Marcos saves me with a chuckle. “I haven’t officially met him yet, so that remains to be seen.”
There’s a yet, as in this boy plans to shake my father’s hand and tolerate stupid jokes and scrutiny of his academic performance?
He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.
Cassie’s on the same page as me. “Yeah, good luck with that one.” She cracks one knuckle on the table.
Juliana cringes at the sound. “Gross.”
Cassie ignores her, moving to the next knuckle.
We descend into silence to the soundtrack of Cassie’s knuckles and the soup simmering on the stove. The onion-y smell of the leeks combined with the incense makes Juliana exhale heavily as she picks at her short nails. Even I’m starting to get lightheaded. Cassie leans back in her chair, daring one of us to speak first.
Marcos takes the bait. “You have practice soon, right, Savannah?”
Unfortunately, it’s the wrong thing to say. For the second time today, Cassie’s eyes drill into me. “Let me get this straight. Gymnastics, this…” She waves her hand between Marcos and me. “You shredded your knee,” she continues in her I’m-two-weeks-older-and-infinitely-wiser voice. “I distinctly remember you saying that if you had to do more physical therapy, you would hang yourself with an Ace bandage.”
“God, Cassie,” Juliana exclaims.
My ears burn, but there’s nothing I can say. She’s right about all of the above.
Cassie pushes the napkin ring with too much force. “You seemed so much happier without gymnastics. Less stressed.”
Although my body creaks and groans like a rusted door, I don’t regret returning. Yet. I don’t know where Marcos and I are headed, but with his arm around me, I feel like I’m part of a team again for the first time in a long while.
“I’m teaching little kids at the gym.” Might as well put that one out there, too.
“Children. Demon spawn.” Cassie’s eyes widen comically.
Why is she taking issue with everything I’ve done? “I think it’ll be fun.”
“It’s all fun and games until one of them gives you the flu,” she says, and Juliana chuckles in agreement. “What about your Papa-Gregory-inflicted extracurricular activities?”
My return to the gym seems to have satisfied him. However, in case the Golden Leaf Classic goes as well as Regionals did, I’ll need a back-up plan. “I might join spring track. I ran pretty quickly in flag football the other day.”
“Wow,” says Marcos. “You’re really blazing the way.” “Like you would do better?” I elbow him and he laughs. “I’ll join for real if you do.”
Yes, this officially counts as the closest I’ve ever come to asking someone on a date.
“Whoa, whoa.” His dimples are on full display, but do I detect fear in his eyes?
“Ha! Are you kidding me?” Juliana enters the fray. “Marcos can’t walk up the tech wing stairs without sucking wind.”
Marcos holds up his hands. “I had bronchitis!”
Cassie’s watching us, an unreadable expression on her face. She no longer seems annoyed or indignant. She’s not happy, though; I know that much. When Marcos finally concedes that, all right, he might be a little out of shape, she says, “Clearly I can’t end up in the hospital again because who knows what you’ll do next.”
It should be a joke, the way she told me that lying never got me anywhere before. All the same, the words hit me with a sense of responsibility. You should have been there.
“Once you’re back at school, everything will be normal again,” I say. It’s a hollow platitude, much like staring up at the posters at the gym that say “Everyone’s a shining star!” as you fall during your tenth beam routine. I know as soon as I say it that Cass won’t be convinced.
Sure enough, she looks up at me with the I’m-Two-Weeks-Older smile, except it’s more wistful than usual. “Right, Savs.”
THING IS, SAVANNAH, your life’s like a hallway.
Cassie is wrong. Some doors are shut firmly against me.
“Let’s go, Savannah.” Matt claps twice. “You’ve done drills for an hour. It’s time to put it into the pit.”
No. “My hamstring’s a little tight,” I offer. Everything aches today. My knees, my wrists, my back. The euphoria of flipping upside down comes with more than gravity: reality.
Matt stalks away, shaking his head with frustration. The two of us that remain from the original five aren’t exactly putting on a model performance for our younger team members. Emery’s not up to par either. She starts from a deep lunge at the end of the runway, jogs, picks up to sprint–and sprints clear past the springboard. “I’m sorry,” she says each time, hands pressed to her forehead. Matt sighs deeply.
What’s the point?
Emery will go for the vault eventually. If she doesn’t, Matt will tell her to go home, and she’ll get angry and go full-force at the table, like proving Matt wrong is paramount. Which, for the moment, I suppose, it is. So what if she never goes for the vault? What does it matter?
Emery can do anything she wants without trying. Or, in the case of vault, with a little bit of effort. She doesn’t have irrational fears of landing in a foam pit, like I suddenly do. She can show up at the gym and be stunning, and not think about knees and friends giving out. Must be nice.
“How’s that hamstring, Savannah?” Behind Matt, Emery runs down the runway and past the springboard. He doesn’t look. “Let’s make a deal,” he says before I reply. “A full into the pit. No rush on the double. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
“I’m not hearing much confidence in that answer.”
“Okay,” I say, louder.
Matt studies me. I pretend to adjust the Beast so that I don’t have to look at him, but if anyone’s accustomed to reading me throughout the years, it’s my coach. “Are you all right?”
Emery saves me from replying by slamming into the table. She groans and staggers onto the springboard. The little kids gasp. “Do you need ice?” Tiana calls.