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I walked into the doors of my gym, trying to forget about my brothers. Sometimes, I really feel like the best part of their day is when they're annoying me.

I changed into my leotard and joined the rest of my team in warmups.

After warming up, we went to our first event, which was bars. I had many different rips on my hands, covered in blood, so I taped them up and put my grips on.

I finished the five required routines I needed to do and started working on upgrades. The new skill I'm learning is called a jaeger. (A/n, if you want a better understand of this skill look up a video on YouTube.)

Being in gymnastics, the sport comes with a lot of falls and fails. Time after time, my hands peeled off the bar, I missed the bar, or completely bailed out of the skill in the first place.

I was determined to catch this skill. As I flew up into the air and reached to catch the bar, I missed it by a centimeter. I fell face first into the mat below me and sighed with frustration.

"Olivia! How many times do I have to tell you?! Extend your shoulders out and let go of the bar later. You're just being lazy. Get off bars and go to beam. You better be on that beam in less than five minutes, warming up, or I'm calling your brother," My coach, Nick, snapped.

I got up and went to take my grips off. This sport was so grueling. He didn't have to be so mean about my mistake. I'm human.

Nick has been my coach since I was about 3 years old. He was like a second parent to me, especially after my parents passed. He took me all around the country, taking me to competitions and elite camps. Anything you could imagine.
He's not mean just to be mean. He does it to motivate me. He knows I am motivated by anger. He knows I am competitive and will take up a challenge with anything.

I mean, of course. I grew up with four older brothers and competitive parents.

The rest of gymnastics went by relatively quickly and Dylan came to pick me up.

I got into the back seat of his cop car and he looked at me with a weird face.

"Why are you sitting in the back?" He asked me.

"Because I'm a criminal. Duh," I clapped back, with the usual sassy tone in my voice.

He chuckled but spoke again. "No, come up here. I need to talk to you about something."

I rolled my eyes and went up to the passengers seat. I angrily buckled my seat and dramatically sighed.

"What's gotten into you, Buggy?" He asked, glancing over at me.

"What do you mean? I'm fine," I huffed, crossing my arms. Yes, I act like a five year old sometimes.

"Jackson told me about your incident this morning and Ben told me about what happened at school. You gotta chill with the cussing. It doesn't make you look cool." He said.

Now, if you know me at all, of course I was going to take that as a challenge to see how many cuss words I could fit in before being stopped.

I sat in silence before going off.

"FUCK. SHIT. BITCH. ASS. SLUT. CUNT. WHORE. BAST-"I yelled before being interrupted by Dylan tasering me on my left side.

No, not with an actual taser. Although he could if he actually wanted to.

My brothers do this thing where they dig two fingers into my side and it feels like you're being tased with a real taser. It tickles like a bitch and also hurt.

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