CHAPTER THREE
When I woke up after my first night in Coach Bentley’s home with a sore neck and aches in my lower back and stomach, I didn’t think anything of it. I had slept on a closet floor after all. And I was a veteran when it came to sore muscles.
Blurry–eyed, I glanced at my cell phone: 5:28. Too early for a check–in call to Grandma and too late to fall back asleep, not that I could with all these aches.
After crawling out of the closet and hiding the blanket and pillow on the top shelf, sealing the door shut to keep it clean until tonight, I allowed myself thirty seconds to find a pink leotard and a pair of sweats before heading into the bathroom.
Coach Bentley was already in the kitchen when I got downstairs. A large silver bowl filled with apples, oranges, and bananas now sat on the table. He pushed around what looked like scrambled eggs in a skillet with one hand. With his other hand, he opened the fridge, reached in and produced a paper bag, holding it out to me.
“It’s your lunch,” he said. I took it out of his hand, setting it on the table. “You have that appointment at eleven thirty. The one your grandmother set up for you. We won’t have time to come back for lunch.”
The shrink. I’d almost forgotten. It was part of the agreement to let me stay here. I had to see some woman who had a PhD in talking about dead parents.
“Right, the appointment.” I picked up an apple from the bowl and bit into it, just to kill the silence. There had been no apples in this house yesterday. Coach Bentley must have talked to Stacey and gotten up early to shop for groceries.
He piled slightly runny eggs onto a plate and set it in front of me. I was so hungry from yesterday’s lack of food I ate them all despite the gooeyness. I also finished my apple, moved on to a banana, then followed it all with a big glass of milk.
Around six thirty, Jordan stumbled into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in all directions and nothing but boxer shorts on. I looked anywhere but at him. However, there was no avoiding noticing the fact that he was definitely not a couch potato.
I don’t think Jordan even noticed me or Coach Bentley sitting at the table. He went right for the fridge, chugging milk straight from the carton. I eyed my nearly empty glass. Gross.
Coach Bentley looked over the morning paper at his son. “Damn it, Jordan! Put on a shirt.”
And pants?
Jordan glared at his dad but snatched a black hoodie from a hook by the back door and threw it on. Coach Bentley glared right back and turned to me. “Be ready in ten minutes?”
I nodded, indicating I was ready to leave anytime, then I returned to watching YouTube videos on my phone. There was a release move on the uneven bars that I wanted to learn, even though Coach Bentley probably wouldn’t let me try it. He was too obsessed with perfection to let me take a big risk. And honestly, I’d never been a risk–taker until recently. It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch.
Jordan nudged the gooey eggs around in the skillet, made a face, and reached in a high–up cabinet, removing a box of sugar–filled cereal. He plunged his hand right into the box and stuffed his mouth full of fruity pebbles.
What would I have to do to disinfect this food? Spray it all with Lysol? At least I wouldn’t be eating that cereal, but who knew what he’d get his hands in (literally) when I wasn’t around to watch?
I distracted myself from pointless germ thoughts and went back watching videos again.
“No way,” Jordan said with his mouth full.
I jumped and glanced over my shoulder at him, now standing right behind me. “What?”
“You can’t do that.” He pointed to the video on my phone.
“I know that.” I stuffed the phone in my gym bag and got up from the chair. “I like to watch videos of crazy moves when I’m bored.”
Jordan plopped right into my abandoned spot, his disheveled hair looking slightly more attractive than you’d think it would. He had dimples that popped up when his mouth wasn’t too full, too. “A crazy move that my dad used to do.”
Now it was my turn to lift an eyebrow. “Yeah, I heard that, too, but I couldn’t find a video of him performing it.”
Jordan tossed his feet up on the empty chair. “Because he tore his bicep doing that release right before the World Championships and never competed it.”
“That explains a lot.” Maybe this wasn’t the worst place to be living while training. It was kind of like a home court advantage.
“Ready, Karen?” Coach Bentley called from the foyer.
“I’ll be in the shower in a few minutes,” Jordan whispered loudly. “Just in case you need to know. Don’t want you to accidently walk in on me. We should probably post a schedule or put an alarm on the bathroom door.”
I closed my eyes and turned around, feeling completely mortified.
“Karen?”
“Uh–huh,” I said, not looking back at him.
“Thanks for not saying anything. About yesterday…”
Which part? Forgetting to give me a ride or the girl you were feeling up on the couch last night? I let out a breath. “No problem.”
January 30
Coach Bentley,
Thanks for the scrambled eggs and for making my lunch this morning. I promise not to even so much as make a face during strength training today.
Thanks again, Karen
Jordan,
Can you please not drink out of the milk carton? I know it’s your house but seriously, it’s so gross. Also, you have really nice abs. What kind of core conditioning are you doing?
Your bathroommate, Karen
***
“Should I just come back in an hour?” Coach Bentley asked, when he pulled up to the shrink’s office.
I opened the door, the cold air hit my face, and I drew in a slow calming breath. “Uh…sure. I’ll watch for you. You don’t have to come in.”
He had already left a mound of paperwork on his desk just to get me here. He didn’t need to go out of his way any more than that or my extra presence in his life would be wearing thin very soon.
After I checked in with the secretary, I sat down and opened the lunch sack Coach had given me this morning. Inside was what looked like a whole wheat bagel, a small tube of peanut butter (my very favorite food), a container of yogurt (but no spoon), and a banana. For some reason, a lump formed in my throat. There was something so personal in this gesture by Coach Bentley, and yet it made me ache inside. My mom would have never forgotten the spoon.
“Karen Campbell?”
I stuffed the bagel back into the paper sack and glanced up—way up—at the nearly six–foot–tall woman with willowy legs and a long neck. She looked young and trendy—brown flat–ironed hair and bangs. Her smile was warm and inviting, like she wanted to be my best friend or sorority sister or something. And I began to immediately doubt that we’d get anything remotely therapeutic accomplished, but at least I could make my grandma feel a little better about leaving me here. Not sure what I’d do about the possibility of more panic attacks, but I’d have to come up with a new plan for that problem.
I stood up and followed her into her office. I did take note of the fact that she didn’t wear the dead parents face. Maybe you get desensitized to stuff like that when you have to hear sad stories all the time? “Dr. Carson, right?”
“Technically, yes.” She sat behind the desk and pointed to a large armchair for me to occupy. “But you can call me Jackie.”
Okay, I totally called this one. Jackie and Karen: best friends for life.
“And don’t let me keep you from eating lunch. In fact, if you don’t mind, I might eat my sandwich, too.” She opened a drawer and removed a reusable lunch sack, pulling out a pita sandwich and a container of fruit. I took her cue and resumed eating my bagel, but decided against the peanut butter for now because it would make speaking impossible. “I talked with your grandmother last week. Very nice lady. She told me a little about you and what kinds of things you were hoping to talk about with me, but not much. I’d love to hear your version.”
“I’m sure she got it right.” I wasn’t sure why we needed to rehash what she already knew.
Jackie nodded and took a swig from her Diet Coke. “Fair enough. So, you’re not in school? You’re homeschooled?”
School…I can talk about school. “I take virtual classes online.”
She scribbled lazily in her notebook, waving her other hand as if it was a silent question. “Subjects?”
I rattled off a list of subjects between bites of my bagel.
“Senior classes, right? But you just turned seventeen, which would make you,” she said, studying something on a different page, “a year ahead?”
“With online classes you can go faster. When I started three years ago, I did the first year of courses in one semester. Then I did another semester in the summer.” So far, easy as pie. I could do this all day.
“Is it required for elite gymnasts to stop going to regular school?”
I shook my head. Media training at National Team Camp had prepared me for all of these questions. “A lot of elites go to regular school. But at my gym, this is what everyone does. My other teammates, too. Something my old coach started a few years ago, before he left. He wants us to be able to have a life outside gymnastics and if you’re in school all day and then practicing until nine or ten at night, it doesn’t allow time for normal teenage activities.”
Jackie’s eyes beamed into me, like she could x–ray my thoughts or like she somehow knew that the answer was very scripted, though it was mostly true. “Tell me about your teammates.”
Still easy. I had finished the bagel and started on the banana. “There’s four of us right now. In a way, we’re a lot like sisters.”
Jackie’s eyebrows lifted. “Sisters? You mean you’re close like sisters?”
That would be the media answer, but I thought about what I meant more carefully and decided it would be safe to explain it to a shrink. She wasn’t NBC or anything. “Yes, we’re close, but I think ‘sisters’ describes it better than best friends, because secretly we want to beat the other three. Sisters are always compared to each other. It’s like that. But we have a bond that’s pretty unbreakable.”
Jackie didn’t write anything down, but nodded again. “Are you all the same age, grade…?”
I shook my head. “Ellen’s the youngest. She’s thirteen. She won Junior Nationals last summer.” I paused for a second, thinking of the best way to describe her to a stranger. “She’s the cute one. You know, still one hundred percent little girl as far as her physical appearance.”
“I think I’ve got a good mental picture,” Jackie said, smiling. “Who else?”
“Blair is fifteen and she’s the one I’m most likely to hang out with after practice.” I swallowed hard, knowing how little I’d done that in the past few weeks. “And she’s really talented but going through a growth spurt right now—”
“So, growing is bad? It’s better to have the little girl body, like Ellen?”
“No, not really.” Stacey had always explained this to us very frankly, so I said, “Gymnasts come in all shapes and sizes. Especially now that we can’t compete in the Olympics until we’re sixteen. So, growing is fine. It’s going to happen to all of us, but if you have a big change in height or weight over a short amount of time, it throws off your center of gravity and you have to relearn a lot of your skills. It’s not impossible by any means, just sets you back a little bit, like injuries do.”
“And the fourth teammate?” Jackie leaned forward in her chair as if anticipating my answer like I was telling the most interesting story ever.
I removed the yogurt container, placed it on Jackie’s desk, and crumbled up the empty bag, tossing it in the garbage. Jackie opened a drawer and pulled out a plastic spoon, setting it on top of my strawberry yogurt. I stared at it, the lump from earlier returning to my throat. “Stevie is the other one. She’s nineteen. She’s the most experienced gymnast. She’s been all over the world.”
“How do you like staying with Coach Bentley?”
My mouth opened and then closed again. Jackie laughed at my reaction and added, “Your grandmother explained the living situation, but just so you know, I only spoke with her to get an idea about whether I’d be the best match for you. She and I won’t discuss you further or even speak one–on–one again. Everything you say here is just between you and me.”
I could feel heat creeping up my neck. This was the first truly personal comment so far and I already didn’t like it. It would be better if she did talk to Grandma every day and tell her I’m doing just fine. Tell her everything I said and did that proved I was adjusting and could handle this situation.
My eyes stayed on the yogurt as I peeled the lid off. “It’s only been one day, so nothing to report, really.”
She flipped back a few pages in her notebook. “And he has a teenager of his own, is that right? He’s a single father?”
“Yes,” I said right away. “Jordan, he’s…well, I don’t know how old he is. Old enough to drive, but not out of high school yet?”
She scanned her notes. “Seventeen. What’s he like? Do you get along with him all right?”
“It’s only been one day,” I said again. “I don’t really know anything about him.” Except that he likes to have girls over and make out on the couch when his dad’s not home. “He seems normal, I guess. Other than drinking out of the milk carton and a lack of respect for punctuality and sanitary issues.” I glanced up at her, worried all of a sudden. “I sound like a germaphobe. I’m totally not.”
“I don’t think there are many elite level athletes without some sort of Obsessive Compulsive symptoms,” Jackie said. “Rituals and routines are part of the success, so you’re bound to want to replicate those situations over and over again.”
“I can’t take medication,” I said immediately. “It could be a banned substance—”
“I’m a PhD, not an MD,” she clarified. “And an MD would only recommend medication if the rituals or worries were getting in the way of normal life, which doesn’t seem to be the case with you. For example, if you became so overly obsessed with germs that you were afraid to leave the house or touch anything with your bare hands. Or if a morning routine made it impossible for you to get out the door or anywhere on time. Constant checking and rechecking. Things like that.”
What about avoiding your house and avoiding your parents’ car, driving a car…? Gymnastics had taught me to face fears head–on or they blow up so big you’ll never be able to conquer them. But maybe I had faced them by getting away and moving on?
Jackie’s eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. “We’re out of time today, but I’ll see you again on Thursday?”
“Yes, Thursday.” I tossed the empty yogurt container into the garbage can and headed for the door, but before leaving I found myself turning around to say something else. “Did I…you know…do okay with this?” Jackie’s expression was a bewildered one. “My grandma will want to know how I’m doing.”
“There’s no score in therapy. No Russian judge,” Jackie teased, but her smile dissolved when she saw the heat flaming on my cheeks. “But if I had to score you, I’d give you a seven out of ten.”
I opened my mouth to explain that the perfect ten was no more and to find out what, exactly, I’d been deducted for, but she cut me off before I could speak.
“You didn’t tell me much that I hadn’t read in your National Team bio and interview questions online, but I thought you explained the relationship with your teammates very honestly. It proves why you’ve had so much success in the sport—you’re realistic when it comes to gymnastics. What surprised me is, and I really want you to explore this before Thursday, the fact that you haven’t given much thought as to why Coach Bentley let you into his home. It’s a big responsibility.” She held up her hand, probably to stop me from answering now. “Don’t tell me today, write down a few ideas and bring them next time, okay?”
I nodded my agreement and mumbled a good–bye, my head still deep in thought as I got into Coach Bentley’s car.
Why did he agree to this arrangement? Not just agree, he had been more than accommodating. He’s been parental.