Forty five minutes later, after giving Lance and his brother an awkward goodbye, and after giving Megg the "don't-you-dare-do-that-again" speech, and after driving through Santa Clarita post-work traffic, I finally arrive at my sanctuary.
Gymnastics class.
I suit up. Tights. Unitard. Pull back my hair. I may look girly, but when I am dressed for class I feel like a warrior. Totally in control. The opposite of being around that strange Lifeguard. I'm not sure if Ron was joking about that autism aspberger's stuff, but it explains why Lance was so oddly straight forward. Way too honest. In spite of his sexy eyes, I felt like I was like staring into a lie detector.
As I chalk up my palms, I vow to stay far away from Lance. Ever since I was twelve years old, when this power of mine started to kick in, I've had mixed feelings about whether or not my ability was a blessing or a curse. Now that I have experienced just a few moments without the power to bump things back, I know I want to keep my gift. I love my gift. Even more than I love gymnastics. After all, without my power I would suck at the vault.
I'm in the Arena, a refurbished warehouse covered in blue mats, the walls lined with trophies. There are only three other people in my class: the two Ukrainian sisters, who are only 13 and 14, and who seem to understand English even though I have never heard them speak it. Then there was Yolanda: dark skin, Asian eyes, perfect body, amazing muscle tone.
Her father was an Olympic track and field star who came in fourth place, the worst of all spots, and now he wants to push his daughter into the spotlight. I say push as if she's not willing and ready. She is. she's the best of us all. The most graceful. The most natural. And she does it all without cheating. There's no turning back the clock Yolanda.
I excel at the vault and the balance beam. Yolanda kicks my butt at the parallel bars, the rings, and the floor exercises. She's bound for nationals. At least that's who Coach Wu favors.
Coach Wu is from China. He defected back in the 1980s. And even though he is thrilled to be an American (you can tell by his cherry red Corvette with the screaming bald eagle decal), he still maintains a totalitarian attitude about child labor. He likes to work us until we pule and/or pass out.
He expects his students to be broken and rebuilt in his image. That's probably why he hates me. I don't break. I don't fall. I don't make mistakes. At least not when it really counts. Of course, that's just what he sees. In my world, I have fallen countless times in a single lesson. But I hit the rewind button in my mind and try again until I perfect the ultimate triple flip, somersault, stick-the-landing, you-name-it-I-can-do-it.
You would think Coach Wu would love me. I've won just asmany trophies as Yolanda. So why is he grooming her for the Olympics while he treats me like the ugly step child?
Maybe it's my arrogance.
"Watch this," he says, showing us a video of our Romanian competitors. "This is something that's never been done before."
We watch the screen as a girl, no more than fourteen, performs an incredible vault with two flips a full twist and two more flips before landing. She doesn't stick. She's lose points for that, but the vault itself is phenom.
"The U.S. team will need girls who can vault just as well but stick the landing," he says. "No one has been able to do this combo like the Romanians."
"I can do it," I say. Very casual. Like it would be nothing. This is the arrogance that drives Wu nuts. He gives me his famous Coach Wu stare, that icy look that says he wants me to fail. When I was younger, I used to fall all the time, even when I could have bumped things back. I wasn't a perfectionist back then. But three years ago I joined the exclusive Coach Wu Clan. I even received a full scholarship. On the first day Coach told us, "To become great you must not be afraid to fall. When you fall, you learn."
And my fourteen year old self thought how funny it would be if I never fell during practice. So, anytime I stumbled, lost my grip, or slipped off the beam, I bumped time back, rewinding again and again until I got it right. Sometimes it took me a hundred tries just so I could get it Right the first time. By the end of the first week, I could tell Coach Wu was very suspicious. "If you don't fall, you don't learn," he would tell me. If he only knew how many times I had crashed and burned in this gym. But I only show him the final perfect performance.
"Show me what you can do," he says, gesturing to the vault. So, I try he double flip spectacular and instead lose control and do a spectacular face plant. Before my nose breaks I -- BUMP --
Take it back to me standing at the beginning, taking a deep breath before I run. I vault. I fail. I bump it back and do it over and over again.
Megg once asked me if I get exhausted when I practice this long. The answer is no. I get bored sometimes, but I don't get tired. Whatever energy I expend seems to reverse itself. If I do thirty sit ups in thirty seconds, I could bump things back and not feel winded at all. If I sprain a muscle or break a bone, I just bump things back and I am healed. The pain is a forgotten memory.
It does mean that if I did the same push up one thousand times, bumping it back each time, my muscle mass would never increase. So it's not a great way to lose weight. But the strange thing is, my muscle memory stays with me. So the more I practice, the more my mind and my body retain the new information.
I finally do it. Double flip - twist - double flip -- awesome landing.
And so this moment I keep. The rest have been thrown away like crumpled pages in a writer's waste basket. I give Coach Wu my special "That was easy" smile and he scowls back at me.
He slowly approaches. Face to face, he whispers, "One day you will learn." And I know he really means, "One day you will fall."
