Chapter Text
Glide kip. Cast handstand. Aly overbalances for the third time this morning and drops on the far side of the low bar. Off to the side, Mihai shakes his head wearily.
“Aly, what did I tell you? Too fast! Go again. Slower.”
Aly swipes an arm across her forehead and ducks under the bar. She doesn’t look at Mihai. Jumps, catches the bar, swings and kips again. This time she holds the handstand.
“Better. Stay straight.”
Months after the Games, the tour, and the American Cup, her bars have gotten worse. Mihai says it’s mental, has her doing deep breathing and visualization to overcome it. Aly dutifully does the exercises. Nothing’s helping.
An image of a familiar face appears in her mind’s eye. Not again. Seeing that image is painful enough. What’s worse are the remembered shouts of encouragement that come with it, a voice that always cut through the din of competition to lift her up: Come on, Aly!
Her transition to the high bar is sloppy. She has to muscle back into her swing.
Another image: a hotel room during the Kellogg’s tour. Jordyn grinning like a banshee as she dives onto their bed. You can’t handle this!
Aly’s brain must be actively trying to sabotage her now. It’s working, because she doesn’t catch her first release move. The mat whooshes under her knees and Aly looks up at the high bar in near despair. She hates this fucking apparatus.
Mihai sighs. It’s been a long morning for them both. ”Take a break, OK? Ten minutes. Compose yourself.”
She nods, peels off her grips, wills herself to hold it together until she can reach the bathroom. In that sanctuary, though, she doesn’t let the tears fall. Instead she grips the sink and screws her eyes shut.
It’s been the longest three weeks of Aly’s life. She’s worked through some tough shit in the past, but this is by far the worst. She’s always had Jordyn to talk to before.
Only three weeks ago she’d been Skyping with Jordyn, both of them trying to pretend everything was normal. “So how’s the leg,” she said, examining the coat of toenail polish she’d just applied. It helped to have something to look at during their conversations. Jordyn had been acting standoffish, as if trying to have a long-distance relationship wasn’t hard enough. The fact that an unfortunately-timed car accident was a safe topic these days was seriously messed up.
“About the same. Docs say I can be in a boot in a few weeks. Oh, and the other guy’s insurance company finally called.”
“That’s great.”
“Yep.”
The conversation died yet again. Aly stared at her toes and ventured, “So I guess you’ll be set for Nationals. And, uh, our big family meeting.” She felt her stomach turn over at the thought. The plan they’d—she’d—concocted, after their parents had gotten along so well during the Cup. The first step in the larger, even more terrifying plan. But every time she’d brought it up lately, Jo had gone silent.
“I … maybe. Yeah. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know about what?”
Jordyn bit her lip. “I don’t want to distract you, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now. I’d rather not talk about it, OK?”
Fuck. The facade of normalcy had become harder and harder to maintain with every word that remained unspoken between them. Everything in her yearned for life to be the way it’d been after London. She didn’t want to ask. She knew she had to.Silence was a slow poison and it was killing them. ”We’ve been not talking since the American Cup. This isn’t healthy. What’s going on?”
“Aly …”
“I need to know. Jordyn, please. If you care about me at all, you have to tell me what’s going on, I can’t take it any more.”
“If that’s what you want.” Jo swallowed. “The thing is … the thing is, I’m not sure how far I want to go any more.”
She couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t real unless Jordyn said it. “Are you talking about gymnastics or us?”
Jordyn’s mouth twisted in pain. But to her credit, she answered, even as the future Aly had dreamed of drained away.
“Both.”
The sink doesn’t give under the pressure of Aly’s hands, though she’s gripping it hard enough to rip it from the wall. The clock on the wall ticks too loudly. Her break is up and she feels no more focused than when she walked in here. If she had the choice, she would go home right now and curl up in a fetal position. But there is no choice, because she’s already made it simply by showing up: to continue training like she always has. Nationals and Worlds are in a few months. Every workout counts, even the bad ones.
She bottles up her emotions as best she can and leaves the restroom. She breathes in and out, walks to the bars. The chalk is silky against her callused fingertips. “Ready?” Mihai asks her. She isn’t. But there are no excuses to give.
* * *
The next day on the way home from practice, Aly pulls over and cries for ten minutes. She’s more frustrated with herself than Mihai is. If she were in the middle of an international competition right now and had to perform for her team’s sake, she could do it. But she can’t focus now that the pressure’s only on her. She doesn’t know why that is. She’s had personal drama and bad weeks at the gym before … not on this level, but still, she’s always been able to rely on her innate drive. Aly feels rudderless, tossed about and drifting in the wake of a storm.
She thinks of Jordyn, who’s planning to enter UCLA in a few months. She’s probably caught up in the excitement of planning her classes, shopping for her dorm, and preparing for a new life without a thought for Aly.
No, that’s unfair. Jordyn knows how important these next few months are to Aly. Jordyn hadn’t wanted to tell her. Jordyn would have pretended for her sake.
Up to a point, anyway.
Shit. Goddamn motherfucking hell in a shitsack.
Aly doesn’t swear much or especially well. And after a few minutes she has to admit that sitting in a car cursing at herself isn’t making her feel better. Instead she takes out her phone and taps an entry at the top of her contact list.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Alicia.”
“Aly! How ya been, woman?”
“Good. I’m good,” Aly lies. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Oh, you know. Kicking ass, taking names, the yoozh. How’s training going?”
Her throat constricts. “Sucktastic.”
“Aw, sorry to hear that. Bars?”
“Bars.”
“Feh. You’ll get it. You’re awesome.”
“Not feeling so awesome these days.”
“No?”
“No, I … ” Aly is silent. She can almost hear Alicia prick up her ears on the other end of the line.
“Aly?”
“Jordyn and I broke up,” Aly blurts. “We didn’t even tell anyone we were together. I mean, I wanted to tell people, but she didn’t know if she wanted to come out or what she was doing with her life, and then we broke up. I haven’t been able to think about anything else for the last month or whatever and I just, everything is going wrong in the gym, and even if I pull it together for Nationals and Worlds it won’t be the same without her there. I want to talk to her because she’s the person I always talk to, but I can’t. I don’t know who else to talk to because no one else knows about us. About it. Not my parents or Mihai or the team. No one except you, now. Leesh, I don’t know what to do.”
Alicia Sacramone isn’t often at a loss for words. She comes through for Aly. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry to hear that. And I’m really honored that you trust me enough to tell me this, and I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone if you don’t want me to. OK? I know this is coming at the worst time for you, but you’re so strong. You’re an incredible gymnast and you’re one of the most focused, hard-working people I know. I have faith that you’ll get through this. And speaking from experience—working through a breakup right now sucks, but you have to find a way to get outside your head. It super sucks that your ex is also a lock for this year’s national team, but you just have to deal, right? Like, be polite at the meets, but no texting or Facebook stalking—”
Aly interrupts the pep talk. “Leesh, she might not be coming back.”
“Not coming … wait, what?”
“It would almost be easier if I did have to deal with seeing her in person at meets and camp. But I’m not even going to see her. She’s thinking about going to college and taking some time off.” Jordyn’s words float through her memory: I don’t regret spending my entire life in the gym. But during the tour, I started feeling like I wanted to try having a normal life. You know? Like, I want to actually experience college. Maybe even have a boyfriend. It sounds crazy, but I never had the time for that either … ”She wants to try boys. I feel like I’m being left behind or like I’m not good enough.”
“Oh, sweetie. I wish I weren’t out of town, I’d hug you so hard your head would pop off. You’re an amazing person, so don’t let yourself believe the crap your brain’s coughing up, OK? It sounds like Jordyn’s having a post-Olympic crisis. It’s understandable—I went through it and so did everyone on my team, although for different reasons. This isn’t about you in the end or your gender identity or all that stuff. It’s about her and who she wants to be. Maybe she’ll get herself together and things will work out, maybe not. You just can’t take it personally. Promise me you’ll try not to?”
” I …”
“Promise.”
Aly promises.
Alicia leaves her with one last word of advice. “Emotional processing is one thing, but it’s really easy to wallow after a breakup. You can’t afford to do that. Find things to distract you in your downtime. Or think of it like in competition, like she’s one more thing you have to put out of your mind so you can do your best. Keep your mind clear and train your ass off.”
After Aly hangs up, she rests her forehead against the steering wheel. Then she wipes her eyes resolutely and heads for home. She has to rest. She has a second practice later and two tomorrow.
* * *
At first she makes the mistake of thinking too much about not thinking about Jordyn. She analyzes her thought patterns and triggers, but soon gives up. Her room’s filled with souvenirs, trophies, and pictures fraught with memories. Creating a clean slate would mean removing almost all of it. She considers unfollowing Jordyn’s Twitter or Instagram but decides against it. The fans notice everything. The last thing she wants is a torrent of comments and questions. It’s not fair. Most people don’t have to process their first breakup with millions of people watching their every move. Even if no one knew about the relationship in the first place.
She develops a new routine for the evenings when she and Jordyn used to talk. She lies in bed with her computer on her stomach and watches competition and routine videos … both a form of distraction and an attempt to psych herself into training better. She doesn’t look for Jordyn, though it seems every other recommended video on YouTube is for her.
She spends a good chunk of time researching the Russians. They’re hungry for gold and they’ll have some new faces. They’ll be the team to beat at Worlds. She familiarizes herself with their names and strengths. YouTube has plenty of clips. Yet it’s not the new seniors gunning for national slots that draw her attention.
She clicks on one video because of a familiar face, one whose formidable confidence first struck her across an arena floor three years ago. She watches Mustafina float from low to high bar, land a fearless Amanar, soar above beam, and hold the crowd’s attention during FX. She watches herself standing next to Bross as Mustafina celebrates her commanding all-around win.
That footage is shadowed by foreknowledge. Aly can’t help but retrace the story: a two-and-a-half twist gone terribly wrong, surgery, a long road back. Incredible focus and determination despite pain and a changed body. A nearly-impossible recovery. A dark horse who surpassed all expectations. She remembers how Mustafina’s face would ease into a grin in London, more often than before her injury. That was a woman who had found it in herself to walk through fire and come out stronger. Not the same, but more herself. Aly draws strength from that. Maybe a broken heart can’t be equated to torn ligaments, but the way back from both requires mental strength and singular purpose.
If Aliya didn’t wallow, then she won’t either. No more letting her subconscious run her over. She’ll be damned if she turns into a headcase. Aly puts away her computer and prepares for her meditation exercises. As she breathes, a phrase drifts through her head, the remnants of a song or poem: Only half of what we know comes true in time.
The images bleed in around the edges of her vision like always, but she tells herself they will fade.
* * *
Weeks pass and she’s not completely over Jordyn. But she learns to cope, to get by. She regains her focus well enough for Nationals. As an Olympic team member, Aly automatically qualifies, yet she’s not guaranteed anything. So she goes out and hits her routines. She hopes it’s enough for Marta.
The selection camp that summer is nerve-wracking. The new seniors are fresh and hungry. Everyone knows that Worlds will be different in this post-Olympic year: there’s no team final, so Marta is looking for more specialists as well as strong all-arounders. Their mock competitions are fierce. Aly knows her Olympic experience and the difficulty of her current floor routine make her a contender, but she feels old compared to everyone else.
One night she’s hanging out in McKayla’s cabin. Kyla and Gabby are chilling with younger friends in another cabin. Having everyone here at the ranch except Jordyn is strange, so strange that they haven’t really talked about it. Aly knows Jordyn told them all separately that she was taking a break from gymnastics, but her absence is … well, it’s kind of like somebody died and nobody knows what to say. Like everyone’s in denial and no one can move on. Here in the pressure cooker of camp, Aly misses Jo’s steadiness and jokes. Sometimes she wants to hate her. She can’t really. She wonders what Mustafina would do in her place. Probably stare her ex into submission.
“Mac,” Aly says, “have you ever had a bad breakup? Like, really bad?”
“Um. I don’t know? Actually, yeah, when I was younger. This one boy.”
“What did you do to get over him?”
McKayla puts her phone down and stretches beside her on the bed. “Hmm. I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift. Then I got tired of moping around, so I dressed up and went out places looking spectacular. And then I dated a string of boys and broke their hearts with my awesomeness. Why? You’re still with Jo, right?”
Aly sits up abruptly and gapes at her friend. “How did you know that? We didn’t tell anyone!”
McKayla rolls her eyes. “Girl, please. Everybody knows.”
“Everybody?!”
“Most everybody,” McKayla amends. “Well, it’s more rumor than anything else, but everyone knows you guys are super close, so it was a pretty easy jump from there. And thank you for confirming it! Totally just made ten bucks.”
“What?!?”
“Kidding! Kidding. No, I’m really happy for you, I always thought … ” She trails off when she sees the look on Aly’s face. “No. Oh no. Did—”
“Yeah. Yeah. A couple months ago.”
“Oh, baby.”
Aly lifts a shoulder and lies back down. “I guess she wasn’t ready for the next step. Telling our parents and then being the first Olympic gymnasts to come out.”
“That sucks, Aly. That really, really sucks.”
“Yeah.”
McKayla’s elfin face is serious. “Is that why Jo isn’t coming back?”
“That’s part of it, probably. She needed to work through some stuff. I’m all right, I can even kind of see where she was coming from. I’m just, like, stuck in the past even though I’m moving forward. Because all of this is the same, except she’s not here. It’s weird, you know?”
“Yeah.” McKayla is quiet for a long moment.
“Mac? I don’t want you to feel like you have to choose sides, OK? Don’t stop being her friend just because we’re not together any more.”
McKayla presses her lips together and nods, then scoots over and curls a hand around Aly’s bicep. “Know what you need?”
Aly tries to lighten the mood. “A healthy ankle and a better preflight on my two-and-a-half?”
“No. Well, yes, but no. What you need, my friend, is a fling. And for that you’re gonna need a wingman.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Lucky for you I’m the best wingman you could ask for. After Worlds, I’m going to go out there and find you a super-hot chick who’ll love you aaaall night lo—”
Aly rolls over and claps a hand over her friend’s mouth. “Mac!! God!”
“Mmm mfff mmm.”
“Only if you promise never to say something like that again.”
“Well, that is what you need, right? No strings attached, someone you don’t have to see all the time. Someone completely different. No more jocks. One of those dancer-types, maybe a Romanian or a Russian.”
That face pops into Aly’s mind. Maybe not surprising, since she’s been using it as a talisman of sorts to ward off another. She flushes under her tan.
“Ooh! Wait, a Russian? Aly, is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Ummm … no, it doesn’t matter, she’s taken.”
McKayla sits up and smacks her thigh. “Alexandra Rose Raisman! You already like someone?! You have to at least tell me who it is!”
“OK, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s, um, it’s not a new thing … Rotterdam was when I … I mean, I don’t really like like her, but her eyes are, uh … ” She’s astonished to find she’s actually blushing.
“Oh my god,” says McKayla. “It’s Mustafina, isn’t it.”
Aly flings an arm over her eyes in defeat. “I don’t know why I bother trying to keep my feelings secret when everyone knows them anyway.”
McKayla gives her a smile worthy of the Cheshire cat. “Wait till Worlds,” she promises Aly. “If she’s taken, I’ll find you another one. Whoever it is, it’s gonna be awesome. I hope Mustafina’s interested, though, you’d be sooo cute together.”
Aly smiles but shakes her head. Yeah, so maybe she’s always had a bit of a crush on Mustafina. She was simply too oblivious to realize it when it started. And now? Mustafina has a girlfriend (and/or a boyfriend, if she believes everything she sees on the internet), so it’s the safest crush in the world. If Aly’s thinking about someone unobtainable, even casually, she’s not thinking about someone she thought would be hers forever.
“All right,” she says, humoring her friend. “Wingman.”
McKayla rubs her hands together. “Oh, this is going to be interesting.”