Normally, on the few occasions I'd ever been late for practice, our second coach, Stacey, would cross her arms, avoiding eye contact, and say sharply, "You're late."
Then we'd all find ourselves doing extra sets of pull-ups, v-ups, and leg lifts before getting to our first event. Today, Stacey looked right at me, the sympathy wearing thin but still relentlessly hanging on in her expression, and said, "Glad you made it, Karen."
And she said this completely free of her usual sarcasm. To be honest, Stacey's behavior might not have been one hundred percent sympathy driven. She knew Coach Bentley was responsible for getting me to the gym on time now, and Coach Bentley was her boss.
Even though Stacey was a total hard-ass and had no tolerance for any typical girl reactions and emotions when it came to gymnastics, two years ago she might have been a better option than Bentley for providing me a temporary home. But the summer before last, she got married to an accountant and now she had a baby attached to her boob almost 24/7, leaving no time to raise an orphaned teenager.
Gymnastics was a tough sport, especially at the elite level, and I couldn't make it a day without the support of my teammates, but during practice we were more competitors than friends. That was just how it had to be, and I never appreciated this more than I had in the last few weeks. The dead parents look never entered any of their faces until we were dismissed by Coach Bentley or Stacey. This was one big reason why I was so determined to stay in St. Louis.
***
January 29
Dad,
Since you're the lawyer and know a lot about anger and bargaining, maybe you can help me with grieving stages 2 and 3 (anger and bargaining). How do I get to 3 if 2 hasn't happened yet? I can't be angry with you and Mom. It wasn't your fault. You didn't want to leave me. I know that. And I don't see how I could ever feel any amount of anger toward you. Not for the accident. Maybe I'm supposed to be angry at the world? But what does that even mean? It sounds like those pageant queens that want world peace. It's not tangible or concrete. Right now, I need concrete.
I couldn't go home. I know I told you that already, but it was really bad. Grandma had to hire movers. I'm sorry. I know how you always think I'm so strong, but that's because I do all my crying and whining in front of Mom. I like that you think I'm above all that girly crap, even if I'm not.
Love, Karen
Stacey ended up coaching us the entire evening practice since Bentley had that parent meeting. After the awkward exchange earlier in the day, I couldn't say I was disappointed by the head coach's absence.
As expected, right after practice, while my face was still as red as my hair and twice as sweaty, Blair turned back into "best friend Blair" and drilled me immediately with all her concerns. She had no internal censor whatsoever.
"What if you're, like, walking to the bathroom and Coach Bentley is coming out of the shower or whatever and you get a glimpse of him naked?" Blair had her head flipped upside down as she forcefully ran a brush through her long black hair. "Do you think that image will ever leave your head? How is he going to coach you after you've seen his bare ass or worse—"
"God, Blair!" Ellen groaned, "Ew."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to see him naked. Besides, I'm sure we're both mature enough to deal with accidents that aren't preventable."
Okay, so I was totally not mature enough to deal with seeing Coach Bentley's unexposed skin, but you could bet I'd do everything I could to prevent the incident from happening.
My clothes were on in record time and I skipped any amount of grooming to make a break for the lobby and end this conversation. By the time I checked Coach Bentley's office and scanned the parking lot for his car, Blair and Stevie were walking out of the locker room. Stevie (pronounced Stevee—a nickname for Stefani, but I was pretty sure she'd had it legally changed because I hadn't heard anyone use her full name in years) was my oldest teammate.
"Karen!" Mrs. Martin, Blair's mother strode quickly toward me; cue dead parent face. "Coach Bentley is still at the McKays', we can give you a ride, honey."
Blair's mom was second only to Ellen's as the scariest gym mom ever. Maybe it was her own unfulfilled dreams that caused her to push and push and obsess over every detail of her daughter's career, but even before losing my parents, I had found it suffocating. Now it was even more so, because being around her reminded me of houses and families and things I didn't want to think about.
From the corner of my eye I saw Blair's face brighten. "Awesome! Can we get sushi, Mom? Maybe Karen can just sleep over?"
I sucked in a breath, feeling my heart race. Right after Coach Bentley had made his offer, the Martins had wanted me to stay with them, and Blair was still stung by my refusal, though she wouldn't admit it, because you can't be pissed off at your best friend after her parents died. It was like the best get-out-of-jail-free card ever.
Before things got any more awkward, Stevie spoke the most magical words ever. "I can take her. It's on my way."
I stared at her, wondering how she knew where Bentley lived.
After a serious injury right before Olympic trials and a yearlong retirement from gymnastics, Stevie had just come back to the gym two months ago, and I hadn't really spoken to her outside of practice much. She was almost twenty now, and I kept thinking about her spending over a year out in the real world, and she'd seemed like a stranger. And Coach Cordes had been so broken up by Stevie's abrupt departure that it'd become a silent rule that we didn't bring up her name. Of course Bentley, the new guy, had no history of coaching her and welcomed her back to the group with ease.
Avoiding eye contact with Blair, I hurried behind Stevie as she opened the door, calling over my shoulder, "Maybe tomorrow. I haven't even unpacked."
Stevie's brand new silver sports car was a much smoother ride than the rusty putter of Jordan's vehicle, and I found myself relaxing into the seat. Stevie, a former world champion and daughter of an Olympic gold medal sprinter, was all business all the time, and I had no worries about her bringing up my parents or any other uncomfortable topic.
"So where does Bentley live?" Stevie asked, laughing. "I don't know if it's on my way or not, but you looked like you needed a Plan B."
I blew air out of my cheeks, nodding before giving her the address and basic directions. I totally needed a savior in there. Stevie's very perceptive.
"Bars are killing me," she said after a couple minutes of driving in silence. She lifted a hand from the steering wheel to check out her calluses. "If I had known what a year off of gymnastics would do to my hands, I might have stuck it out." She laughed and I made an effort to join her. "They're letting me go to training camp next month," she added.
"Really? You're going to Houston with us?" Both junior and senior elite gymnasts had to endure four-day training camps under the judgmental eye of USA Gymnastics Coordinator Nina Jones. It wasn't exactly your fun kind of camp, despite the woods and the animals on the property. It was a test. A four-day-long exhausting test, both mental and physical.
Stevie rolled her eyes, acknowledging the lack of excitement revolving around this event. "Yep. It's now or never, right? Either they welcome me back or tell me I'm a disgrace—too old, too fat, too slow, too sloppy, too weak...what else is there?"
I laughed nervously, not sure if it was a rhetorical question. "Or completely unnoticeable, like me," I said, thinking about my last training camp, when Nina Jones gave individual corrections and comments to nearly everyone except me. I'd done the same routines for years, she knew them well enough already. I had nothing to wow her with.
"Well, that's not happening this time," Stevie said. "It's Bentley's first National team camp."
"Yeah but—"
"I know, I know, he's coached elite guys and pre-elite girls," Stevie interrupted. "He's plenty experienced, but you know how obsessed Nina and the rest of her committee are with Ellen, so they'll be watching Bentley's every move to make sure he's coaching her to her full potential."
I wasn't sure if this revelation made me more excited for next month or less. Probably less if they were looking for a reason to criticize our coaching in an effort to protect Ellen, the thirteen-year-old phenom and current Junior National champion.
"At least we have time to mentally prepare for that."
The conversation ended there because we'd arrived at Bentley's place. I shouted thanks to Stevie and crunched through the week-old snow on my way to open one of an entire row of identical red front doors. I unlocked the door with the key Coach Bentley had given me this afternoon and quietly stepped into the foyer, leaving my coat and boots by the door.
My stomach growled loudly in the near silence, steering me through the living room on my way to the kitchen. I let out a much too loud and very un-cool gasp when my eyes took in the two tangled bodies on the living room couch. Jordan's red striped tie lay on the floor and his khaki pants were twisted around skinny, spray-tanned, carefully shaven legs, his hand inching toward the hemline of the red and blue plaid skirt.
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