The Go-for-Gold Gymnasts: Winning Team (Go-for-Gold Gymnasts, The) Read online

  She picked at some fuzz on the carpet before looking up. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, he’s cute.”

  Christina and Jessie laughed.

  “Is that all?” I asked. “I mean, it can’t be just those blue eyes, right?”

  Noelle blushed even more, if that were possible. “No,” she said, her voice low. “It’s not just that. It’s…everything. He’s so nice, and mature. Not like the boys at school, who are always trying to snap girls’ bras and stuff. And he’s a serious gymnast. It’s totally possible that he’ll go to the next Olympics, and I’ll be seventeen then. . . .”

  She broke off, as though she’d said too much. “Of course, I would never dream of letting a relationship stand in the way of Olympic gold,” she said stiffly.

  I now knew my next question for Noelle: If your only chance to be with Scott was during the Olympics, would you take it? I already knew her answer—none of us would risk something as huge as an Olympic medal, no matter how cute the guy. But I was betting she’d hesitate for just a second, and that would be enough to tease her about later.

  Not that the women’s gymnastics team got to interact much with the men’s team during the Olympics. The men often stayed in the Olympic Village, while the women’s team had stayed off-site for the past three or four games. I guess the coaches didn’t want people getting any ideas.

  Jessie picked truth, too, and Noelle asked her what famous person she’d want to have lunch with. Boring!

  “Nadia Comaneci,” Jessie replied. “So I could ask her how she did it. Or maybe that cute guy from the cell phone commercial.”

  “So you could ask him what?” Christina asked snidely.

  “How about asking him why he doesn’t stop texting that girl with the braces and go out with one of us?” I put in.

  “How about because he probably lives in California and has a supermodel girlfriend?” Christina returned, but with less venom. As if she wouldn’t totally have dated that guy. Even I had to admit he was adorable, with a dimple in his cheek that showed every time he smiled down at his phone in the commercial.

  After Christina had picked truth when it was her turn, Jessie glanced around the circle. Her eyes landed on me for just a second, and then she asked, “Christina, why don’t you like Britt?”

  I felt my pulse start racing, as though I was running laps around the floor mat. This was going to be interesting.

  Christina looked at me for a long time, and I wondered if she was trying to figure out a nice way to phrase her reply or if she was trying to figure out the nastiest thing she could possibly say. But nothing could have prepared me for what she said when she did finally speak.

  “Because she’s better than me,” she said.

  I stared at her.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “You know it. I know it. You’re younger and shorter and way more obnoxious, but you have absolutely no fear. You can flip your body through the air and not worry about what’s going to happen when you hit the ground. I’m not like that. I’m always a little scared.”

  “But that’s not Britt’s fault,” Jessie pointed out.

  “I know that,” Christina snapped. “I answered the question, didn’t I? No one can say I wasn’t honest.”

  In a way, it was just as fearless of Christina to tell the truth as it was for me to do the tucked full-in on floor. I thought about saying so, but figured she would think I was teasing her.

  Christina tossed her head impatiently. “So I get to ask the next question, right? Let’s get to the juicy stuff. Britt, truth or dare?”

  My dare last time hadn’t actually been too bad, but I knew I had to pay my dues. “Truth,” I said.

  Christina leaned in as though it were only the two of us. “What’s your biggest secret right now?” she asked.

  I ran through all the possibilities in my head. Whenever my mom took me to the grocery store, I would grab a caramel from the candy bin and eat it while we shopped, even though I know you’re supposed to put it one of the baggies and pay for it. Sometimes, if I was over at someone else’s house and I had a booger, I wiped it under the table or on the wall. I worried that my mother didn’t love me as much as she loved those kids at her day care.

  And then, for some reason, I thought about To Kill a Mockingbird. And I thought about staring at myself in the mirror and trying to see what Jessie might see. And I thought about how the only thing lonelier than moving to a new place with no friends was carrying around a secret that was as big as the state of Texas.

  I glanced at Jessie. Her eyes were wide and panicked, and I heard the words coming out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about them, or to will them back.

  “I think Jessie might have an eating disorder,” I said.

  Noelle spoke first. “Why would you say that?”

  “It’s just—” I stopped when Jessie stood up and rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. “Don’t you notice how she barely eats? And she goes to the bathroom all the time?”

  I didn’t tell them about the time I’d caught her in the bathroom at the yogurt place. Even though I was almost positive she’d been lying about not feeling well, I figured there was no point in revealing that part.

  “That’s a big accusation,” Noelle said.

  “It’s a big deal,” I said. “I know. That’s why it’s been so hard to carry this secret inside me.”

  “It’s not even really a secret, is it?” Christina asked. “It’s more like speculation. You just didn’t want to have to spill one of your own secrets.”

  I don’t know what reaction I’d been expecting. Maybe that was the problem—I hadn’t stopped to think about the various ways this could have blown up in my face. But still, I felt tears sting my eyes, and I tried to blink them away before the other girls noticed.

  “I said I think. I think she has an eating disorder. You guys don’t see that something is up? Seriously? I could tell she was acting weird from the second I got here, and I’ve only been training with you guys for a few weeks. You’ve trained with her for years. You didn’t see anything wrong?”

  “There’s a difference between dieting and a disorder,” Noelle said. “I know you came from a smaller gym, Britt, but at the Elite level it’s very common to watch your weight. You have to. It’s just part of the training.”

  Maybe I’d gone to a less competitive gym before, but I’d seen behavior like Jessie’s. At Loveland, Kim had started using those disgusting laxatives when the regionals were coming up, because she thought they would help her. Instead, they had ended up making her so weak she’d had to withdraw from the meet.

  “Don’t you get it?” My voice was becoming squeaky; I tried to calm myself down. “That’s why she can get away with it. That’s why nobody does anything. She says she wants to lose weight for the qualifier, and everyone gives her a pat on the back. Nobody stops to think about how she’s doing it!”

  Christina’s eyes were jet black, and I could tell I’d lost any ground I might have gained with her during that one hour when we all played Rock Band together like friends, or at least like a team. I had more than lost it—I had gone miles in the other direction. “I forgot to add the other reason why I don’t like you,” she said. “You get into everybody’s business. You’re here for two seconds and you start giving me advice on my gymnastics, going through Noelle’s stuff, and spreading nasty rumors about Jessie. It’s not all about you.”

  I tried to blink back the tears that I felt gathering. Her words stung, because I’d heard them just hours before—from Dionne, when she’d called me out for monopolizing her party. Maybe I would have been a lot better off if I’d kept my head down and worried only about my gymnastics. But in this case, I knew I was right. Why did nobody else see it?

  “I’m going to check on Jessie,” Noelle said. She hesitated, then gave me an apologetic look. “It might be best if you aren’t here when she comes back, Britt.”

  “You want me to go home?” Tears were streaming down my
face now, and I hiccupped on the last word. “I can’t call my mother and tell her to come get me. She’d want to know why, and I don’t—”

  I don’t want to admit to her that I’m universally hated at the fancy new gym where I’m training. I don’t want her to know that her daughter is a pariah.

  “Just sleep in the den,” Christina said. “I’ll tell my mom you weren’t feeling well.”

  It wasn’t so far from the truth, at that point. I felt like I could’ve thrown up. Silently, I dragged my duffel bag out of Christina’s room. I hadn’t ended up needing the bathing suit, the change of clothes, or the air freshener. The only thing that stank around here was me.

  Jessie was sitting on the couch when I arrived in the family room, and for several moments we just stared at each other.

  “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry—”

  “You promised.”

  I could tell she’d been crying, but her voice wasn’t quavering now.

  “I know, but I’m worried about you. I only want to help you, Jessie. Please believe me.”

  Noelle appeared in the doorway and looked nervously from Jessie’s face to mine. “I was looking for you,” she said to Jessie. “Come on, we’re going to watch a movie in Christina’s room.”

  As she passed me, Jessie deliberately turned so our shoulders didn’t touch. When she was just beyond me, she paused. “It wasn’t your secret to tell,” she said in a low voice.

  How could I explain to her that it had been starting to feel like my secret? That I lay in bed at night worrying that my only friend in Texas was destroying herself, and I had no idea how to stop it?

  “It wasn’t your secret,” she said again, so quietly that I doubted Noelle could hear her. And then she and Noelle were gone, leaving me alone in the family room. I sat on the uncomfortable leather couch listening to the ceiling fan whoosh in the otherwise quiet house and cried.

  * * *

  I didn’t sleep well that night, but somehow I dozed off around three in the morning, and when I woke up, my head throbbed and my mouth felt like cotton. From the kitchen, I could hear laughter and the sound of plates clacking against the table and pans being moved around the stove. Judging by the smell, Mrs. Flores was making eggs. The glowing numbers on the cable box said that it was already eleven o’clock.

  I was still wearing my shirt and capris from the night before, and I knew my hair was all matted on one side, but I didn’t bother about my appearance as I headed into the kitchen. What did I care? If they were going to hate me, let them. I was done trying to impress them.

  As expected, the girls grew silent when I stepped into the room, as though my presence formed a vacuum, sucking a room dry of any happy noise. Then Christina started giggling, as though she had been reminded of some hilarious joke at my expense.

  Whatever. I sat down at the table and ignored them. “Are there any more eggs?” I asked.

  “Britt, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Flores said. “Christina said you weren’t feeling well, so we didn’t save you any.”

  I glanced around the kitchen and saw that all the dishes had been put in the sink. Everyone was obviously done eating.

  “Would you like some cereal?” Mrs. Flores asked. “I think we have some oat crunch.”

  That stuff tasted like squirrel food, but I nodded as though it were my favorite meal in the whole world. Mrs. Flores poured me a bowl. I’d taken only one bite when the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, Mrs. Morgan!” I heard Mrs. Flores say. The sound of my chewing seemed deafening.

  “Please, call me Pamela,” my mom said; she seemed breathless. I was trying to figure out why she sounded so…happy. And then I remembered. The painting.

  Crap. There was no way that the other girls were going to agree to help out now.

  “Hi, honey,” my mom said, entering the kitchen and stopping to press a kiss on my forehead. “Good thing you wore an old shirt you can paint in. Girls, do you want to change before we head over?”

  The shirt was not old. I loved that shirt. Why did everyone seem to think that it was something off What Not to Wear? Okay, so most of the sparkles had fallen off, and the hem was a little stretched out.

  “Head over where?” Noelle asked.

  My mom glanced at me, then at Mrs. Flores. “Didn’t Brittany mention the painting party?”

  I closed my eyes.

  “I’m opening my own day care,” my mom explained. “And I need to paint the classrooms today. I was hoping to recruit the girls with the promise of some pizza.…I thought Britt had already asked everyone.”

  “We can’t have pizza,” Christina said. “It’ll interfere with our training.”

  “It’s very common for gymnasts to watch what they eat,” Jessie added, giving me a pointed look.

  My mom nodded enthusiastically, as though pleased that the choice of food was the only impediment to her plan. “That’s right, I remember Britt mentioning that.…Well, we could get something else instead. Mrs. Flores, would it be all right with you if I borrowed the girls for a couple of hours?”

  “Oh . . .” Mrs. Flores seemed to feel put on the spot, but eventually she gave a wide, fake smile. “Sure, I don’t see why not. Jessie, your mom wasn’t going to pick you up until three, and Noelle was going to stay over here to do homework with Christina anyway.”

  Three pairs of eyes were glaring at me, but I just took a spoonful of my cereal so large that milk oozed out of the corners of my mouth. Why should I let a little bit of old-fashioned hatred ruin my appetite?

  If my mom noticed that everyone at the day care was more strained than smiling, she didn’t mention it. She was her usual too-chipper self, handing out brushes and painter’s tape.

  “I chose bright colors because I wanted the rooms to look cheerful,” she said. “Don’t you think that’s important for kids? To have happy colors?”

  “Super important,” I mumbled.

  She sighed with satisfaction. “This is going to be a whole new era, Britt. Just you wait and see.”

  She gave me one of the smaller brushes to do the edges with. It was like she didn’t know me at all. There were some people who had very fine hand-eye coordination. I was not one of them. I could flip backward and manage to catch the beam with my hands, but ask me to play a game of Operation and I was zapping myself all over the place trying to get the stupid organ pieces out of the guy’s body.

  I made up for it by painting very slowly. At least, that’s what I told myself. But I also took my time because I didn’t really feel like doing it, and I figured that this way I could paint as little as possible.

  Christina and Jessie were on the other side of the room, using rollers to cover the entire wall with yellow paint. They were laughing and trying to paint over each other’s strokes as though they were competing for territory. I wished that I could’ve had that job.

  Noelle also had a little brush, but she had soon done twice the area I had covered in the same time. When I actually looked at it, there were no drips or smears, either. Was there anything she wasn’t good at?

  Even my mother noticed. “Nice job, Noelle,” she said, coming to stand behind her. “You’re a natural. Have you painted before?”

  Noelle stepped back to survey her work. “I helped my parents paint their store,” she said. “I like to paint. It’s relaxing.”

  “Well, you’re a hard worker! Any time you’d like to help out around the day care, I’m sure I could find something for you.” My mom crossed over to where I was standing on a stepladder, slathering paint onto the corner by a doorway.

  “Britt, you have to be more careful!” She took the brush from my hand and turned it so that the bristles were angled correctly for the tight space. “You see how I’m making it as small as possible, so I can get a neat line of paint in there? If you do it your way, we’ll have to repaint the entire door!”

  She handed me back the brush, but not before making a clucking sound and bending down to wipe away a drop of paint on the doorjamb. She licked he
r thumb and rubbed at it, but a very light tint of color still remained.

  As she headed back into the other classroom, which she was painting a vibrant orange, she touched Noelle’s shoulder. “Keep up the good work,” she said.

  I know that my mother probably justified having Elite gymnasts paint her day care by pretending that this was somehow a team-building exercise. I watched Noelle charm my mother while Jessie and Christina laughed over in the corner, and I guessed that the whole experience might be bringing them closer together.

  Me, I’d never felt less part of anything in my life.

  At practice on Monday, I tried really hard to pretend I didn’t care when Christina shot me dirty looks, or when Noelle ignored me, or when Jessie’s eyes accused me of breaking my promise. I did my half routines, focusing on making each one perfect so I could move on to the next set. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jessie and Christina over with Cheng, working on their vaults. Jessie was opening up too early, and she looked tired. But of course, I had no right to tell her those things anymore. We weren’t friends.

  When I finally talked to Noelle, I kept my voice light, just so she wouldn’t think I was like a dog with its tail between its legs or something. “I bet you I can land my full twist on the beam three times in a row,” I said.

  Noelle glanced nervously toward the front of the gym. Mo had disappeared into the office for a second to take a phone call. “We’re not supposed to be practicing our acrobatic series without super-vision,” Noelle said. “We’re just doing the leaps and dance elements right now.”

  “How much do you want to bet?”

  “How much do I want to bet that you’ll get into huge trouble?” Noelle said. “Nothing, because I already know the outcome. You will get into huge trouble, and I don’t want to be dragged into it with you.”

  “I’ll bet you Sparky,” I said, my gaze flicking over her gym bag, where I knew the stuffed dog was safely stored. I was goading her on purpose, and I didn’t care. If Boo Radley had known that all the neighborhood kids were making fun of him, he probably would’ve gotten them right back. Even a freak who locks himself in his house knows that sometimes the best defense is a good offense.