Letters to Nowhere (20 page)

“Yeah.” He retrieved my bag and even opened the retainer case for me. Before I popped it into my mouth, I said, “You should ask your dad to let you coach at the gym. Like some recreational classes. You already have experience.” I couldn’t help wanting to find opportunities for Jordan to get to know his dad better.

He rolled on his side, facing me. “Maybe, we’ll see. Go to sleep, you have practice in the morning. Lots more release moves to do.”

I felt his hand land on my back, rubbing it gently. “My parents would have really loved you,” I mumbled. “Well, maybe not my dad…”

“My mom and my sister would have loved you,” he whispered.

I thought I heard his voice catch, but I didn’t open my eyes. We’d already had enough emotion for one day without opening old wounds.

“W
ho wants to go first?” I heard Jordan say during evening workout.

I paused at the top of the climbing rope and glanced down at him and his class of wild little boys. Jordan had chickened out of asking his dad about teaching. I’d had a feeling he wasn’t planning on asking him, so I told Stevie and she asked Bentley about it. Of course Bentley had shown some resistance at first, but here Jordan was, assisting Todd, one of the boys’ recreational coaches. I was starting to think that Stevie could get away with just about anything. I thought my get–out–of–jail–free card was useful, but hers seemed to be even better. The responsible almost Olympian who was already of adult age had more pull around here than I did.

“Let’s go, Karen!” Bentley shouted at me from the ground.

My pause at the top of the rope to stare at Jordan in his warm–up pants and coach’s polo had lasted at least five seconds. I scurried down as fast as possible, but Bentley was shaking his head when I touched down.

“You’re three seconds over,” Bentley said. “Two more.”

Because of extra physical therapy sessions and two more dance classes Bentley had recently added to our schedule, and a big load of tests I had to take online, I’d hardly seen Jordan over the past few days, and I couldn’t help being distracted for those short five seconds.

I suppressed a groan and headed back up the rope. By the time I’d finished my two punishment climbs, Ellen and Stevie had moved on to standing back tucks and Blair had gone to the training room for ice, since she was still resting her leg.

That left only Bentley to count my back tucks, and he was relentless with conditioning, not letting us get away with even an ounce of bad form or less than a hundred–and–twenty–percent effort. And I was pretty beat tonight.

“If you want to compete that tucked full on beam, you should be doing tucked fulls for your conditioning,” he said. “I don’t know why you haven’t been.”

I stood on the line, my arms still shaking a little from the extra rope climbs, and did my first tucked full.

“Your chest has to be higher,” he said. “That one doesn’t count.”

Okay, Nina Jones…

Stacey walked up beside Bentley. “And tuck your hips under.”

I did another backflip, landing square on the line, but Bentley shook his head again. Then he got up and grabbed a long foam, stuck it out in front of him, lining it up so it was just below the level of my shoulder. “I want you to land with your shoulders higher than this.”

I took a deep breath and went again, not making the cut for a third time. At this rate I’d be here until midnight before I finished twenty of these. After ten attempts, I got one right, and I thought he’d let me go on to the next thing, but he just nodded and said, “Nineteen more like that.”

Eventually, Bentley elected one of the injured level 77 girls to sit on a mat, icing her leg while holding up the foam for me. Bentley threatened her with forty pull–ups if she cheated for me. It took an hour for me to finish and my leotard was soaked with sweat.

And this wasn’t the first time he’d had done something like this to me. We had had several similar situations last summer, and I remembered crying to my mom in frustration, saying that the new coach hated me. Now I knew Bentley didn’t hate me, but I wondered if he was trying to make me feel better about my old safe routines and maybe make me think about just letting these new skills go.

I watched, fuming with anger as Ellen got all the praise and attention from Stacey during beam workout while I finished up the rest of my conditioning. I didn’t even get a chance to do any full beam routines before it was time to move on to bars. By then, I was pretty pissed off at my head coach.

“You can’t miss those handstands, Karen,” Bentley said after my third full bar routine, even though I had caught my layout Jaeger in two of the three routines.

I turned my back to him and headed over to get more chalk.

“I mean it. Hit the handstands.”

“Okay, I got it!” I grabbed the file and started attacking my grips with it. I didn’t watch anyone else’s routines, but a few minutes later, Blair came over looking just as ticked as me.

“I’ve got four releases. I catch them all and it doesn’t count because I missed one handstand,” Blair sneered.

Forty–five minutes later, Stevie and Ellen had moved on to floor with Stacey. Blair and I were still doing bar routines. My arms ached and my lower back was killing me. I bent down to touch my toes, trying to stretch out the tensed–up muscles. Blair was in the middle of her routine, though she still wasn’t doing dismounts yet with her leg, so I kicked up into a handstand on the mat, squeezing every muscle in my body, trying to memorize the feel of it. I just wanted to get it right. I wasn’t about to tell Bentley I was too sore and tired to finish.

“That’s a wrap, Blair.” Bentley gave her a little smile when she collapsed onto the mat in dramatic Blair fashion. “Karen, you’re up.”

I shook my arms out and squinted at the bars, narrowing my vision and trying to focus on the task at hand.
One more routine…just one more
.
Handstands. Handstands
.

On the third handstand, I felt the mistake. I had come up short and it was right before my over–shoot to handstand on the low bar. I managed to overcompensate and land perfectly in a handstand on the lower bar. Then I nailed my layout Jaeger, the best one yet by far, and stuck my double front half out dismount.

“You came up about fifteen degrees short on the first high bar handstand,” Bentley said. “Try again.”

I felt like collapsing into the floor, which probably would have been wiser than opening my mouth. “Come on, that was my best routine ever, seriously.”

“I agree.” Bentley kept his voice calm as usual despite my uncharacteristic back talk. “But it was also the only routine tonight where the missed handstand deductions didn’t outweigh the extra points you’re getting for the new release. Every other routine you’ve missed at least three handstands, racking up seven tenths in deductions.”

This was logical, mathematical reasoning and any other day, I’d probably appreciate it, but today it felt like Bentley had been hitting me from all sides, and when it came down to it, I was just a tired, emotional, probably on the verge of starting my second period ever, teenage girl.

“I won bars at Nationals last summer.” I felt my voice rising higher than acceptable, along with my temper.

“Yes, a national competition. How many international competitions have you won?”

None
.

I could practically feel my nostrils flaring. “Fine. I’ll do another one.”

Bentley stood still for several long seconds, assessing me, and then shook his head. “No. I’m not letting you on the bars again tonight. Not until you’ve gotten your emotions under control. We don’t need a careless injury.”

I ripped off my grips and stuffed them into my bag, shaking my head the whole time. “I’m going to floor.”

Bentley sighed heavily and stood in front of me, lowering his voice to nearly a whisper. “I think you’re done for tonight, Karen.”

I stared up at him, disbelief filling my expression, I was sure. “What? I’ve still got two more events and stretching.”

He nodded toward the locker room. “Go get dressed.”

Coach Cordes used to love to kick kids out of the gym, but every time he threatened me, I’d always apologize and he’d let me go back to practice. He seemed to have a soft spot for me, but Stevie or Ellen, no way. Bentley, however, had never used this technique before.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. “I’m sorry. I’m calm and ready to go, I swear.”

“You’re done, Karen,” he said firmly.

I felt like knocking something over or kicking him in the shins. Seriously? What was his problem?

“Fine, whatever.” I stormed out into the lobby and dove into the locker room before anyone could try to talk to me. I knew Bentley and Stacey wouldn’t let any of my teammates come after me. And lucky for me, I’d just recently acquired a vehicle to drive myself out of here.

The second I was out of the gym parking lot and onto the main road, my phone buzzed three times in a row. I had a feeling it was Jordan texting me, or possibly Blair. Not only did I feel really pissed off, but also totally humiliated. I had no desire to hear from anyone at the moment. I shut my phone off and decided I needed to stall a bit before going back to Bentley’s place. It was time to check out the location Tony had so graciously revealed to me.

***

I watched dozens and dozens of cars zoom by while I sat in a car dealership parking lot off a frontage road that ran beside the highway. The curve of the road must have been what got them. It was pretty sharp, but so many cars zipped by it without so much as a small waver. After I wrote down notes and stats, I watched for all the black cars and tried to picture them tumbling and shredding to pieces, leaving their victims mangled like Humpty Dumpty. Staring at the road, it was even harder to put a real image to this accident. It became even more of a fantasy in my mind than before.

By the time I got back to Bentley’s, it was after ten and both of them were sitting in the living room. Jordon shut his laptop right away and let out a breath. Bentley wasn’t able to hide his look of relief either.

He shut his eyes for a second and opened them again, staring straight at me. “I realize now that maybe I need to be more specific about curfews and other living procedures. From now on, if you’re going somewhere after evening practice, I would like for you to let me know and I would like you to be back by ten on a weeknight. Does that seem reasonable?”

I bit down on my thumbnail, and diverted my eyes to the steps. “Yes.”

“Thank you,” Bentley said, and that was it. The drama was over before it even got started, and I had nothing to do but head upstairs and jump in the shower.

The first floor was completely dark when I got done in the bathroom and headed down to grab something to eat. I tiptoed back up the steps with my PB&J in one hand and a glass of milk in the other hand. Jordan was still awake doing homework. I stepped inside his room and sat at the end of the bed, placing my cup on his nightstand.

“What are you working on?” I asked.

He spun around in his desk chair. “I thought you were giving me the silent treatment, too.”

I remembered the buzzing of my phone earlier and how I’d shut it off. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, just your dad. But I don’t want to talk about the gym or think about it anymore tonight.”

He deliberated for a moment before finally giving me a tiny smile. “I’m working on an essay for Modern Lit class.”

“I think you do more homework than I do, and you actually go to school all day. How is that?”

“I’m clearly not as smart as you, although only idiots turn off their cell phones when they go out alone.” His eyes narrowed at me.

“I’m sorry.” Guilt totally hit me hard this time. I shouldn’t drag Jordan into my battles with his dad. Although, I kind of turned my phone off for that very reason. I didn’t want him to have to help me through that drama or pick a side between me and Bentley. “How did your classes go?”

“Good. I think I surprised my dad. But he doesn’t realize that I always got the younger kids who were siblings of the really good gymnasts at camp. I had to work hard to keep them entertained for six hours of gym time every day when their most difficult skill was a cartwheel.”

“Well, at least you don’t have smart–mouthed teenagers to coach.”

He gave me a long look, like maybe he was about to break one of our rules and kiss me inside the walls of this house. We’d already decided not to do that, mostly because on TV, everyone always gets caught, even when no one is supposed to be home for hours or days or whatever. Someone always walks in.

“I have something to show you,” he said, looking a little nervous. He got up from his chair and reached up in the top of the closet, retrieving a guitar. “I haven’t touched this since before winter break. It was in my dorm room.”

I watched as he sat down and tuned it, strumming a few chords. I was honestly a little nervous that he’d be really bad and I’d have to say something nice because…well, because it was Jordan.

“What do you want me to play?”

“I don’t know. I have choices?”

He laughed. “Somewhat limited choices, but yeah.”

I shook my head. “What songs are only guitar?”

“Okay, I’ll pick something, even though I make it a mission statement never to do this because everyone thinks I’m singing about them.”

“Oh, that’s cute. Jordan gives everyone a love song.”

“That’s the least of my worries. I always get in trouble by singing ‘She’s So Mean’ or something along those lines.”

I laughed and waved off his concerns. “Play whatever you want and I won’t assume it’s for me.”