“Holly. You are up,” Coach announced.
Holly smiled brightly. “See you later...and good luck.”
While Holly geared up, I stripped the grips from my wrists and made my way to vault where a pair of brown eyes stood watching.
“Hey, Reagan,” I said, being friendly. I was looking forward to making team friends.
She turned to me, paused, then said, “Hey.”
I wasn’t sure why, but I got the impression she wasn’t a fan of me being here, which kind of bothered me. Team girls were just that—a unified team. We worked together, were like sisters, and usually had an unbreakable bond. I had a good team of girls back home who supported each other to the end, so I expected to have the same here.
“How long have you been on the team?”
“I’ve been with World Cup since I could walk,” she responded hastily without picking her head up from the chalk bowl. “My family is actually from Cape Coral. I’m not a transfer.”
Then she gave me her back and geared up to take her vault. I watched as Reagan performed an Amanar, landing almost perfectly without the slightest movement, not even a balance check. My eyebrows hit my hairline over her nearly perfect vault. Knowing I was next, I looked around for Kova to see where he was and noticed his eyes trained on her. Holy hell...there was a smile on his face. I mean, there should’ve been with that vault, but he didn’t seem like the type to ever crack a grin. Reagan beamed at him and walked to the end of the vault runway with confidence in her stride.
I’d been practicing a double-twisting Yurchenko. Unfortunately, I almost always took a step once I landed, which earned me deductions. Most gymnasts took a step or a hop. It was hard not to with all the power and momentum forcefully flying out of us.
My best bet would be to work on my alternate vault, but I wasn’t crazy about anything front flipping, so I avoided them as much as possible. I wasn’t a lazy gymnast, they just made me uneasy turning in the air in that direction. Not to mention, a blind landing was risky because I didn’t want to hyperextend my knees.
But with that bizarre conditioning of bouncing on your knees Coach had us doing earlier, I was almost positive I was training my knees for hyperextension anyway.
“That was incredible!” I said to her excitedly. While it was becoming more popular, an Amanar was one of the hardest vaults in the world for women to get right. It required blocking really hard by pushing off the vault table with your shoulders and keeping your arms straight.
“I know.”
My mom would’ve slapped my face if that had been my response.
“How long have you been practicing it?” Even with her nasty attitude, I was genuinely curious.
She shrugged, not making eye contact. “Not very long. It was easy for me, actually. None of the other girls can stick it like I can,” she said smugly. “Kova said my vault will help my all-around and boost my score.”
Wow. I didn’t want to know if she was capable of becoming any more pretentious.
“Well, that’s fabulous for the team. I’m sure the girls are grateful for your capability, seeing as you think they’re lacking.” I couldn’t help it, I had to get in a little jab. Growing up in Palm Beach, I really disliked snotty girls, and I could tell Reagan was just that. So I knew how to get in and get out with a plastic smile.
I made my way to the runway and performed a one and a half Yurchenko, instead of a double. I wanted to impress and went with a clean landing, so I played it safe. The key was to start with a high-tall hurdle with my chest up, then round-off, and drive my arms back into the vault to execute a big, powerful block. Then kick my legs together and scoop my toes, squeezing my butt and using my abs to drive momentum to follow with a tight twist. Spotting my landing, I drove my heels into the ground.
Once I landed with a hop, Kova swirled his finger around for me to do it again. This time, I landed with a huge hop from too much power and I grimaced, squeezing my eyes shut. I knew I screwed up and he caught it.
Opening my eyes, I looked at Kova who stared me down without any emotion on his face. He said nothing, so I opted to speak.
“Shall I do it again?”
“Can you do any other vault?”
I bit the inside of my lip. “I can do a double Yurchenko. It needs a little work, but I can try it.”
“Are you going to injure yourself trying it?”
“No.” I could do a double, but I was too nervous to so I did the one and a half.
“It is something you have done before?”
“Yes.”
“Then do it. Reagan!” he yelled. “Let Adrianna go again real quick.”
Reagan made an audible grunting sound, so I apologized to her. The quickest way to make friends was not having the coach ordering me to cut in rotation.
I chalked up my feet and then took a deep breath, shaking out my hands.
I could do this...I could do this...
I snuck a quick glance at Kova, who stood with his arms crossed in front of his wide chest across from the vault. Rising up on my tiptoes, I leaned in and took off running, pumping my legs as fast and as hard as I could to gain speed.
Just before I reached the vault, I did a round off onto the springboard, flipping backward so my hands would land on the leather vault to complete my Yurchenko. Blocking as hard as I could by pushing off with my shoulders, I pulled my twist around and spotted the ground. I landed it perfectly—with a smile—and no hop. Not too much power or rotation.
Finishing, I looked for the same smile Kova gave Reagan. My stomach dropped when I saw the disdain in his eyes.
He cocked his head to the side and said more than asked, “You can do a double? Yes?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“What about a two and a half?”
“Yes, well, not really. I’m working on it.”
“So, why didn’t you do it?”
“Do what? The two and a half? It’s not great.” I shrugged helplessly. It wasn’t the best way to start off, but I was nervous.
I could feel another set of eyes glued to me, but I couldn’t break his gaze to see who they belonged to. And truthfully, I was embarrassed and didn’t want to see the stares. Luckily, I was slightly hot so the flush on my cheeks would be brushed off as nothing more than exertion.
One brow arched to a point. Fury radiated off him. “Did you really think I would not know? That landing was too perfect—the whole vault was too good for it to be your alternate. If you want to succeed, you have to try harder elements. Take a risk, trust your body, drop the fear.
“Now get over there and do it with the two and a half so I can see where you need work. I do not have time for games. I need to know what you are capable of right now, today, not next month. What good will that do if I am training you for a two and a half and you have already been working on it?”
I wanted to correct his stiff pronunciation, but I refrained. He sounded like a robot talking at times. So instead I nodded vehemently, and took a stand behind the line. Reagan wore a smirk that deserved to be slapped off her face.
A low groan escaped my throat, irritated by both Kova and Reagan’s faces. But more importantly, I was angry with myself for not giving my all in the one moment I truly needed to.
I didn’t waste any time before I got behind the line and started running toward the stationary object. Gymnasts had to be a little crazy in the head to come up with the idea of doing back flips over objects such as this one.
Once I hit the vault, I blocked hard, taking flight, and pulled a double twist—adding a half turn. I cranked as hard as I could on my rotation but I knew it wasn’t enough. It was risky and I was sloppy in the air. Gymnasts instinctively knew their bodies, but I took the chance and threw it anyway.
Landing, I stumbled to the side, but I caught myself before my knees went down, which was huge. Knees were never to touch the floor on a landing.
Standing, I finished and looked at Kova.
“Same thing with the floor and beam. Do
not
hold back,” he stated before he turned his back to me and carried on.
It was going to be a long day.
I
T WAS NEARLY
nightfall and I was exhausted. Without looking in the mirror, I knew I was a hot mess. Chalk coated my body and leotard, strands of hair fell from my ponytail and surrounded my face, and my eyes were puffy and swollen, heavy with fatigue. I sat with my legs spread in my little shorts in the middle of the gymnastics’ lobby while scrolling on my phone. It was unladylike and my mom would’ve killed me for it, but I didn’t give a shit. I got my ass handed to me today and I was damn tired.
All I wanted to do was go home, take a shower, pop some Motrin, and go to bed. Motrin, the real breakfast, lunch, and dinner of champions. Screw eating a fresh cooked meal.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that just yet. I had to wait for Coach to finish up before I could leave. Judging by the first real training session I had today, I could tell the next couple of weeks were going to be rough in more ways than one.
After I did the other two events earlier like Coach had asked, I’d gone and met with my private tutors. They went over my syllabus for each class and what would be expected of me, along with my gym hours. Mr. Landry would teach Chemistry and American History, and Mrs. Taylor would teach Pre-Cal and English. I tried to focus on everything they both said, but my mind kept reverting back to the routines I performed and wondering how I did. If my wobbly turn on beam impacted my ability, if the step out of bounds on the floor hurt me, or the fact I held back on vault in the beginning made a difference.
I sighed loudly. I didn’t know who I was kidding.
After school, Alfred took me home for lunch, which ended up being small and short since my stomach was in knots. I couldn’t eat, my nerves were shot. Plus, I hated training on a full stomach. Once I returned to the gym, Kova had me repeat the same things as this morning so other coaches could judge my routines, which I was sure were shit by that point.
Maybe I was just being hard on myself.
The door slammed shut, taking my attention away from my friends’ fun updates on social media. Kova snapped his fingers as he brusquely walked past me. “Let us go.”
Dick mode–activated!
Following him into his office, he waited for me to walk in then shut the door. He took a seat behind his desk and I sat in front. I tightened my ponytail and braced myself.
Looking me directly in the eyes, he got right to the point. “Today was a test, an evaluation to see where you currently are.” He sighed tiredly. “I am going to be blunt. You do not come close to my standards, Adrianna, and that worries me. You are not ready for the senior team. Not even close. Definitely nowhere near prepared to test this season. You are setting yourself up for failure if you do.”
My mouth dropped open and tears formed in the back of my eyes. I would not cry, I wouldn’t allow it. Shit, I’d been schooled not to cry. But fuck, that hurt.
Being told you’re not good enough in gymnastics was like being kicked while you’re down. It was heartbreakingly devastating. Aside from sustaining an injury that forces you to rest, it’s probably the worst thing you could possibly hear. You’re already hard on yourself as it is trying to be the best. You give your all, you silently deal with the pain and aches, the gnawing hunger, the exhaustion, when you know there will always be someone who will come along that is better than you. It’s a double-edged sword. And this shit runs through your head on replay.
“I spoke with Madeline, the other elite coach who evaluated you, and she agreed with me, you need work. You have a lot of bad habits we need to break, which is going to be a tedious task. Little details matter in this sport. Had I evaluated you before you came, without a doubt, I would have turned you away from the elite program. But your father made a generous donation to have our café funded, which allows you to be here.” He folded his hands in front of him, looking jaded. “So here you are.”
“I’m not even a level ten in your eyes, am I?”
He shook his head, his lips a thin flat line. No Coach Kissable here.
“My standards are high, but that is what wins. Doing safe, mediocre gymnastics is not going to get you on the podium. I think you will agree with me. You were scared today and held back. That concerns me.”
I tried hard not to cry, but I couldn’t stop the tears from resting on my eyelids. I looked up at the ceiling, willing them to disappear so they wouldn’t fall down my cheeks. I was mad at myself for letting my emotions get to me. I wanted to appear strong, but this was equally as frustrating as it was hurtful. The clawing inside my gut to be better was being tackled by a larger beast.
“The worst part is,” he continued, “I agreed to train you. Once you test and you do qualify, you must train at the senior level because of your age. You are too old for any other level.”
Konstantin Kournakova was a cold man. I wondered if he had kids and prayed if he didn’t, he was sterile so it wouldn’t be possible. I knew he wasn’t going to go easy on me, but Jesus Christ. His words were as upsetting as a career ending injury.
“Seeing how it is March and you arrived in the middle of elite season, did you plan on competing the rest of the regular meet season as practice and then test next season?”