Return to Sender by Julie Cross Page A

my face?
    I catch my release from low bar to high bar perfectly and after changing my grip in preparation for my new release move, a layout Jaeger, I decide my method of enjoying the moment means going full-out and taking this release as high as I possibly can.
    Coach Bentley is positioned underneath me. This new skill still makes him nervous, though he hides it very well. I swing under the bar, my back and hips leading the way at first, my toes flying past my coach and heading toward the high arena ceilings. I release the bar, flipping high above it, giving me tons of time to see the bar and reach for it.
    I reach.
    And reach.
    My fingertips make contact with the high bar and then just as quickly, they’ve slipped off and my body is heading for the deep blue sea of mats beneath the uneven bars.

chapter two
Jordan
    “J esus Christ!”
    “I’m assuming that wasn’t her dismount?” Tony says, leaning over me to get a closer look at the laptop resting on the coffee table.
    We’ve been huddled in the same spot pretty much all day, watching the Pan-Am games online. It’s not the Olympics or anywhere near an Olympic year, which means NBC’s not covering it on TV.
    “No, that wasn’t her dismount and even if it was, the goal is to land on your feet.” I rub my forehead. The tension and shouting have made my already throbbing headache twenty times worse. And the headache is much more tolerable than the sore throat. Right now, it feels like I’ve swallowed a cactus.
    I wipe my palms on my sweatpants, my stomach twisting in knots watching Karen peel herself off the mat after landing flat on her stomach, her face hitting just as hard. That layout Jaeger release is totally kick-ass when she catches.
    “Dude, those judges are like watching her,” Tony says. “She’s not gonna get scored on her warm-up, right?”
    I shake my head, my eyes glued to Karen as she walks over to the chalk. My dad is standing there waiting for her. I expect to see him all serious, mumbling some words of correction that we can’t hear in this online streaming, but instead they’re both grinning and then Karen actually starts laughing, while chalking up.
    What the hell is going on?
    I snatch my phone off the coffee table and send Dad a text.
    ME: Wtf is going on?
    The camera shifts to the Canadians on floor and thirty seconds later, Dad replies.
    DAD: Just getting the kinks out. Stop worry. And stop texting before you get me in trouble!
    “I’m crazy, right?” I say to Tony. “Be honest.”
    He snatches the near-empty bag of chips placed between us and stuffs his mouth full of Cool Ranch Doritos. “Probably the fever. You should really get that checked out.”
    I stare at the bag of Doritos and imagine swallowing even one chip right now. It’d be like knives stabbing the back of my throat. He’s right. I’m in need of a trip to the doctor ASAP.
    “I’ll go as soon as this damn competition is over.” This is the closest I’ve come to seeing my girlfriend in three weeks. The ER will be there in a couple hours.
    Instead of watching the Canadians on floor, Tony and I rehash graduation and then he gives me explicit details on the wild party he threw two nights ago. I’d wanted to stop by, but I was already feeling like shit.
    Stevie and that chick from California, Alicia, both hit their bar routines, bringing in decent scores for Team USA. Then Karen’s standing in front of the low bar; her reddish-brown hair has been restyled from a ponytail to a bun in the twenty minutes she’s been waiting. My stomach is doing flip-flops.
    Seeing my dad off to the side, wringing his hands and completely focused on Karen, comes with mixed emotions on my end. Of course, I want him focused so she doesn’t get hurt, but at the same time, he and I have never gone on a trip somewhere like he and Karen have. Not that it’s just the two of them in Brazil together, she’s got her teammates, but she spends hours every day with him and I don’t remember