Page 19 of Burnout
“What? No. Why would you think that?” I get in position beside her, then glance over my shoulder until I find Tristan across the gym. He lifts his chin slightly as we make eye contact.
“He keeps staring over here.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I reiterate, turning back around.
“Why not? He’s hot.”
“Hot boys are usually jerks.” An image of that asshole Knox at the freestyle event flashes through my mind.
“I don’t think that logic works,” she says. “You’re pretty and not a bitch, so isn’t it possible that a boy can be hot and not a jerk?”
“Aww, thanks. But I stand by my statement.” I walk across the beam in time with her. We stop in the middle, and I show her one turn first, then face her so I can watch her form.
When she lifts her left leg, she wobbles.
“Stomach in. Hips under,” I correct her as she gains her balance. “Let’s hold the relevé for five seconds.”
Hope drops down and then restarts. She brings her left leg up, foot touching the right knee and arms up in a crown position. Each time she wobbles a little less. I can tell when her focus reinsin. Her jaw sets and she stops glancing around at what others are doing.
“Good. Now ten seconds.”
She doesn’t even talk back, just nods and then goes in again, holding the position as I count slowly to ten. On the third one, her arms come out to her sides to stop her from falling out of it.
“Dang it,” she mutters.
“No, that was great. Your body lines are looking better too. Let’s move on to half turns. Don’t forget to drive that heel each time.” I do one and then drop down to a sit on the beam with my legs dangling over one side. I still haven’t been given the green light to practice on beam, and even though Coach Weaver isn’t here, I don’t want to push it.
She gets through a dozen or more half turns while I watch and offer small corrections before I see Hope’s dad out of the corner of my eye, standing at the door to the gym. Glancing up at the clock hanging on the wall and then back at him, I hold up a hand in a wave and smile.
I let Hope get in a couple more before I say, “Your dad is here. It’s later than I realized. We can work on it more tomorrow.”
“Already?” Her good posture falls, and her voice goes back to the childish whine of earlier.
“Yep.” I hop off the beam. “You can practice it at home after you do your homework.”
She snarls at that, which pulls a laugh from me. When she comes down, I tug on one of the red braids falling down her back. “If you fail your classes, your dad will stop letting you stay late after practice to hang out with me.”
“Fine,” she relents, sounding entirely unhappy about it. Her voice is more upbeat when she asks, “Tomorrow can we work on floor?”
“We’ll see.”
I walk her to the door and say hello to her dad, who thanks me before forcing a reluctant Hope out of the gym. Then I grab my stuff and head home. She isn’t the only one that needs to do some homework tonight.
But before that, I need to shower and make myself look presentable for a podcast interview. The last time I was asked to do one, I made the mistake of thinking it was audio only. It wasn’t and I showed up fresh out of practice looking like a sweaty troll. Oops.
The dorm is quiet when I enter and head up to the fourth floor. Music pumps out of some of the rooms, doors are propped open, but the hallway is empty.
When I get to my room, I push into it and smile at the scene in front of me. Colter and Quinn are snuggled up on the couch watching TV. She’s curled up next to him with her head resting in his lap, and Colter is absently stroking her dark hair.
“Hey,” I say as I shut the door behind me.
Quinn lifts an arm lazily as Colter says, “Hey, Aves.”
“What are you guys watching?” I let my bag fall from my shoulder to the floor and take a seat on the far end of the couch next to Quinn’s feet.
My roommate stretches her legs out onto my lap. “Botched. This chick’s butt implant flipped. You should have seen it. It looked so gross.”
“Eww,” I say.
