Page 61 of Where We Belong
My brows furrow despite myself. I don’t understand this man. He could have whoever he wants, whenever he wants, and yet he keeps showing sides of himself that are at odds with his confident persona. I don’t know who the real Finn is. The one who teases and smirks, or the one who thinks he needs to be embarrassed about wanting to go to college. Or maybe he really is both, all at once.
“I don’t think that’s likely to happen,” I say.
He gives me a half smile.
“What else?” I ask.
“Hm, let me see.” He closes an eye. “I’m not scared of clowns or dolls, but I did dream once of a huge-ass snake that ate me and forced me to live my life inside his belly, and it was pretty traumatizing.”
“Be serious.”
“I am! It was scarily realistic.” He laughs when I roll my eyes. “Okay, what else.” His teeth drag over his bottom lip, and I force my gaze away. The sight is a little too tempting. “I guess sometimes I dream about the people I love getting hurt. Of Lilianne getting sicker. Of Francesca…” He shakes his head. “Yeah, those dreams suck.”
“I bet.”
This time, it’s him who taps his foot against mine, although I notice the slowness he uses to move toward me. It turns my heart upside down.
“What about you? What do you dream about?”
Immediately, my body stiffens. Images hit me of the nights I wake drenched in sweat with the feeling of unfamiliar hands imprinted on my skin. Those nights when the nightmares don’t have a clear image, but feel like moist breath and a sense of wanting to disappear.
I fight a shudder, then stand up. I need to get to bed if I want to be at least semi-functional tomorrow. Plus, the kind of thoughts I was starting to have toward him needed to stop.
With a hand extended in Finn’s direction, I say, “I don’t really dream.”
Chapter 21
Lexie
I’dforgottenjusthowpacked the first event of the competition season could be.
As I pass group after group of athletes, my duffel held close to my chest, I become overwhelmed. The stands are already getting filled as gymnasts and their coaches walk out of the locker rooms and onto the different mats, stretching while chatting about the hours to come. Young girls with the same team uniforms giggle as they start warming up in a slow jog.
I used to love seeing this camaraderie in sports events, yet today, it makes me want to disappear. I’ve never felt as much like an odd duckling in a sea of swans as I do today.
I focus by remembering the luck I have at simply being here. I could’ve never walked again, let alone competed. This is what’s important.
As I put my stuff into my assigned locker and change into another one of my favorite leotards, this one maroon with a deep V in the back outlined by ruby-red rhinestones, I try to get my mental game back into place. I’m here to perform. To win. It doesn’t matter whether I have zero or a hundred people here to cheer for me from the sidelines or the stands. I can do this.
To remain in the right headspace, I grab my earbuds and put on my favorite rap album, then head to the warm-up stations, going through the motions and focusing on the details. Sharper shoulder push in that front handspring. Faster twist in that second rotation. Looser jaw during that jump. While Andy isn’t here to shout the words at me, I can still hear them.
I feel ready. As impossible as it sounded a few months ago that I might be confident going into today, I think I am. I did what I had to do. Even without a coach, I’ve disciplined myself to get the hours in. My cardio’s better than it was, even before my accident. I think I can actually do this.
The competition started in full swing a good half hour ago, with gymnasts taking the mats left and right on the different apparatuses and presenters announcing their names and their scores with booming voices through the speakers. I try to ignore it as much as possible, to focus on me and only me, but when a familiar name is called, I have no choice but to turn and watch.
Clara Popov hasn’t been in the roster of potential Olympic gymnasts for long. She was probably still in diapers by the time I started competing, but that doesn’t mean anything now. For the past four years, she’s been winning competitions left and right, sponsors at her feet for an opportunity.
And she deserves it all.
I’ve seen her perform a few times, and when you watch her, it’s easy to forget gravity applies to her too. Her movements are so elegant in their power that sometimes, it looks like she’s actually flying. She’s obviously one of my biggest competitors, both today and for the rest of the season, and while she’s going to give me a run for my money, it’s an honor to be in the same category as her. She’ll push me to do better than I think I can. Already has. Through social media, I’ve seen the routines she performed last year, and that pushed me to rethink some of my own, with the help of Shelli’s choreographer. If I want any chance at winning, I need to be at least better than she was last year.
She’s starting on vault, just like I am. I’m on in less than thirty minutes, so I shouldn’t be watching her, but I can’t stop myself. Today’s the first time I’ll see what she has in store for this year—what I’ll need to beat.
Clara’s completely in her element as she walks to the start of the runway and salutes the judges, her dark hair combed in a perfect bun, shoulders straight and chin high. Confidence emanates out of her. It’s clear in her posture that whatever happens, she’s convinced she’ll win. Something very similar to doubt settles in the pit of my stomach as I watch her get into position.
My unease only grows when, from the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar face. I do a double take, but I don’t know why I didn’t expect it. Of course Andy’s here. By his side are two gymnasts I used to train with. And while everyone’s eyes are on Clara, his are on me. My teeth clench tighter. Before, when he looked at me, it was with excitement, with conviction. Now, it’s the opposite. Like he wants me to fail. To prove him right for dumping me. Then, as if remembering he should be cordial, he smiles, one that’s tight and uncomfortable. I don’t bother returning it, instead turning toward the vault as if I haven’t seen him.
As I wait for Clara to start running, I decide something: today’s performances won’t be for myself, or even for a medal. They will be entirely to spite him.
