Tumbling by Caela Carter Page A

couldn’t he admit that?
    A dinging rang between them, bursting out of Grace’s gym bag.
Dylan again?
    Grace’s father’s eyes flicked to her bag and then back to her. He dared her to check her phone. She swallowed.
    Then he was gone.
    Where did he go?
    Grace grabbed a water bottle, glancing around, trying not to be obvious as she looked for where she should be and who she should be talking to. She wished again that Leigh was in her rotation and she could go plop down next to her. Grace hated feeling lost and shy, especially in the middle of a meet.
    She saw her dad then, his blond crew-cut head dashing between the podiums, rushing to the folding chairs beside the floor.
Oh yeah
, Grace thought. Monica stood in the corner of the floor, her head thrown up to the ceiling and her arms folded over her chest.
He has to watch Monica, too.
    Now would be the perfect time to check herphone. Now, when her dad couldn’t look at her. But there was a camera next to her. And that probably wasn’t Dylan again anyway.
    Grace wandered toward the floor podium. Fans liked when you cheered for your underdog teammate, she reasoned. It looked good. As focused as Grace was, it was impossible not to think of the people who might be watching her at home when all the cameras surrounded her like this. People like Dylan Patrick. And, maybe, people like her mom.
    Not that Grace knew anything about where her mother was or what she was doing. It had been eight full years since Grace had laid eyes on her mother; the woman had been gone ever since a few months after Max was born. She hadn’t heard a word from her since her twelfth birthday, when they had a brief phone call, but her mother refused to tell Grace where she was calling from. Then she had said she’d been reading about Grace online. She’d been following her career. Grace didn’t know if her mother followed gymnastics anymore. But if she won Olympic trials, if she was the favorite for gold, if she was on all the magazines and in commercials and maybe even on
The Tonight Show
, her mother would have to see her face again.
    Not that that’s why Grace wanted to win.
    â€œHey!” Leigh said, walking up beside her.
    Grace nodded at her friend.
    â€œDid you see?” Leigh blabbed, the words falling out of her mouth too quickly and carelessly as if she didn’trealize where they were. “I don’t know if you saw, but he messaged you
again
. It’s been after, like, every event. And you know what? I only asked him to wish you good luck the first time. He must be watching the meet!”
    Grace turned to Leigh’s bouncy smile. Didn’t Leigh realize she was losing? Didn’t she know a stupid new message didn’t matter? And what did that message say?
    â€œAre you gonna reply?”
    Leigh was crazy. Leigh was a boy-crazy lesbian.
    â€œNo,” Grace said, a little too loudly. What had Dylan written that made Leigh think Grace should respond?
    Just then, the piano notes rained softly down on the gym, and Monica began her routine. She was a talented dancer. Grace knew that from the ballet classes her father insisted all his gymnasts take to support their floor and beam routines.
    â€œHe’s right, too. Dylan is. You were great,” Leigh whispered. “I think that’s the best I’ve ever seen you do on beam.”
    Grace returned Leigh’s fake smile. There was no way Leigh’s smile and compliment were real. She was trying to get under Grace’s skin, but she should know by now that it wouldn’t work.
    They turned back to watch Monica dancing.
    Grace squinted at Monica’s bottom, looking for signs of loose-leo. She tried to think of another butt-glue joke to bring her real friend back, but she found herself captivated. They both were. Monica controlled the floor.Her movements were graceful and precise and perfect. Her arms and legs commanded attention, pulled the spectator onto the floor