Three Weeks Two Days
Thursday
Viv
I ran as fast as I could down the street. It wasn’t amazingly fast seeing as I was wearing flip-flops, but I was late. Again.
And, I was most likely holding Layla up.
You see, Livvy has this thing for duo routines this year. We don’t perform them in competitions, of course, but for the bi-monthly GCA Performances.
GCA (Gymnastics & Cheerleading Academy) Performances started out as a progress check for parents to see how their child was doing. Lately, they’ve been turned into elaborate and formal shows out there for the public.
And the Starz just have to perform.
So Livvy got obsessed with duo floor routines, and for some real stupid reason, she paired me up with Layla. That’s almost--but not quite--as stupid as pairing me and Bethie.
Floor is my least favorite event. It’s not exciting and thrilling, and it takes way too long. Alongside Layla, my moves look simple and childish.
Livvy thinks that I should like floor best because I rock at tumbling passes. I have a really powerful round-off, and I always win the handspring-a-thon. But then Livvy say floor is the one event you can express yourself in. I totally agree. Fitting, then, that Livvy chooses flowing, soft, and melodic music for my routine. Seriously, if I had wanted more ballet music, I would have taken ballet. If I could choose my own music, it would be fast, energetic, and as impulsive as music gets, just like me.
Livvy says the main reason she paired me with Layla was because she was going for the “opposites” look. In my opinion —which is usually disregarded— Livvy should have paired me with blond Nicole, or even Bethie—which would have been a total disaster, so I’m not exactly complaining. And she should have put the two bests, Layla and Manda, together. Then I wouldn’t look so bad.
But even I have to admit; Layla and I were perfect opposites. Not only in appearance, but also personality and style.
Livvy had told me not to be late because she wanted Layla and me to go over our routine one last time before the performance tomorrow. Then, she wanted to go over competition routines. Unfortunately for her, Layla, and myself, I was running late thanks to my mom’s old car finally breaking down. It just had to be today.
I burst into the gym before shedding my street clothes in the locker room. I didn’t want Livvy yelling at me for not coming. Livvy sighed and gestured for me to head back to the locker room.
“Car broke down,” I yelled over my shoulder as I turned back. “It wasn’t my fault today.”
I heard Kay giggle, but other than that no one said anything.
I changed and warmed-up and stretched as quickly as I’ve ever done. As soon as I jumped up from the hard cheer floor, Livvy shepherded Layla and me onto the big, springy, blue, Olympic-sized floor. We took our places in opposite corners and the music began.
The piece was titled “Luna et Soleil.” Moon and Sun. I think I was the moon because of my black hair and the dark of night, but it was impossible to tell.
I messed up a few times, interrupting the fluency of the routine to scan my surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. It didn’t matter if the routine wasn’t perfect, anyway. This routine wouldn’t be scored. Nothing bad could come out of it.
At one point I noticed Livvy; she was watching Layla intently, clearly enjoying the sight. She didn’t look to me until a tumbling pass, which I flew through.
I could never shake the thought that I was a disappointment to Livvy. A disgrace to the team. And especially in a routine intertwined with Layla. Layla seemed to fly through the whole thing. I seemed to take off, land, take off, land. It was embarrassing, but I knew the team was used to it.
I was overjoyed when the last chord of the music died out and Livvy directed us to vault—my personal best and favorite due to the exciting thrill of running and taking off to soar through the air.
“That was good,” Livvy assured me as I made my way to the vaulting box. “Not your best, but not your worst, either. And I know you’ll kick butt on vault.”
what is kind of puzzling is that even though I’m one of the best at vault, Layla always beats me at competitions. So does Manda. Sure, I can maintain third, but someday I really want to win big time. Like that’s ever going to happen.
We warmed up with handspring timers, as usual. But today was a good day. Livvy was going to work with us individually today.
By the time we moved on to beam, I was in a pretty good mood. Considering how much I hate and suck at beam, that’s a first.
Everyone tells me that the only reason I stink so much on the beam is that I’m too impatient. I can’t help but agree.
Beam is definitely the most graceful of the four events, and if there’s something I lack, it’s the grace and poise needed to master the challenging event. I have balance, at least. But seriously, how is it possible to flip on a four-inch-wide beam that’s four feet off the ground.
Layla, Manda, and Bethie —the three that are best at beam— got to start out with back handspring step outs, while the rest of us were stuck warming up with stupid cartwheels.
I swore as I fell for the sixth time in a row. Livvy sighed, but didn’t say anything.
“Such language,” Kay teased.
“What are you taking in school?” Nicole added. “Swearing-as-a-second-language?”
“French, actually,” I shot back. “And BTW, fuck means seal in French.”
“It’s un phoque,“ Bethie corrected. “And you said ‘shit’, not ‘fuck’, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Whatevs,” I waved her off impatiently. “I’ve made my point.”
“Which was?” Bethie asked. “Viviana, you had no point.”
I sighed. “Why can’t you call me ‘Viv’ or ‘Vivi’ like the rest of the world?”
“Because I don’t like to,” Bethie insisted. “Viviana sounds better.”
“Girls, enough chit-chat,” Livvy cut in. She clapped twice. “Chop, chop.”
I reluctantly turned back to my task, now of back-walkovers.
Heading back to the locker room, I listened to Layla, Kay and Nicole criticizing my stupid bars routine.
“You have to keep your toes pointed,” Layla insisted.
“And try to glide, not swing,” Kay added.
“And you need to work on your landing,” Nicole put in.
“Lightly land—“ they all chorus.
“—and stick it,” I snapped, cutting them off. “I know.” I waved them off and quickened my stride.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Prologue
A novel by Allison B. and Stephanie W.
Amanda
I hate bars. At the start, everyone is equal. When you start bars, you already have a score. A place. A standing. As defending all around state champ, I had to wait until last. I knew what I had to beat, but so did the judges. Bars is after the first nervous apprehension, but too long before floor. Floor is my favorite, ‘cause anything is possible. The requirements are nothing when you have so much space. Every other routine is custom built to please the judges. Safe. No mistakes. Totally boring. Livvy used to make me a perfect crowd pleasing floor routine. She gave up. I refuse to compromise the openness with a planned routine. The perfect floor routine conveys who you are, what you can be, and what you are capable of. You can’t plan feelings, so how does a planned routine work? People would tell me, “Amanda darling, I know you’re good at floor, but you can’t just go make it up out in front of the judges! What if you forget a requirement?” I hate requirements. They limit you, not improve you. The girls who end up winning are forced to take time from their more impressive moves to meet the requirements. Yes, that meant me. But it especially meant Layla.
Layla should be standing here. Last and all around champ. But she’s not for two reasons. First, she got pneumonia two days before last years state competition. Second, she quit the team with no warnings just ten days ago. She had missed her first practice in three years, and she wouldn’t answer our calls, even though she was home. The next day, she turned in a form. The form. After seven years of nearly flawless routines, Layla Newman quit gymnastics.
It really shook the team up. Not only was she the leader and motivator, she was the best. Highest scoring in vault, bars, and beam --everything but floor. She beat me once. I had followed a routine. It never happened again.
Now, I was the best on the team. Highest on vault, beam, and floor, though my total score is consistently a whole point behind what Layla could have scored.
To me though, the most baffling thing is why. Why didn’t Layla tell us she was going to quit? More importantly, why did she quit? Was it because I won States last year when she missed the competition? Was all this my fault? Livvy had summed it up pretty nicely; “Girls have quit before, but not determined and successful champions.”
These things kept running through my head as the girl before me got her scores. Average of 9.375. “Not bad,” I thought, “She’ll beat me, but Layla woulda scored at least two tenths better.”
I walked to the bars, suddenly furious. I suck at bars; it was common knowledge. An image of Layla filled my mind. Her only perfect 10 at bars, though it was her best event, the judges always seemed to find something wrong with her routine; bars was still usually her highest score. We all knew the routine; we learned every routine that scored 10. Livvy would kill me later, but I decided it was time to try something that wasn’t planned. I grabbed the bar more confidently than ever, knowing that for the first time ever I was going to vent my feelings on bars.
“Amanda! What were you thinking?” asked Olivia, our coach. “You know bars is your worst event, you can’t just improvise!”
“I didn’t improvise,” I said softly, I modified.”
“Modified what?! That wasn’t your routine.”
“Later!” I shushed her, “The scores!”
“But you”-- Livvy fell silent as the judges announced my scores. Average of 9.283. That was my best in over a year, before I had to bend so my toes didn’t hit the bar. It’s hard being a ninth grade 5 foot 6 gymnast. My score wasn’t great, but Livvy couldn’t complain. She shut up. Combined with my 9.118 vault, I was in 8th. That was good, as my bars score usually brings me down to 11th. If this kept up, I would definitely go to Regionals. The winner of each event plus the all around champion got to go. If one girl won two events, the next best all around gymnast would go too.
Despite Layla’s absence, we were doing okay, but not our best. Usually, we just tried to get the best all around score we could, as Layla would usually win two events, and I would win floor, allowing one girl who hadn’t won an event to go to Regionals. Now, without Layla to win two events, probably only the event-winners would go on, unless the champ also wins an event. Anyway, I would probably win floor, so I will go, and Nicole was second at bars, so she would at least practice with the team. I wouldn’t be alone. Only Viv, Nicole, and I were in the top 25, and Viv would quickly drop because of her worst events, beam and floor.
Not that I really cared this year. No one seemed to. We were doing fine, but without Layla, there seemed to be no point. We probably wouldn’t win, but who cared? Just one more thing to prove the taunts of the other gymnasts. We would fail without Layla.” But what was the point of winning without Layla? She really was the one who had gotten us this far. She was the peacemaker and the one who nagged us if we skipped practice. She should be here helping to cheer the rest of us on. It was like the only reason we had to perform is to please Layla.
I once read in a book that the one problem with miracles was that they don’t last. Watching Bethie fall off a practice beam, I realized it was true.
It had all seemed like a miracle that we were going to the State competition, but it didn’t last. Layla had quit. Our miracle ended abruptly, like a mirror being shattered with one hard punch.
Amanda
I hate bars. At the start, everyone is equal. When you start bars, you already have a score. A place. A standing. As defending all around state champ, I had to wait until last. I knew what I had to beat, but so did the judges. Bars is after the first nervous apprehension, but too long before floor. Floor is my favorite, ‘cause anything is possible. The requirements are nothing when you have so much space. Every other routine is custom built to please the judges. Safe. No mistakes. Totally boring. Livvy used to make me a perfect crowd pleasing floor routine. She gave up. I refuse to compromise the openness with a planned routine. The perfect floor routine conveys who you are, what you can be, and what you are capable of. You can’t plan feelings, so how does a planned routine work? People would tell me, “Amanda darling, I know you’re good at floor, but you can’t just go make it up out in front of the judges! What if you forget a requirement?” I hate requirements. They limit you, not improve you. The girls who end up winning are forced to take time from their more impressive moves to meet the requirements. Yes, that meant me. But it especially meant Layla.
Layla should be standing here. Last and all around champ. But she’s not for two reasons. First, she got pneumonia two days before last years state competition. Second, she quit the team with no warnings just ten days ago. She had missed her first practice in three years, and she wouldn’t answer our calls, even though she was home. The next day, she turned in a form. The form. After seven years of nearly flawless routines, Layla Newman quit gymnastics.
It really shook the team up. Not only was she the leader and motivator, she was the best. Highest scoring in vault, bars, and beam --everything but floor. She beat me once. I had followed a routine. It never happened again.
Now, I was the best on the team. Highest on vault, beam, and floor, though my total score is consistently a whole point behind what Layla could have scored.
To me though, the most baffling thing is why. Why didn’t Layla tell us she was going to quit? More importantly, why did she quit? Was it because I won States last year when she missed the competition? Was all this my fault? Livvy had summed it up pretty nicely; “Girls have quit before, but not determined and successful champions.”
These things kept running through my head as the girl before me got her scores. Average of 9.375. “Not bad,” I thought, “She’ll beat me, but Layla woulda scored at least two tenths better.”
I walked to the bars, suddenly furious. I suck at bars; it was common knowledge. An image of Layla filled my mind. Her only perfect 10 at bars, though it was her best event, the judges always seemed to find something wrong with her routine; bars was still usually her highest score. We all knew the routine; we learned every routine that scored 10. Livvy would kill me later, but I decided it was time to try something that wasn’t planned. I grabbed the bar more confidently than ever, knowing that for the first time ever I was going to vent my feelings on bars.
“Amanda! What were you thinking?” asked Olivia, our coach. “You know bars is your worst event, you can’t just improvise!”
“I didn’t improvise,” I said softly, I modified.”
“Modified what?! That wasn’t your routine.”
“Later!” I shushed her, “The scores!”
“But you”-- Livvy fell silent as the judges announced my scores. Average of 9.283. That was my best in over a year, before I had to bend so my toes didn’t hit the bar. It’s hard being a ninth grade 5 foot 6 gymnast. My score wasn’t great, but Livvy couldn’t complain. She shut up. Combined with my 9.118 vault, I was in 8th. That was good, as my bars score usually brings me down to 11th. If this kept up, I would definitely go to Regionals. The winner of each event plus the all around champion got to go. If one girl won two events, the next best all around gymnast would go too.
Despite Layla’s absence, we were doing okay, but not our best. Usually, we just tried to get the best all around score we could, as Layla would usually win two events, and I would win floor, allowing one girl who hadn’t won an event to go to Regionals. Now, without Layla to win two events, probably only the event-winners would go on, unless the champ also wins an event. Anyway, I would probably win floor, so I will go, and Nicole was second at bars, so she would at least practice with the team. I wouldn’t be alone. Only Viv, Nicole, and I were in the top 25, and Viv would quickly drop because of her worst events, beam and floor.
Not that I really cared this year. No one seemed to. We were doing fine, but without Layla, there seemed to be no point. We probably wouldn’t win, but who cared? Just one more thing to prove the taunts of the other gymnasts. We would fail without Layla.” But what was the point of winning without Layla? She really was the one who had gotten us this far. She was the peacemaker and the one who nagged us if we skipped practice. She should be here helping to cheer the rest of us on. It was like the only reason we had to perform is to please Layla.
I once read in a book that the one problem with miracles was that they don’t last. Watching Bethie fall off a practice beam, I realized it was true.
It had all seemed like a miracle that we were going to the State competition, but it didn’t last. Layla had quit. Our miracle ended abruptly, like a mirror being shattered with one hard punch.
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