The Flip Side Page 4

  “It’s not a boy, is it?” she asks.

  “I don’t have time for boys.”

  “That’s right. You don’t. They’re a complication you don’t need right now.”

  I guess she would know, but just because her experience was bad, that doesn’t mean they all are. It’s a moot point, though, since my distraction has nothing to do with the opposite sex. “It’s school. I’m struggling with government.”

  “You have to learn to compartmentalize,” she says. “When you walk through the gym door, school and personal issues have to stay on the other side.”

  “I know.” I hate being chastised, especially over something I completely understand.

  “Good. Now get up there. Let’s see some doubles. Or we can start with a flyaway if you need to back up a little.” I don’t like her tone of voice, like I’ve suddenly become a little kid who doesn’t know the drill. But I bite my tongue and hold back all the sarcastic things I’d like to say. She’s my coach. I respect her station.

  In the locker room after practice, Gwen joins me. She pulls out her scrunchie and finger-combs her tight black curls. “Seriously now, are you okay?”

  I sigh. Practice didn’t get any better once Coach Rachel took over. She acted snippy and imperial most of the time, and I let my poor performance get into my head. Athletes have to learn not to take a mistake personally, to brush it off. “I don’t know.” Frustrated, I set my deodorant down a little too hard, and it clangs against the metal in my locker. “I did poorly on an exam today and couldn’t shake off my disappointment in myself.”

  “You have to bring a clear mind to practice. You know that.” Gwen reaches over to tap my forehead. “Where’s your toughness, girl?”

  I shrug her away. “I’m trying.”

  She smiles. “You’re allowed to have a bad day once in a while. As long as it doesn’t become a habit.”

  It’s hard hearing Gwen repeating pretty much what Coach Rachel told me. “Yeah.” I grab my duffel bag. The walls of the locker room feel like they’re closing in on me. I need to get home. “I bet my mom’s waiting. . . . See you tomorrow.”

  As I’m heading for the door, my phone rings. It’s Zoe. I hesitate, because I’m still bogged down with my frustration about my lackluster practice. I don’t want her to hear it in my voice. On the other hand, maybe she’ll distract me from it. For sure she won’t ask me how practice was.

  “Hey,” I say. “How was study hall?”

  “Not bad.” Her voice is laced with satisfaction that I wish I could feel. “Michael and I talked about our dogs.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yeah, it was. So listen, I was wondering if you might want to catch a movie Saturday. There’s a new romantic comedy out, and it seems like it’s been forever since we’ve done anything together.”

  It has been. Saturday mornings I have training until noon, but I’ve always kept Saturday afternoons and evenings as a no-gymnastics-no-study zone. I try to do something just for me. “I’ll check with Mom, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Great. I’ll have my sister drive us over, pick us up after. We’re going to have so much fun.”

  The excitement in her voice is infectious. And an outing to the movies is just what I need to reset my mind. If I can just get through the week.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  Getting through the week wasn’t as difficult as I expected. Alto didn’t return our tests, so I didn’t have to deal with that reality yet. I regained my equilibrium and focus, which means my practices were no longer frustrating. Challenging, but not frustrating.

  Still, I am so ready for time away from it all. As Zoe and I purchase our tickets for the romantic comedy she wants to see, I start to feel a little underdressed. I’m wearing jeans, a red top, and comfortable sneakers, while she’s in a short white skirt, a lacy green top, and white sandals. Her hair is curled and perfect, and I’m pretty sure she’s wearing the barest hint of blush and eye shadow. I’ve never known her to wear anything other than mascara.

  We walk into the crowded lobby, and she suddenly stops like she can’t decide what to do next. We’re jostled as people wedge by us to get to the concessions stand or into the hallway that leads to the individual movie theaters.

  “Maybe we should head on to our seats,” I suggest.

  Rising up onto her toes, she glances around. “Yeah. Uh . . .” She drops her heels, looks at me. “Maybe we should get some buttered popcorn.”

  Popcorn I could do. Butter, no. I don’t need calories that really don’t do anything for me.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. She seems really preoccupied by everything happening around us.

  “Yep. I’m just excited about seeing this movie. Let’s get in line at the concessions stand.”

  We find the shortest line and take our place. She’s still looking around like she’s never been in a movie theater before.

  “Zoe, are you sure you’re all—”

  “Hey, sorry we’re late.”

  At the sound of the guy’s voice, Zoe spins around, her face lighting up like it’s been hit with a spotlight. “You made it!”

  “Yeah, but I had a heck of a time finding you. It’s so crowded.” The guy has blond hair that’s cropped short. Beside him is a grinning guy with dark brown eyes and a mop of curly brown hair.

  “Hey. I’m Bobby.” He extends a hand toward me.

  I look from him to the other guy, to Zoe, and back to him. “I’m confused.”

  “Hello, Confused. Nice to meet you.”

  Zoe laughs.

  “I told you he was funny,” the blond guy says.

  I’ve got a bad feeling about this. “Zoooeee,” I say in that low, frightening tone that Coach Chris uses when he’s not happy about something.

  “Sorry,” she says brightly, obviously totally missing the warning tone I’m emitting. “This is Michael.” She points to the blond guy.

  I figured that out.

  “And his friend Bobby. They’re going to sit with us.” She turns to the guys. “And this is my bestest friend, Charlotte.”

  Suddenly my ability to think shuts down. Fast.

  “We’ll get popcorn and drinks,” Michael says. “You wait here, avoid the mash of people.”

  They move up into our spots in the line, and Zoe grabs my arm to pull me back a little.

  “Is this a date?” I ask quietly when we’re out of their earshot.

  She looks a little guilty. “Not literally. I’m not allowed to date until I’m sixteen.”

  “But you knew he’d be here.”

  She nods. “We came up with the idea during study hall.”

  “And you set me up with his friend?”

  She shrugs. “My mom might think something was up if I came alone. And I couldn’t invite my sister on a double date. For one thing, she’s too old for Bobby. Plus she might tattle.”

  Her sister is a freshman at the local community college, and she and Zoe don’t have a lot in common.

  “You didn’t think you needed to tell me what you were planning?” I ask.

  She pouts. “I didn’t think you’d come if I did.”

  I probably wouldn’t have.

  “That’s Bobby Singh,” she says in an excited whisper, as though that explains everything.

  Still not getting it, I lift my shoulders and shake my head.

  She sighs. “He’s on the wrestling team with Michael. Bobby is one of the best, actually. Hasn’t lost a match yet.”

  I only stare at her.

  “Just go along with it, okay?” she pleads.

  “Only because I love you.”

  She grins brightly. “We’re going to have the best time.”

  I suppose I could do this for her. What is the worst that could happen? Bobby Singh could turn out to be a total jerk?

  Although, based on the warmth in his eyes and his smile when they return to us, each carrying a cardboard tray holding two bags of popcorn and two drinks, I thin
k that is probably unlikely. It’s at this moment that I realize I’ve never been anywhere with a guy other than my brother. I’m trying really hard not to feel self-conscious about this arrangement.

  “So which movie?” Michael asks.

  “The romantic comedy,” Zoe says.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Bobby says. “We bought tickets to the action flick.”

  “So? Tickets all cost the same,” Michael reminds him. “It’s not like the chick flick is going to sell out, so we’re not stealing seats.”

  Balancing his tray in one hand, he takes Zoe’s hand with the other and starts walking toward the ticket taker. Which leaves me to walk beside Bobby. The top of my head doesn’t quite reach his shoulder. He’s wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt. He has some serious muscles going on in his arms. I’m impressed, because I know the amount of work it took to get them there.

  “Man, I think he has it bad for your friend,” Bobby murmurs. “Chick flick.”

  “If you want to go to the action flick, go ahead. You don’t have to miss it because of me.”

  We hand over our tickets, and the ticket taker gives us our theater numbers.

  “Nah, that’s okay,” Bobby says when we’re heading down the hallway. He grins at me. He really has a nice smile. It creates a tiny dimple in his left cheek. “You didn’t know all this was happening, did you?”

  He’s figured it out. I shake my head. “No, sorry.”

  “No problem.”

  We don’t say anything else until we’re all seated. Zoe and I sit beside each other, and the guys bookend us.

  Bobby hands me a bag of popcorn and a drink. “Hope Coke is okay,” he says.

  “That’s fine.” I take a sip, and my mouth puckers at the sweetness of it. I can’t remember the last time I had a non-diet drink. I pluck out some popcorn, the butter coating my fingers. I pop it into my mouth. I may have moaned at the deliciousness of it, because Bobby asks if I’m okay.

  “I’m doing great.” I will not think about the calories. I can work them off tomorrow. Right now I’m just going to enjoy the sensual overload of too much butter and sugar.

  He leans toward me, and I go still.

  “I come to the movies for the popcorn,” he says quietly, like the movie has already started and he doesn’t want to bother anyone. “Guilty pleasure.”

  I look over at him.

  He grins again. “I’m on the wrestling team. We have weight classes, which means I have to maintain a certain weight for competition. So I have to log in everything I eat, keep track of calories, make sure everything I eat serves a purpose, provides energy, builds muscle, that kind of thing. But when I come to the movies, I cheat big-time. I figure as long as I limit my cheating, it’s okay.”

  I want to tell him that I totally get what he’s saying, that I have to watch my diet too, but then he’ll want to know why, and I can’t tell him I’m a gymnast. He’s in the school part of my life. “That has to be hard, watching what you eat.”

  “Total pain, but it’s worth it. I love wrestling.”

  I hear the passion in his voice, and I can so relate to that. “I’ve never been to a wrestling match.”

  “You should come to a meet next fall. I’ve got some moves.”

  I imagine he does. He’s lean but solid. I bet his opponents underestimate him, which gives him an advantage. He probably comes across as totally relaxed and nonthreatening. Like now. He seems completely comfortable with this blind date, but then, I get the impression that he was prepared for it. I wish I had been as well. I would have worn something a little nicer. Internally I shake my head. What am I thinking? I don’t need to impress him.

  He’s just being a good friend—like I am.

  The previews start up, and he settles back into his chair. Zoe touches my arm, and when I look at her, she gives me puppy-dog eyes that ask if all is forgiven.

  I’m still a little irritated with her for springing this on me. On the other hand, no matter what she calls it, it is a date. My first. And that’s exciting. I am actually sitting here at the movies with a guy who bought me popcorn slathered in butter and a sugar-rich drink—things I never buy myself.

  I give her a small smile and a nod. We’re still friends.

  Then I lean back to watch the movie. I’m trying really hard not to want more from this moment. Bobby and I are both here so that our friends can be together. We’re not here for each other. There’s nothing between us. There never will be.

  Because Gwen is right. I can’t get sidetracked by a boyfriend until after the Olympics.

  • • •

  After the movie ends, Bobby releases a deep sigh. “Guess that wasn’t so bad.”

  I smile at him. “You survived a chick flick.”

  He pats his chest. “I should get a badge.”

  “I’ll work on it.” The words are out before I’ve really thought about them. Am I flirting?

  He grins, and that dimple appears. “I’ll hold you to it.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that.

  The theater has cleared out, so we all get up and head into the hallway. Zoe and Michael come to a stop near the exit doors that lead to the parking lot.

  “That was fun,” she says.

  “It was. Can we give you both a ride home?” Michael asks.

  I hold my breath, wondering how I’m going to explain to my parents that a guy they don’t know brought me home.

  Zoe looks a little sad when she shakes her head. “My sister will be out there waiting for us.”

  “Okay. We’ll see you around.”

  I turn to Bobby. “Thanks for the popcorn.”

  “Sure.” He points a finger at me and winks. “Don’t forget the badge.”

  Then he and Michael walk off, back toward the theater lobby. I have a feeling they’re buying another set of tickets to the action flick.

  “What badge?” Zoe asks.

  I shrug. “It’s just a little joke.”

  “The two of you have an inside joke already? Do you like him?”

  “I don’t not like him.”

  “I think he likes you.”

  I don’t want to admit that I kind of wish he did. I head for the door. “He was just being a good friend to Michael.”

  She catches up to me. “But I saw the two of you talking.”

  “It would have been rude to ignore each other.” I shove open the door and step out, and immediately see Zoe’s sister sitting in a car at the curb.

  “You won’t say anything to my sister about Michael, right?”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thanks. You’re the best friend in the whole world.” She leans in, a mischievous glint in her green eyes. “And admit it—it was exciting having a date.”

  “It was exciting in the way that having a heart attack is exciting. I was totally unprepared.”

  “Okay. Next time I’ll give you some warning.”

  “There better not be a next time.”

  Her sister honks.

  Laughing, Zoe sings out as she races to the car, “We’ll see!”

  I rush over to join her, a part of me hoping that there will be a next time.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  “I can’t believe she did that!” Gwen exclaims with a laugh.

  “I know. It was totally crazy. But that’s Zoe.”

  I’m sitting with Gwen on a soft leather couch in the near dark in the Gundersens’ media room, sipping a kale shake, trying not to remember the soda I had the night before. The room has an awesome sound system, and we use it when we’re trying to select the music we want to use for our floor routines. Everyone in levels one through five has the same floor music and the same routine. It’s not until the optional levels, six through ten, that gymnasts get a chance to choose their own music. Gwen and I take choosing our music very seriously. But before we started listening to various possibilities, I told Gwen about the unexpected date night.

  �
�She seems like so much fun,” Gwen says. “I’d love to meet her sometime.”

  Doing something with my two best friends would be awesome, but—

  “It might get complicated trying to come up with an explanation for how I know a famous gymnast.”

  She snorts. “I’m not famous yet.”

  “But if she did an Internet search on your name . . .”

  “What if she does one on yours?” Gwen asks pointedly.

  “Searching for ‘Charlotte Ryland’ brings up pages for only Charlotte Ryland. ‘Charlie Ryland’ brings up results for Charlie and Charles. No Charlotte. So I don’t think people are going to connect thick-framed-glasses Charlotte with ponytail-wielding Charlie.”

  She laughs in disbelief. “You actually did a search?”

  “I started worrying about it.”

  Gwen releases a scoff that echoes with disapproval. “I don’t know why you’re not proud of your accomplishments.”

  We’ve discussed this ad nauseam. “I am proud of them. I just like having a safe place where I don’t have to deal with the pressures of pending fame every minute.”

  “Search engines will probably connect the two names when you’re standing on the podium at the next Olympics,” she says.

  “I know, but until then I have a little bit of anonymity.”

  She starts to chuckle.

  “What so funny?” I ask.

  “I’m imagining someone at the breakfast table, looking at your picture on a cereal box, grabbing a marker, drawing black glasses on your face, and announcing, ‘OMG! That’s Charlotte Ryland!’ ”

  Laughing, I slap playfully at her arm. If we do well at the Olympics, endorsements will definitely be in our future. “That is not going to happen. Plus, at school I wear my hair so that part of my face is covered.”