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I gape at him, my mouth falling open. Where did that come from? “How do you get this and I don’t?”

He shrugs. “Music, probably. Think about it. The way you approach your floor routine is like a musician playing one note, then another, then another, but not weaving them together.”

“But that doesn’t make sense because it’s not like I’m stopping after each skill. I have connections all over the place.” I’m not trying to be argumentative. I live for technical explanation, so if he can give me that then I’m sold, but if it’s like philosophical, feel the movement and emote, then I’m out. That stuff is bullshit.

“I’ll show you what I mean.” Jordan jumps to his feet, walking back a little and creating a wide open space in front of him. He does three aerial cartwheels in a row and turns to face me. “Connected, right? No pause between skills?”

“Right,” I agree.

He backs up again and repeats the same sequence, but this time as he lands one aerial, there’s a more obvious lead into the next, like even to the naked, non-gymnastics eye, predicting another skill’s about to happen is easy. It’s fluid and forces your gaze to stay connected until the movement stops.

“Okay, I sort of get it. I’m not stopping, I’m driving a straight line and passing through all the points I need to pass through. But I need…” I grapple for the right words. “Waves.”

“Exactly! That’s a perfect way to think about it. Waves have peaks and dynamics, but still a continuous and predictable motion.” He holds out a hand to me, helping me up to my feet. “Now you try it, but with the dance-type stuff. What’s that combination you do right after your Arabian double front?”

“Switch leap, full twisting straddle jump?”

“Yeah, that. Let’s see it.”

I take a couple steps into the switch leap and then follow it up with the best full twisting straddle jump I can pull off without a spring floor. I finish and turn to face Jordan right away.

“Okay,” his forehead wrinkles. “It’s connected, but no waves.”

I grin at him. “Says the boy who is now incapable of being my gymnastics helper.”

“Guy, not boy.” He snaps his fingers, Nina Jones style. “Do it again.”

This time I try to think about how to melt the finish position of one skill together with the takeoff position of another. After a couple more tries and earning a shrug and “it’s a little better” from Jordan, I have to stop and adjust my swimsuit top.

While I’m shifting the material to cover everything completely, Jordan hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me against him. I hold my breath when he touches the back of my neck and gently unties my top.

“Is this okay?” he whispers right against my ear, causing goose bumps to spread everywhere.

I give a small nod and then he’s kissing me and making me forget what I need to do, what I’m struggling to do.

A few minutes later we’re stretched in the grass again, my bikini top lying behind me and Jordan’s hands pressing into my lower back, my body halfway on top of him.

“Do you want to… ?” Jordan struggles to say through his uneven breathing. His fingers skim over my bikini bottoms, his thumb barely catching on the waistband.

Yes! This is my open door. “Take these off?” I finish.

His arms stiffen around me and he lifts his head, eyebrows up almost to his hairline. “I was going to say go back and get some bug spray. The mosquitoes will start biting soon.”

Well done, Karen. Well done
. Have I mentioned that I suck at this?

Karen rolls over, turning her back to me and reaches for her bikini top. Before she can conceal anything, I catch a glimpse of the red tips of her ears. And then I get it. Finally.

“Whoa, hold up.” I snatch the top from her and toss it farther away, then force her to face me again. “This is what you’ve been trying to tell me? You want to—”

She surprises me by looking me in the eyes and not hiding her face again. “Do you?”

Is that a real question? But how do I answer it without adding pressure? “Yeah, but—”

“Okay.” She sits up quickly, confidence filling her expression. Where is this coming from? “I’ll make you a deal…”

I feel myself smile, taking in this topless confident Karen. Maybe this area of our relationship is easier for her to broach if she makes a game or a contest out of it. If that’s the case—game on. “Okay, love, let’s make a deal.”

“Oh, you’re British again, now?” She stands up and hooks her fingers into the waistband of her swimsuit bottoms. My heart speeds up but I don’t say anything, just continue to silently wish I wasn’t lying on my back, with everything exposed.

“I’ll take these off and then…” She draws in a deep breath closing her eyes briefly. “You can take yours off and I’ll do whatever you want me to… well, not like
whatever,
but you know…”

Okay, this stumbling with words Karen is much more like the girl I know. And she’s way too far away from me to have this conversation for real. I sit up on my knees, bringing her closer and hooking my own fingers into her waistband. I usually make great efforts to keep a semi-clear head with Karen, but I can’t help the hazy blinded thoughts. It’s like I’m sixteen again and can’t think about anything but
this
.

“Wait!” she squeezes my hands, freezing me in place. “I haven’t told you your part of the deal.”

I slide my arms around her back and kiss her stomach. “What’s my part? Whatever it is, I’m in.”

“Right. Good.” She takes another deep breath and says, “Promise me you’ll go back to the doctor and do whatever she says. Even surgery.”

My stomach sinks, the fog clears and several realizations hit me at once. “Karen.”

She places her hands on my face, angling it up so I can see hers. “I’m serious. I’ll do whatever you want. I promise.”

I shake out of her grip, pressing my forehead against her stomach long enough to sigh. Then I reach for her bathing suit top and quickly tie it around her neck again, fastening the clasp in the back.

“You said you want to,” she says, a trace of fear leaking into her voice. “I’m just trying to offer you some motivation.”

I sink back down into the grass and scrub my hands over my face. “Let’s go back up to the tent before we get a million bug bites.”

I shake the grass out of my T-shirt and put it on before walking away alone. So that’s what she was up to. Now I know. But I’m not sure what I’m feeling exactly. Hurt. Yes. I thought she was into the making out, but it was all a plan she concocted, most likely with the assistance of one of her teammates. Either Blair via text message or Stevie. My money is on Stevie. She once offered to hook up with me for the experience of it. Not because she really had any feelings for me. I didn’t go along with it. Which was fine since I was into Karen. I’m
still
into Karen.

And I don’t care if she wants to wait a hundred years to get to third base (okay, maybe not that long), but I care that it’s something she can just offer up as a bribe, when she’d rather wait. That’s not cool with me.

But at the same time, she’s worried about me and I’m forcing her to keep this secret. I’ll tell my dad. That’s what I’ll have to do. He can’t make me have surgery.
He can’t
. But at least Karen won’t feel like the job of changing my mind is resting completely on her shoulders. Plus, I haven’t even gotten a second opinion.

You’d think with almost all the campers gone and new ones not coming in until tomorrow afternoon, I’d be able to get five fucking minutes alone in the gym.

You’d think.

But here I am face-planting onto the mat in the pit over and over again and some middle-aged white dude is standing in the doorway watching me. I give him the
do you want something? ‘Cause if not, I’m kinda busy falling on my face and I’d like to do it alone
look, but the dude stares right back and then walks in and parks his ass in the bleachers. What the eff?

I walk back to the end of the tumbling strip, getting ready to try the double twisting double backflip again. How the hell does Stevie Davis pull this off? And now Campbell’s gettin’ close to making it, too.

The dude’s eyes are burning a hole into the side of my head. I really wish he’d leave. I take a deep breath and look down the long line of blue mats. If I had a shirt on, I’d be tugging at the collar right about now.
Guilty conscience, Thomas.
My mom is always so quick to tell me that, every time my fingers so much as reach in the direction of my collar. I think I get that skill from her. Body language is the one subject I’d have passed with flying colors if it were taught in school. So I know she’s right. But what am I guilty of right now?

Being a poser. Pretending to belong in this world when my name is probably already engraved in the cell beside my dad’s.

Yep, that sounds about right.

I ignore the watching eyes and take off for another attempt. I land hard on my side in the pit. The gym is so quiet the thud echoes through the entire building. I climb out, ignoring the sting covering the right side of my body and keep my eyes straight ahead.

But I see him anyway. Sitting there, now with his elbows resting on his knees, watching me closely. Who is this dude? I don’t recognize him so he must not be a coach or any other staff. Plus he’s wearing jeans and a dress shirt. Not exactly camp attire.

My stomach does its own double twisting double backflip. He can’t be one of the sponsors, can he? Maybe a guest speaker for tomorrow’s opening day of the new camp week? And he’s watching
me
?

I block out all this guessing shit and focus on tumbling.
He’s not here. He’s nobody
. I don’t know if it works because after five more passes, I’ve got deep red skin covering my entire right side from landing the exact same way I’ve been landing since I started teaching myself this skill weeks ago. I’m about to take off running again, but halt when I see him stand and walk toward me.

He stops right beside the tumbling strip, his eyes focused on the pit way down at the other end. “Can I see your full twisting double?”

“Why?” I snort back a laugh. “That skill ain’t worth shit—”

I stop when his eyebrows shoot up, arms folded across his chest. But his face gives none of his intentions away. Fort Knox.

“But you can do it, right?” he asks.

“Tuck or layout?” I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to shake some of the tension. Or is it nerves? Except I don’t get nervous. Well, at least I haven’t before.

“Tuck,” he says, quiet and careful.

I’ll humor him for a few minutes. Then I’m done with this creepy, mysterious Saturday night gym lurker shit. I stand up the skill with no problem. But that’s no surprise. It isn’t the single twist that’s giving me hell, it’s the double. Which is exactly why I should be working on those right now.

He doesn’t say anything when I get back to the far end of the tumbling strip, but he gives a tiny nod toward the landing area. I think that’s code for,
do it again
. I’ve seen that same move from Nina Jones a million times. “Wanna see a layout this time?”

My layouts are better than my tucks. If I’m gonna put on a show, might as well do my best tricks.

“No, just the tuck.”

Whatever.

I go again and again. My curiosity must be getting the best of me because any other day, I’d have flipped the guy off and gone back to my regular workout about ten full twisting double flips ago.

“Close your eyes.”

I jump and look over at him, startled. It’s the first thing he’s said in fifteen minutes. “What?”

“Close your eyes,” he repeats.

I turn to face him, my hands lifting into the air. “Dude, I don’t care what you’re into but—”

“Close your eyes
and
do a standing back tuck,” he finishes.

This shit is getting weird. I turn back around and shut my eyes before flipping backward. The second my feet hit the mat, he says, “again. Do two in a row.” I land that and he says, “Now jump full turn.”

I stop and open my eyes, staring at him. Jump full turn? Like a jump without a flip? “What? Like a girly dance move? Or that shit we do in warm-ups with the six-year-olds?”

“Jump in the air and turn in a circle that’s equal to three hundred and sixty degrees.” His words are sarcastic but his tone is calm, like he’s being careful in case I’m actually an idiot and can’t understand what he’s saying. “Back flip, back flip, jump and turn in a circle. Got it?”

“I think so.” I shake my head, then lift my arms up to start again.

“Eyes closed,” he reminds me.

My eyelids squeeze together. Bang, I land the first standing tuck. Bang. I pull myself upright to start the stupid jump twist thing, but there’s a clear hesitation when I can’t decide if my arms go up or pull in toward my body. When I land the jump he says, “Don’t open your eyes yet. Tell me which wall you’re facing.”

“Easy.” I grin. “The one with the uneven bars. Same as when I started.”
See Mr. Creepy Dude? TJ actually knows what three hundred and sixty degrees means.

“All right, open your eyes.”

I do as he says and end up staring at a long row of brown leather balance beams. “What the hell? I did a full turn…”

He nods. “True. You did.”

“Then why am I facing the beams?” I scratch the back of my head, getting a grasp on this disorientation. I know the answer to my question. I did more than three hundred and sixty degrees.

“I take it you’re feeling lost on the double double?”

Um, yeah. Only a lot. A whole lot
. I shrug, not wanting to admit any weaknesses. Especially considering he hasn’t bothered to introduce himself.

“Each angle of the twist needs to coordinate with a segment of the flip. And you can’t set that skill up high like you do the triple back.”

How does he know about my triple back? Are there gym spies here? Maybe the same person who put Campbell’s crash into the high bar on YouTube. That’s what I get for having a Dumb Phone instead of one that will Google alert me or whatever.

I play it cool and reach for my T-shirt on the floor. “Thanks for the tip, but I think I know what I’m doing.”