Ex-Factor (Diamond Girls) (5 page)

I turned my focus back to the track. A jolt of something, excitement maybe, shot through my frame as I spied the familiar trampoline, and a part of me I was sure had withered away itched to sprint across the mat and bounce like a mad woman up and down its narrow length.

Six months. I hadn’t set foot inside a gym in six months. Hadn’t tumbled. Hadn’t conditioned. Hadn’t done anything besides miss my parents and wallow in a pool of self-pity and disgust.

“Callie! Get out of the way!”

I tried to ignore her. I really did. But Queen Bee made it near impossible. Prancing across the springboard floor as though she were God’s gift to cheerleading, my snooty, blond enemy stepped into the front of the pass tumbling line, earning a scowl from the girl she cut off, and performed yet another round-off back handspring full. She landed with an echoing thud about ten feet from where I stood, a satisfied smile crawling across her mouth.

Brow raised, I glanced over my shoulder to Livvie and nodded. “Wow. She’s amazing.”

Livvie made a “humph” sound and shook her head. “Yeah. She is, and she knows it. I wouldn’t talk to her if—”

I held up a hand, cutting Livvie off, and called out to Queenie as she passed in front of me. “Nice pass. Way to nail the landing.” Girlfriend may have been a total snag to me that morning, but I had to give credit where credit was due. The girl could tumble like nobody’s business.

Cool blue eyes beamed me with a staggering amount of disdain. “Stare much? Do me a favor, and stay out of my way, newb.”

The remaining air in my lungs fizzled out in a slow exhale, and I stood, mouth open, once again shocked by the girl’s nasty response. “Okay, then,” I said as Livvie stepped alongside me. “You’re my witness. I tried to make nice.”

She let out a small giggle. “I tried to tell you. Callie Porter is a nasty piece of work. It’s best to avoid her whenever you can.”

Yeah, no kidding.

“Taking it all in, huh?” a strange voice said.

I stiffened and bit my lip, dreading my next move. There was no getting around it. I had to meet the coaches sooner or later, so I put on my big girl panties, tore my gaze from the back of Callie’s bleach blond head, and turned.

Large, brown eyes filled with curiosity burned a hole into my flesh, and I forced a smile as I took the woman’s outstretched hand.

Livvie grinned and waved an arm between us as she regarded the young woman. “Coach Shea, meet Nev. Nev, this is Coach Shea, X-Factor’s athletic director.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Nev. Livvie’s told us great things about you.”

I stifled the urge to whack my cousin upside the head for talking about me so much and reciprocated the woman’s greeting, ignoring the second half of her comment. Any greatness I once had was long gone. “Nice to meet you too.”

At about five-foot-seven, Coach Shea sported an athletic build, showcased by a pair of form-fitting black yoga pants and a tiny black tee with “X-Factor Cheer: A Cut Above The Rest” screen printed across the front in red and white lettering. Her long, strawberry blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and topped with a stylish black cap decorated with the gym’s logo in rhinestones. She had a friendly smile, a spattering of freckles across her nose, and an overall aura of kindness.

She placed her free hand on her hip, the other held a clipboard. “Livvie tells me you were a level ten gymnast. Where did you train?”

I cleared my throat. “Valley Flyers in Vegas.”

Coach Shea gave a nod and cast me a look of appreciation. “I’ve heard of them. They run a good program. So, you ready to warm up?”

No!
Every muscle in my body simultaneously cried out in panic, the anxiety I’d built up over my forthcoming tryout at an all-time high. Could I do this? Could I step onto a blue mat and not fall apart? My therapist thought I could. So did my aunt and my cousin. I clung to their faith in me, as I had none of my own.

I shuffled my feet in place and tugged at the hem of my shirt. “Um, yeah, okay.”

Coach Shea reached forward and gave my upper arm a squeeze. “Feel free to check the place out before you warm up. You’ve seen the trampoline, obviously. The training belt is located at the far end of the mat to your left, though I don’t expect you’ll need to use that today. Bathrooms and cubbies are at the far end of the gym along the left wall. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a standing tuck class to get to.”

With a wink and a smile, she strode purposefully toward a circle of girls standing just in front of the training belt. Callie glared at me from amidst the small group before turning to chat with one of the athletes.

My brow shot up in surprise and I tapped Livvie on the upper arm. “Nasty girl doesn’t have her standing tuck?”

A smug grin lifted the corners of her mouth and she shook her head. “Nope. She’s off and on again with it. Callie’s a power tumbler. The standing stuff jacks her up.”

I blew out a gust of air, chomped down on my lower lip, and shook my head. Callie Porter’s nasty attitude and tumbling issues were the least of my problems. The old adage “if you don’t use it, you lose it” lingered at the front of my mind, the dull pressure from its nagging presence giving me a whopper of a headache.

Ages ago, before my mom succumbed to Alzheimer’s and my entire life turned to shit, I’d trained as an elite gymnast. Round off double backs, double fulls—you name it, I did it. I hated bars. Hated vault. Beam and floor were my events, particularly floor. Tumbling had been my passion, the one thing I could lose myself in. The only thing that helped drown out the crappy drama that came along with everyday life.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the bleachers. Part of me still expected to see my mom smiling and waving as she watched me practice. The other half knew better.

My chest squeezed as I thought back to the last time my mom tried to take me to the gym. We’d made it halfway across town before she looked at me like I was a stranger, then asked me who I was. I never did make it to the gym that day.

Alzheimer’s sucked.

The sport didn’t hold the same joy for me anymore. Nothing did. Going to gymnastics practice turned into a giant twenty-hour-a-week reminder of how my mother was gone, and things would never be the same. I questioned my ability to pull off a simple back handspring, let alone the tricks they were sure to want from me. My therapist insisted physical activity and team sports would both aid in my battle with anxiety and depression, so here I was, not so anxiously awaiting a cheer tryout my well-meaning aunt forced me to go to.
Hoorah!

“Mara!”

The loud music blaring throughout the room abruptly stopped, and a small, blond, pixie-like woman with large blue eyes and deeply tanned skin stormed onto the mat, focusing on the group of four girls standing closest to Livvie and me. “How many months have we been working on this stunt, Mara?”

A small brown-haired girl who looked to be no older than ten stood in the center of a group of taller girls, her large amber eyes welling with tears. She shook her head and smashed her lips together, but said nothing.

The blond coach placed her hands on her thighs and bent forward so she was eye level with the girl. “If you stick your butt out while you are in the air, you’re gonna come down. You know this.” The coach straightened her stance and addressed the rest of the team. “You all know this,” she shouted. “Flyers! Pretend you’ve got a dollar bill stuck between your butt cheeks, and squeeze it ‘til it screams! Set up!”

The coach breezed off the mat, and for a moment I felt like I was in some sort of military boot camp. The small squad of twenty girls marched into place silently and quickly with their hands by their sides, their eyes facing the floor. Music blared from the large speakers spread about the room, and after a quick “five, six, seven, eight” from the coach, the girls exploded off the floor in an impressive riot of movement.

Livvie leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “That’s the Junior Three team. They’re age fourteen and below.”

My eyes widened as the three girls surrounding Mara clamped onto her left foot and lifted her over their heads with ease. Even more impressive than that was Mara’s flexibility. Little girl had grabbed her right foot and pulled it up behind her head.

I mouthed the word “wow” to Livvie who smiled and gave me a nod. “They’re really good.” She leaned close again and whispered into my ear. “But the team you’ll be on if you join is even better.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the cubby area where we quickly stowed our shoes.

“C’mon.” Livvie clapped her hands and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, motioning toward the trampoline. “It’s 5:30, Nev. You have one hour to warm-up those skills before your tryout. Coach Shea wants you to sit through the last half of Sapphire’s practice to get a feel for what you’re doing if you join.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Sapphire?”

Livvie rolled her eyes and giggled. “Each team in the gym is named after a gem. We’ve got Mini One Ruby, Youth Two Obsidian, Junior Three Sapphire, Senior Two Amethyst, and Senior Five Diamond.”

“Okay, then,” I said, brow raised. The names seemed a little different, but then, I knew next to nothing about cheer so I wasn’t really in a position to judge.

Shaking her head, she puffed out a quick breath, got behind me, and pushed. “Let’s go, chica. Time to hit the track. Move it.”

A shiver ran up and down the length of my spine as my bare feet met with the smooth, cool surface of the track. The familiar surge of adrenaline I’d always felt before tumbling bubbled up from deep within, embracing me like an old friend. Tightening my core muscles, I pressed against the taut, black surface with the balls of my feet. The springy surface came to life, and I couldn’t hide the smile that emerged as I bounced in place.

“Start off slow,” Livvie shouted over the noise. “Try a round-off back handspring rebound and see how you feel.”

Throat dry, I gave her a single nod. With a quick intake of breath, I took off down the narrow trampoline. My movements felt lithe and fluid, years of training and muscle memory guiding me through the familiar trick. I landed the small pass near the end of the track, and the force of my rebound sent me sailing backward into the soft, cushiony pit.

“All right, Nev,” I heard Livvie shout. “That was awesome!”

Her unbridled encouragement felt incredible, and the sense of pride I’d always felt when my mother used to champion me surged through my system. I’d been so sure I’d never experience that overwhelming sense of satisfaction again.

Overcome, I lay sprawled out in the pit for a moment, the ever-present guilt I harbored over my father’s death and the constant ache I felt toward my mother doing their level best to squash the brief moment of happiness I’d just experienced.

Dr. Frank, my therapist, insisted I deserved to be happy, to feel joy. Even after everything that had happened. I wasn’t sure I agreed with her.

Pushing back the long strand of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail and into my eyes, I sighed. Holding on to the past, dwelling on things I could have done differently, things I should have done differently, wouldn’t change a thing. Fate was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, and it got what it wanted, no matter what.

My chest constricted, the hollow pang of loss niggling at the base of my gut as it always did, tugging at my heart and mind. I missed my dad. There was so much I wanted to tell him, so much to apologize for.

So many regrets.

Relinquishing my guilt and opening myself up to happiness felt wrong on a multitude of levels, but if I was going to have any kind of life, I knew I needed to learn how to let go. At least, that’s what Dr. Frank kept telling me over and over again. Heartsick and torn, I hefted myself into a sitting position and took a deep breath.

Livvie had ambled down the narrow tramp during my “moment” and stood over me, grinning like a Cheshire cat. She bent down and grabbed my wrist. “That rebound was insane! Get up. Try a layout next.”

The following hour passed by quickly, and before I knew it, it was time for me to meet with the coaches. Tryouts normally took place in April, when the cheer season began, but the occasional late entry was accepted if a team lost an athlete due to injury, illness, or financial hardship. X-Factor’s Diamond team had lost a valuable member when one of their girls broke her leg during a tumbling pass a few weeks ago. The coaches had yet to fill her space, and from what Livvie had told me, with the start of competition season a few short weeks away, they were banking on my tumbling experience to meet their needs.

Face flushed, palms sweating, I strolled across the spring floor, the blue, fuzzy mat scraping against my bare feet as I came to a stop in front of Coach Shea and two other women.

The blond pixie I’d seen coaching the Junior Three team stepped forward and extended her hand. “Hi, Nev. I’m Coach Lily.” Her firm grip felt cool against my overheated skin. She released my hand and gestured to the woman standing opposite Coach Shea. “And this is Coach Jordan.”

The woman smiled, revealing a brilliant set of teeth and a dimple on her left cheek. Twenty years old if a day, she sported the darkest tan and biggest green eyes I’d ever seen, and reminded me at once of Malibu Barbie. She gave me a friendly wave. “Hi, Nev. Nice to meet you.”

Lily pulled a pen from the top of the clipboard she held, scrawled something on the piece of paper attached, and then regarded me with an expectant smile. “Okay, then. Why don’t we start with standing tumbling? Go ahead and show me your standing two to a layout.”

***

Hair still wet from my shower, muscles aching and slightly rubbery from exertion, I turned off the light and fell into bed with a groan, dreading the soreness I was sure to feel in the morning. My evening at the gym had gone a thousand times better than I had anticipated, but it didn’t change the fact that I was woefully out of shape. The next two weeks were going to be hell.

The sound of rustling sheets carried across the quiet room, and I sensed a pair of eyes watching me.

“So, what do you think?” Livvie asked.