanut butter on almost everything.”
Tony picked at the fruit in the container, pulling out a red grape and popping it in his mouth without peanut butter. “What’s your excuse for being up at two in the morning? Or is this when you and Jordy usually—”
I tossed another grape at him, hitting him in the cheek. “That is none of your business, but no, that’s not why I’m up.”
I pulled my knees to my chest and curled up in the corner of the couch. Maybe telling Tony would help me, maybe it would help him tell me his secret. Not that I wanted to have an awkward conversation about his sexuality, but if it helped him to practice telling people…
“I have nightmares,” I said finally. “I think it’s because I don’t know what happened that night with my parents.”
“What do you need to know?” Tony asked. “Besides the obvious, I don’t see how it could help to have details.”
“You know how sometimes when someone says, ‘I need to talk to you privately,’ and then you can’t talk for like an hour and for that whole hour, ideas are building in your head and all of your theories end up so much worse than the real thing?”
Tony just stared at me for a long time, then nodded slowly. “Okay, I see what you mean.”
“In my head, there’re body parts everywhere and it’s like this bloody gruesome horror movie.”
“You were at the funeral, right?” he asked. “Didn’t you see them in the casket?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hating every mental picture that went along with my answer. Hating those stupid urns resting on the mantel in my dusty, lonely house. “They were cremated.”
Tony scooted closer, eyeing me carefully. “And you really, truly believe that getting the details would fix the nightmares?”
“It’s not just the nightmares.” I told him about my experience on the beam in Houston and the little girl I screamed at the other day and all the near–panic attacks.
“Don’t think I haven’t figured out why you’re spilling all this to me.” He exhaled heavily, shaking his head.
I wasn’t sure if he was onto the fact that I knew his secret or…
“You want my help again,” he stated.
Okay, not the being gay thing.
“There must be a police file or something, right?”
“I’m sure there’s a file, but I’m just not sure I can get my hands on it,” he said. Then I watched him cover his face and groan into his hands. “Now I’m gonna have to try, because if you fall and break your neck on the beam it’ll be on my shoulders.”
I held my breath, trying not to get my hopes up or act too excited. “That would be so helpful.”
“One condition.” He waved a hand to get me to stop blabbering. “Stay here and watch TV with me.”
“Deal.”
I turned on my side and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch over me. I couldn’t believe that I might actually be able to fill in those missing puzzle pieces. Tony had come through for me once already, maybe he’d do it again.