The Flip Side Page 12

  A mom and double-daughter combo are approaching us. I know they’re talking about us, because they have that look on their faces—the shining-eyed, excited look.

  “It’s Charlie Ryland and Gwen Edwards!” The mom is practically yelling. “Hi, girls!” She reaches a hand out to pump mine. “My girls go to your gym. We’ve seen your pictures and followed all your meets!”

  I glance around to see if anyone’s taking notice of us. A Jefferson girl near us makes eye contact with me and gives me an odd look, but then goes back to her froyo.

  The woman’s daughters are only slightly shorter than Gwen and me, but they’re probably only ten years old, max. Though, sometimes it’s hard to tell with gymnasts. We do, generally, tend to be on the shorter side. They flutter their fingers at us sheepishly.

  “Hey, girls. Great to meet you!” Gwen says, flashing her sunny smile. She pumps hands with the mom and then each of the girls. I, on the other hand, glance around the shop, trying to assess if anyone is paying attention to what’s going on over here or if we can be heard. But it doesn’t seem as though anyone is aware of us, which makes me feel a little silly and paranoid.

  “We’re such big fans,” says the mom. “Do you think they could get something signed by you? I’m not sure we’ll ever see you at the gym when you’re free.”

  “Sure!” Gwen cries. Of the two of us, she’s definitely the PR person at the moment, while I’m working to keep a low profile.

  “We don’t have pens or anything,” I finally contribute. “I’ll check with the cashier. Maybe she has one we can borrow.”

  “Don’t go to that trouble. I’ll see what I can find in my purse,” the mom says, beginning to rummage. “Thank you so much!”

  I nod, smiling, wishing I hadn’t let the presence of students from Jefferson unsettle me. As a result I haven’t been paying attention to these two young girls, who are obviously starstruck. I would have died at their age if I’d had a chance to speak with an elite gymnast.

  “What levels are you in?” I ask, positioning myself so that I’m giving them my full attention and not worrying about the Jefferson students any longer.

  The girls nudge each other. “You answer,” one says.

  “No, you!”

  “They just started at Gold Star,” the mom answers for them. “We were at a different gym before. Both did level four last season.”

  “Are you twins?” Gwen asks.

  “No, no,” the mom says. “Fifteen months apart. But they started gymnastics at the same time.”

  “How cool to do gymnastics with your sister,” I say. “That must be awesome. I wish I had a sister to do gymnastics with. But I only have a brother, and he just likes to play video games.”

  “Do you play with him?” one of the girls asks.

  “Nope. Can’t sit still for that long. I’d rather do cartwheels.”

  “Me too!” the other girl says. “I love cartwheels.”

  The mom holds up a pen. “I found one! Here . . . let’s use a napkin.”

  “What about my hand?” chirps one of the girls. “They could sign my hand!”

  “Oh, but that would rub off, honey,” the mom says, bustling away to find a napkin.

  “What is your favorite event?” one of the girls asks, barely daring to look at Gwen.

  “Mine is definitely bars,” Gwen says. “How about you, Charlie?”

  “Beam.”

  “My favorite is beam too!” says the girl. I give her a high five.

  “Mine is bars!” says the other girl.

  The mom returns. “Thank you so much!” she exclaims. “You two are such an inspiration to my daughters. I can’t tell you how much it means to us to run into you.”

  “It’s fun to meet younger gymnasts,” I say, trying to make up for my distraction earlier. “Did you have a good season in level four, girls?”

  They nod in unison.

  “What level are you doing next year?” I ask.

  “Level five,” says one girl, who looks like she might be the older one. “Tamara’s still working on her flyaway, though.”

  “I still need a spot,” says Tamara sheepishly, referring to the fact that she needs someone to be there to catch her if she falls, and to help her get back into the routine.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a spot,” I tell them. “We all need a little help sometimes. Flyaways are hard when you first try them.”

  The girls grin at us.

  “You’re both awesome,” I say, signing my name with a flourish. “Keep up the good work and never give up, okay?”

  The girls each give us a thumbs-up as they walk off with their mother. Watching them leave, I realize that the place has pretty much cleared out and all the Jefferson High students are gone.

  “Whew! So much for a relaxing bit of frozen yogurt after practice,” Gwen says. She takes a bite of yogurt, studies me. “So why are we really here?”

  Busted. She knows something’s up. “Let’s sit down.”

  We settle in at a small round iron table with two iron seats. Not the most comfortable. Gwen turns her unblinking eyes on me and licks her spoon. She’s waiting. Patiently. Now that the moment is here, I’m not quite sure how to explain.

  “You know more about me than anyone else,” I say. “I tell you everything. You’re my best friend. I need a favor a week from Saturday. I need you to drive me somewhere, and I don’t want my parents to know.”

  Her brow crinkles. “That sounds ominous. What’s going on?”

  “Bobby invited me to prom, and I want to go really badly, but Mom said no.”

  She shakes her head like what I’ve said makes no sense. “You want to go to prom a week before trials?”

  I sigh with frustration. “I don’t know why we always have to choose gymnastics over everything else. I think I can do both. Life as we know it is going to get crazier if we make the team. How can I handle the stress of the Olympics if something as simple as going to prom throws me off-kilter? Mom told me to embrace my crazy, and this is part of it. Not sacrificing everything, but doing as much as I can to enjoy this wild ride I’m on.”

  She studies me, and I see the concern in her eyes. “I get what you’re saying. I really do. It’s just one night, but what if something goes wrong? I know I’m a broken record, but I can’t stop thinking about what happened to Coach Rachel.”

  “Gwen, nothing bad is going to happen,” I hastily assure her. “You’d know that if you met Bobby. He’s really nice. And it’s my only chance to go to prom before I hopefully make the Olympics, which means I’ll be stepping onto the world stage and everyone will know who I am whether I like it or not. Plus I’ll get to see the results of all the hard work the student council did to create one romantic starry night in Paris.”

  “Paris?”

  “That’s our theme. Paris is such a romantic city, known for people falling in love. It was my idea.”

  She sets aside her cup of melting yogurt. “Coach Chris will have a fit if he discovers you’re not a hundred percent focused on trials.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to explain. I’m going to think about it whether or not I go, so I might as well go. Besides, he’s not going to find out.”

  “If he learns that I was an accessory—”

  “It’s not a crime,” I point out, holding back the need to laugh at her legal terminology. “But again, he’s not going to find out.”

  Leaning back, she crosses her arms over her chest and stares off into the distance. “Prom,” she grumbles.

  “I know you don’t approve.”

  Shaking her head, she shifts her attention to me. “To be honest, I’m a little jealous. I wish I were going to prom. When we walked in here tonight and there were all those guys . . . Did you see how buff some of them were?”

  I smile. “I saw a couple of them looking you over.”

  “You were too worried about them figuring out who you were to notice them looking at me.”

  “Not true. Trust me, a co
uple of them were interested.”

  She blushes with obvious pleasure. I’ve never seen Gwen blush.

  “So this escape to prom that you’re planning, how would it work?” she asks.

  “I’d tell my mom that I’m spending the night with you so that we can begin psyching each other up for trials. I’d go ahead and have my dress and everything at your house so I could change there. Then I’ll just tell Bobby that I have to meet him at prom. You drive me there. I’ll have him drive me to your house when it’s over.”

  “We’ll have to figure out a way for Mrs. Gundersen not to get suspicious. I’ll think of something.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “So . . . you’ll do it?”

  “I’ve got your back, Charlie.”

  I almost whoop with joy. I can’t believe that I’m going to be able to pull this off and go to prom. “Thanks, Gwennie. You’re the best friend ever.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  * * *

  When I arrive at Mr. Alto’s classroom for the student council meeting, I slide into the empty seat next to Bobby. My heart does a little somersault because he looks so glad to see me.

  “Did you get things with the family situation worked out?” he asks.

  “Almost. But I’ll need to meet you at prom.”

  “I thought we’d do dinner first.”

  “I can meet you at the restaurant.”

  “You don’t want me to pick you up?”

  He looks confused, a little suspicious.

  “It’s a long story, but I’ll be—”

  “I’m calling the meeting to order,” Kristine says harshly. “Secretary, call the roll.”

  I do. Then we approve the minutes. Each committee is called on to report. When we get to the food committee, I share the information from Tasty Bites. It gets a resounding approval—even from my committee members, who I figure are just glad they don’t have to discuss it anymore—and Mr. Alto is asked to present it to the administration for a final approval.

  Things don’t go quite as smoothly for the decorating committee.

  “We still have so much to do,” Tasha says. “We’re trying to build an Eiffel Tower, and we want people to stand beneath an Arc de Triomphe for their prom photos. We just don’t know if we’ll have everything ready in time.”

  “All right,” Kristine says. “We have to jump on this. The athletes”—she gives Bobby a knowing smile—“have practice, so they are excused, but everyone else will need to meet every day after school and three hours this Saturday to get the decorations done. Then, of course, we’ll all be expected to meet the Saturday morning of prom to get the decorations put up.”

  I can’t do any of that. I start to raise my hand, but stop. I’m not going to argue with her about it. I’ll just tell Mr. Alto.

  Kristine goes on about some other things. Finally she adjourns the meeting. I close my notebook and start to get up to talk with Mr. Alto, when Bobby’s hand comes to rest on my arm.

  “You were saying?” he asks.

  And I remember what we were talking about when Kristine called the meeting to order. Everything suddenly seems so complicated, and I have so much that I need to do. I take a deep breath, calm my racing heart. I can handle all this. It’s what I do.

  “I’m going to be staying with a friend,” I tell Bobby.

  “Would it be okay if I pick you up there?”

  I don’t want to ruin this night for him. I don’t want to be a selfish or demanding date. “Let me check. I’ll get back to you. Oh, and don’t say anything about our going to prom together to my brother.” With four hundred people in the building at prom, there’s a chance I won’t even cross paths with Josh, but if I do, I’ll deal with it then.

  “Charlotte, what are you not telling me?”

  So much, and I hate it, but I don’t want him to have doubts about our going, and I don’t want him to change his mind. I squeeze his hand. “Nothing. I really want to go with you.”

  “Okay. I have to scoot to class.”

  He walks out, and I approach Mr. Alto. He looks up from his phone and smiles. “Charlotte.”

  “Mr. Alto, I have other commitments that I’ve made for after school and on Saturday. I absolutely cannot blow them off, so I’m not going to be able to help the decorating committee. If that means that I need to resign from the student council—”

  “No.” He waves a hand. “I’m really impressed with the minutes you write up, and you’ve done an excellent job with the food committee. You weren’t expecting to have to help with the decorating. I’ll excuse you.”

  I grin. “Thank you.”

  When I get to my locker, Zoe is waiting for me.

  “Okay,” she says. “I promised I wasn’t going to bug you about this, but I’m dying to know what you told Bobby about prom.”

  I’ve actually been totally surprised that she’s gone this long without insisting that I tell her. I’ve waited because I needed to know if Gwen was on board. If she wasn’t, then I would have had to back out of what I told Bobby. I can’t help the broad smile stretching across my face. “I’m going.”

  “Yes! Michael and I will double with you. This is going to be the best night of our lives! We’re going to have so much fun!”

  I hope so. I hope it’s going to be as wonderful as we both think it will be, so wonderful that it makes what I’m doing worth the risk.

  “The thing is, Zoe,” I whisper, “my mom said no, and I don’t want Bobby to know, so we need to keep this on the down-low.”

  Her eyes widen. “Why did she say no?”

  I shake my head. “She just thinks it’s too much too soon. I’m too young. A bunch of reasons. But I’m going to go. I just need to make sure my family doesn’t find out. I’m working on that.”

  “Okay. Whatever I can do . . .”

  “Go shopping for a dress Sunday?”

  She smiles. “Absolutely. I still need to get mine.”

  “Which will be my excuse for going with you. Can your sister give us a ride?”

  “Probably. I’ll check.”

  She studies me a minute. “Charlotte. You’re, like, being a rebel. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  I didn’t know I had it in me either, but then, I’ve spent years doing whatever I’ve had to do to reach for my dreams. Maybe I’ve been a rebel all along and just didn’t know it.

  • • •

  Zoe and I walk across the shiny tiled floor of the mall, the tinkling elevator music filling our ears. I’d say we were walking shoulder to shoulder, except, since I’m a whole head shorter than Zoe, my shoulder hits somewhere above her elbow. As soon as we entered the mall, her sister told us to meet her at that entrance in two hours and took off. Apparently she has no interest in hanging with two high schoolers. That makes everything better for us, since we’re here on a mission.

  Zoe steers me into a store. “This is the place I wanted you to see. I totally think we’ll find something in here.”

  The shop assistant approaches us. Her name tag reads MINDY. “Can I help you find something?”

  “Prom dresses,” Zoe says, smiling brightly. “One for each of us because we’re both going to prom with the cutest guys.”

  Mindy smiles, her gaze going from Zoe to me. “First time?”

  “Yep,” Zoe replies. “For both of us.”

  “Okay,” Mindy says. “Do you have anything in mind?”

  “I want long!” Zoe cries. “Glamorous.”

  “Something short,” I say. “Long dresses make me look smaller than I already am.”

  “You know, that’s actually a myth,” Mindy says. “The right long length can make you look taller.”

  “Seriously?” I ask. I love the idea of long dresses—I just never thought I could pull them off.

  “Pick out something short that you like. I’ll find something for you in long. Then you can decide.”

  I emerge from the dressing room fifteen minutes later in a hot-pink dress with a swishy skirt tha
t ends around my midthigh.

  “This might be too short,” I say, tugging on it. “Plus, this pink is too—”

  “Bright? Obnoxious? Hideous?” Zoe finishes for me.

  I was thinking too Olympics. During the last Olympics the Americans all wore pink leos exactly this shade. “No, I like pink. It’s just . . . not looking like I thought it would.”

  I gaze into the mirror one more time. It is a nice dress, but I have nothing to fill out the bust. And it makes my shoulders look wider than they are.

  “All right,” Mindy says, holding up a long, lacy navy-blue dress. “Try this.”

  When I step out of the dressing room, I’m stunned. The lining of the dress is a stretchy material that hugs my body across my chest and just under my arms, and stops midthigh. Lace covers it, rising to the neck and creating sleeves that stop just below my elbows. The lace flows down my body, pooling on the floor, with a slit that ends just above my knee. I do look taller. I look—

  “Oh my gosh,” Zoe says. “Charlotte, it’s gorgeous.”

  “The key,” Mindy says, “is straight lines and solid colors. You’ll need to wear heels, of course.”

  “Of course,” I murmur in breathless disbelief.

  “What can you do for me?” Zoe asks.

  “Tall is easy,” Mindy says. “We need to find something that emphasizes your gorgeous red hair. I have a green that I think will work.”

  “I’ll look like Christmas.”

  Mindy gives her a slow smile. “Let’s see it on you first before you make a judgment.”

  It’s a deep-emerald-green, satiny halter gown that shimmers whenever Zoe moves—which she is doing a lot, swinging her hips, twirling around.

  “It’s stunning!” I exclaim.

  “You think so?” Zoe asks.

  “Absolutely.”

  “You should both wear your hair in some kind of chignon,” Mindy says, gathering my hair in her hands. “And get your makeup done.”

  “Charlie’s a whiz at makeup,” Zoe says. “She’s going to do mine.” Then she looks at me. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  We both change into our street clothes. I’m a little surprised by how regular I suddenly feel. The gown made me feel so elegant.