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  Gwen nods. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks. Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good about it.” She pops a cherry tomato from her salad into her mouth, studies me. “Coach was getting after you today.”

  I was really hoping no one had noticed. “I should have been pushing harder. He knows it. I know it.”

  “You’ve won two golds on beam at the World Championships. He should trust you to push when it counts.”

  “We can’t slack off. Not for a second. Besides, you got gold in the all-around at the World Championships, and you were rocking it during the last set.”

  She grins. “We really need to get T-shirts that read, ‘Mutual Admiration Society.’ ”

  “I’m glad we can compete and still be friends,” I tell her.

  “Hey, who else is going to understand the demands and stresses of this life?”

  That’s too true, and it’s part of the reason why I don’t tell anyone at school about my aspirations to make the Olympic team.

  “How are things at school?” Gwen asks, as though she read my mind. She’s always been homeschooled, so Jefferson High is a mystery to her.

  “My government class is giving me fits,” I admit. “I brought the study sheet—”

  “I don’t know why you don’t homeschool so you can have a more lenient study schedule.”

  “I don’t want my life to be only gymnastics.” Which I’ve already told her a zillion times.

  Her brow furrows, and she gives me a serious stare. “But we have such a narrow competitive window, Charlie. If we don’t make the Olympic team this time, that could be it for us. We’ll be at retirement age before the next Olympics roll around.”

  I want to laugh at the absurdity of retirement at sixteen or seventeen. Unfortunately, she’s not exaggerating by much. During the 2012 Olympics, the girls on the U.S. team ranged in age from fifteen to eighteen. That means that when the next Olympics roll around in four years, we might be too old. It sounds crazy, but it’s true.

  I don’t want to think about everything that is riding on the next few weeks, or all the sacrifices that our families and we have made to get here. I decide to return to an earlier subject. “I wish you hadn’t mentioned doughnuts. Now I can’t stop thinking about them.”

  Gwen laughs. “I’ll have my dad bring us some when they come to Detroit for trials.” Her parents never miss a competition.

  “When do you get to go home next?” I ask.

  Gwen gives me a hopeful smile. “If everything goes as planned, it’ll be a while.”

  Grinning, I give her a fist bump. “It’s going to be a while, then.”

  Because if everything goes as planned, we’ll be heading to the Olympics.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  Rain drives down and runs in mini rivers along the sides of the ranch’s dirt roads. The rivulets glisten in the light of the single streetlamp. I’m squatting outside the gym, under a tiny awning, my back pressed against the glass doors. This is the only place I can find at the entire ranch where my phone gets okay reception.

  I had five missed calls from Zoe and three texts that read Call Me!!!!! I couldn’t ignore that many exclamation points.

  “You are so hard to get ahold of!” she says when she answers her phone.

  “Sporadic reception at the ranch. So, what’s up?”

  “Michael Hartman.”

  She says it like he’s famous—a movie star or some celebrity—but I’m drawing a blank. “Who?”

  I hear her exasperated puff of air. “He’s on the wrestling team, and he’s a junior. Anyway, there was an event at the park today to raise money for the animal shelter. Bubbles and Barks. You could get your dog washed, and the money went to the shelter. People were standing around with little bottles of soap, blowing bubbles. There were food trucks. It was like a carnival. So I took Minnie.”

  Minnie, her Yorkie, is a precious little thing that always makes me smile.

  “I’m standing in line to get a snow cone, and I suddenly hear, ‘Cute dog.’ I turn around, and it’s Michael. Talking. To. Me!”

  “She is pretty cute.”

  “I know, right? Plus I had her decked out in her pink polka-dot bows. Michael says, ‘Bet she hates the bows, though.’ I assure him that she does not. Then he says, ‘My dog would kill me in my sleep if I did that to him.’ I look down. He has a bulldog on a leash sitting there. I say, ‘Of course he would. He’d want to wear a football jersey.’ And he laughed.”

  “The dog?”

  “No! Michael!”

  I’m smiling, imagining the exchange, wishing I’d been there. Zoe is so comfortable around people, even those she barely knows or just met. Sometimes I envy the ease with which she can move through social situations. I always worry that I’ll give too much away, that people will figure out who I am. A measure of fame comes with being an Olympian, and I’m not quite ready to embrace a total lack of privacy. Coach Rachel was seventeen and at the Olympic trials when someone posted a picture of her at a party, in the pool, topless. Some say it was the resulting publicity of her scandalous behavior that caused her to be so distracted that her routines were judged below par and she missed a chance to go to the Olympics. Not that I would ever go topless. Still, I’m not ready to have every aspect of my life scrutinized.

  “So then what happened?” I ask, anxious to get to the juicy tidbit that was worthy of five exclamation points.

  “That’s pretty much it. The snow cone guy interrupted us by asking for my order, so I gave it to him, and he fixed my snow cone way too fast.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe there was more.”

  “Michael did say ‘See you around’ as I was walking off. That could mean something.”

  “Do you like him?” I ask.

  “I think so. Yeah. I mean, we have study hall together. Not that he’s ever really noticed me. Today was the first time he’s ever talked to me.” She pauses, then asks, “You think it was the Minnie factor? That he was just taken with my dog?”

  I hear the disappointment in her voice, like the reality has hit her that maybe the guy was just making conversation to avoid boredom while waiting in line. “No. You have a class together. He knows who you are, and obviously he wanted to talk to you.”

  “I think I got excited for nothing. I do that, don’t I? Read too much into things. He was just being nice.”

  “Maybe tomorrow you could just say hi to him in class. See how it goes.”

  She groans. “I wish you’d been there. Then you could have judged the situation. Confirm whether I overreacted.”

  “If I’d been there, he might not have talked to you.”

  “There is that. So . . . any hot cowboys? I’m still waiting for my picture.”

  “It’s not a working ranch.” Another lie. There is way too much work going on at this ranch, just not the cowboy kind. Gwen and I spent time in an ice-filled tub after our last workout, in order to increase our blood flow and help our muscles recover from the strain we’d put on them during our grueling practice. Plus the cooldown helps trigger a deeper sleep. It’s not my favorite treatment, but the benefits are worth it. “No cowboys.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Well, listen. I should probably go. We’ll figure it all out when I get back.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out. You were right. It was nothing.”

  “I didn’t say it was nothing.”

  “It’s just that it would be so nice to have a boyfriend, especially one who could take me to prom. Don’t you want a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. But I do want a boyfriend. It would certainly fall into line with the normal life I want. “We’ll talk.”

  “Okay. See you Tuesday.”

  I say good-bye but linger for a moment after I hang up, analyzing the sudden ache in my chest, because Zoe was sharing her weekend with me and I wasn’t sharing mine with her. But she doesn’t need to know about my gymnastics. Not yet, anyway. At least not until the Olympics ar
e a sure thing. There will be no keeping gymnastics a secret anymore . . . if that happens.

  I tuck my phone under my arm and sprint toward my cabin, trying to dodge raindrops. But by the time I make it to the doorway of the room I’m sharing with Gwen, I’m drenched.

  Gwen is already in her bunk, lying on her back, eyes closed, headphones attached. She left one lamp on for me. I tiptoe across the room, set my phone on the floor next to my open suitcase, and grab a towel. I dry off and slip into a flannel tank and shorts. I’ve got to pack sometime tonight. Gwen’s suitcase stands upright at the door, waiting for her departure tomorrow.

  I sort through my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear on the plane. This weekend has been a blur. In the end I choose leggings and an oversize shirt and toss them onto my bunk.

  “Charlie?”

  Gwen’s voice takes me by surprise.

  I pivot on my heel. Her eyes are open. She slides off her headphones. “Do you think we’ll make it?”

  It’s the one thing on both our minds, so of course I know what she’s talking about. Besides, we haven’t trained together for countless hours for the last two years for me to be clueless about how her mind works. “I think so. We’ve got the best coaches, and we’re beating up our bodies every single day. It’s going to pay off. Nothing is stopping us. Tight mind, right?”

  Gwen’s head thumps the pillow. She shields her eyes with her arm. “I’m tightening my mind, but . . .”

  “You pulled off Kovacs after Kovacs today,” I say, crossing the room in order to kneel next to Gwen’s bed. “That’s amazing. You’re going to be one of the first ever to put that into a routine in competition.” I pull out one of the lines Mom always uses on me. “Let yourself enjoy it!”

  Her lips tighten, but she nods. “Okay.”

  The way she says it reminds me of the way she responds to Coach Chris when he’s speaking in his nerve-racking, quiet voice. Gwen’s “okay” means she’s taking what he says and planning to do it ten times better. That’s the way she is. A perfectionist to the core. It’s no wonder we get along so well.

  I take her hand and squeeze it briefly. We’re friends, we’re teammates, we’re competitors. We both want a spot on that Olympic team, when there are only so many spots to go around.

  It’s one of those moments. When someone is vulnerable with you, it kind of makes you want to be vulnerable with them. I want to assure Gwen that inside I’m just as nervous as she is, that I’m not as strong as I come across a lot of the time. But instead I blurt out, “I wish I had a boyfriend.” Okay, so Zoe isn’t the only one with guys on her mind.

  That gets Gwen’s attention. She rolls onto her elbow and stares at me hard, her eyes questioning. “What brought that on?”

  I can’t help but twist my lips into an ironic smile. “Zoe.” I’ve told her about Zoe, but I’ve never told Zoe about Gwen. Another thorn of guilt pricks me, because I consider them both my best friends, but I’m not completely honest with one of them. “She wanted to tell me about this guy who gave her some attention today, and I just . . . I’d just like a guy to give me some attention for a change. Don’t you ever think about having a boyfriend?”

  “I’m homeschooled. Where am I going to meet a guy?”

  “But if you met someone who was interested in you, wouldn’t you want to pursue the possibilities? Not just blow him off?”

  “I get that it would be amazing to have a boyfriend, but it’s not practical right now. We have to go steady with gymnastics, with practice and competitions, not a guy.”

  “Don’t you get tired of delaying everything?”

  “Sure I do. But think about it. Where are you going to find the time for a boyfriend?” she asks, and raises one finger. “You have two hours of conditioning before school.” Another finger. “School.” Another finger. “Five hours of training after school. And when you get home, you have to eat and study. And sometime you have to sleep. How are you going to work this guy in? Do you think he’s going to understand when you’re too tired to even text him?”

  “He might.” If he was the right boyfriend.

  “You’d have to tell him about your gymnastics life.”

  Then how would I know if he likes me for myself and not because I’m an almost-famous gymnast? I want him to fall for the Charlotte version, the one who wears thick-rimmed glasses and is far from being the most popular girl at school.

  “You won’t even tell Zoe you’re a gymnast,” she reminds me.

  “All this”—I flail my arms at the walls of the cabin, but I’m talking about the ranch and what it symbolizes in general—“I mean, would anyone at school get it? I mean, really get why I’m doing this? They’d just think I was weird. Or stuck up. Or something.”

  And the pressure would increase because they might take more of an interest in my success and my failures.

  “They’ll get it when you make the Olympic team,” Gwen says. “Then they’ll all be proud to know you.”

  “But then they’ll treat me differently. And they’ll ask me about gymnastics at school. And I’d have a lot of friends who aren’t real friends.” School is my safe place right now, my place to get away from the pressure, to be an average kid. I don’t know how it would affect my gymnastics if at least half my life weren’t normal.

  “A boyfriend isn’t practical, Charlie,” Gwen says kindly. “Not now. Not when so much is on the line. Not if you really want the dream.”

  “Of course I want the dream! Are you serious?” That’s why I’m keeping up this balancing act, because it’s helping me get there. I want the dream more than anything else.

  Gwen falls back onto the pillow, smiling. “Good to hear. For a minute there, I thought I’d lost you to being normal.”

  “I’m planning to be anything but normal at the gym, so you’d better watch your back!” I punch her playfully in the arm.

  “Oh, I have no doubt.” She’s laughing. “I believe in you, Charlie. You got this!” She ducks sideways, clutching her sides with laughter, to avoid my second play-punch.

  “You got this” is our inside joke. Back when Gwen was in level eight—the first level where a gymnast chooses her own routines—at her Georgia gym, I guess someone from the crowd yelled “You got this, Gwen!” right before she started a run on vault. She was competing with a Yurchenko—round-off with a back handspring onto the vault, with a full flip off the vault—but she over-rotated and landed flat on her back. It was one of those catastrophic moments that brought an edge of superstition to Gwen’s competitive career. After that the phrase “You got this!” became a serious taboo. When Gwen moved to Gold Star two years ago, we were all ordered not to say it.

  “We’re so close to making it,” I say, letting out a ragged breath of excitement. There are certain moments when I think about what we’re doing and how far we’ve come, when the Olympics seem not only reachable but right at my fingertips. There’s a bubble of excitement that grows in my chest, making me so light that I could float to the ceiling.

  “Close,” Gwen agrees, seizing my hand again and squeezing. “Just remember that you’ve got to follow your heart, and right now, as much as I wish the reality were different, it can’t go chasing after boys.”

  My heart. What my heart wants is easy. It wants an Olympic gold medal. It’s my brain that confuses things.

  In the end, is my wanting to be ordinary going to cost me my dreams?

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  “And what did Coach Chris say?” Mom leans forward, a piece of glazed chicken dangling from her fork. Dad picked me up at the airport. Now we’re sitting around the dinner table. I’ve just finished telling Mom about my new series on beam.

  “He didn’t say much,” I say. “You know Coach. But I could tell he was happy.”

  Dad grins at his plate. He’s not one to say much either. “That’s great, Charlie. I’m proud of you.”

  I can’t help but smile. “But that wasn’t the coolest thing that happened. There
was Gwen’s Kovacs! She has totally nailed it. I was so excited.”

  “What’s a Kovacs again?” Mom asks. She and Dad are pretty good about keeping up with my gymnastics skills, but they certainly don’t obsess about it. Since I’ve never even attempted a Kovacs, this is new territory for them.

  “It’s that release move I was telling you about. Here, let me pull up a video.” I pick up my phone—second nature.

  Dad clears his throat. “Dinner rule.”

  “Oh yeah.” I push my phone back under the edge of my plate. “I’ll show you after dinner. It’s so amazing!”

  “Eh.” My brother, Josh, shrugs me off, but his dimples are showing. “You know, flip around a bar a few times. No big deal.”

  I poke him in the arm, hard. “Whatever.”

  “Ow! Watch it! These biceps are an endangered species!”

  “I know, right? Fading away before our very eyes.”

  My phone buzzes before it starts ringing. I glance at the screen, cheating on our no-phones-at-the-table rule. But I’ve got to silence it, right? It’s Zoe.

  “No phones at the table means no phones at the table,” Josh says, deepening his voice to sound more like Dad. We’re only eleven months apart, and Josh is a year ahead of me in school. Thankfully. He gives me enough grief as it is. I can’t imagine what it would be like if we were in the same classes.

  “I didn’t answer it!” I cry. “You are such a pest.”

  Dad scoots back his chair. “Never a dull moment around here. I can tell you two missed each other. But as much fun as I’m having watching this display, I’ve got to get back to work.” Four years ago my dad got laid off from his job. It was the first time I encountered the fear of uncertainty, the possibility of losing my dreams. I didn’t handle it very well, worrying that with no money coming in, I’d have to give up gymnastics. But somehow Mom and Dad scraped the money together for my lessons. It was a huge relief two years later when Dad patented an improved spring used in car suspension, which led to a start-up business manufacturing and distributing his invention. He always says his next big innovation is going to be an improved spark plug. Knowing about the sacrifices that my parents made for me, I’m even more determined to stand on the podium at the next Olympics, to bring home the gold.