She dutifully nods, slips off her track pants, and stands to begin her warm-up. She runs through the same basic set of moves she’s completed daily since childhood—bending over her knees in a pike, rolling out her wrists, straddling her legs wide—but this time, every movement is packed with intention: pointed toes, straight spine, sucked-in core. She waves at a pair of little girls in the bleachers holding up a sign with her name printed on it in colorful marker.

An announcement cuts through the noise of the stadium: fifteen minutes until the competition begins, which means it’s time for Hallie to warm up on bars. She’s on the same rotation as Delia and Brit, and the three gymnasts take turns chalking up and practicing elements of their routines. There’s an unintentional hierarchy: Brit defers to Hallie because she’s the stronger athlete, and both girls defer to Delia, because she’s become something of a legend, a mother hen, a spokesperson for the horrors of the sport ever since the accusations broke. Today, Delia’s leotard is teal. I heard Jasmine discussing it during her TV segment; teal is the color of sexual assault awareness.

At the one-minute mark, Hallie signals to us that she’s all set.

“Last-minute pep talk,” Ryan says. “Huddle up.”

Ryan wraps a protective arm around Hallie’s shoulders and slides a nonchalant arm around my waist. Hallie’s breath is shallow. This isn’t her first rodeo; it’s clear that she knows as nervous as she is, she has to fake it till she makes it. Otherwise, she’ll psych herself out.

“I just want to tell you one more time how proud I am of you,” Ryan says, locking eyes with Hallie. “You’re strong, you’re tough, and you have trained so hard for this for so long.”

She blushes. “Thanks.”

“And don’t let the prospect of floor rattle you all day,” he says. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t?” she asks, surprised.

“The new choreography? Fantastic. The updated tumbling passes? Genius. I’ve known you a long time, and I’ve never seen you as poised or as elegant as you’ve been performing lately.”

Hallie exhales. Her shoulders visibly relax.

“Oh,” she says, almost laughing to herself. “Right.”

“Avery?” Ryan prompts.

I didn’t prepare anything to say. When I was competing, it’s not like Dimitri ever gave any sort of warm, touchy-feely pep talk like this one. A gruff request to stop whining and keep my chin up, maybe, but nothing like this. I swallow.

“You have no idea how good you have it,” I say. “How easy this will be. How prepared you are. You are a natural superstar, and you have Ryan, who’s amazing, and you have an incredibly supportive family cheering you on.”

The words come easily because they’re the truth.