She beams and surges onward through a frenzied attempt at her leap series. She’ll get a small deduction for failing to hit the full 180-degree split, but it’s a marked improvement from the first time she tried that combination. When she slides down to set up her wolf turn, I cringe and grab Ryan’s hand. His palm glistens with sweat. Hallie’s brows knit together as she steels herself to spin. I can’t breathe as I watch her rotate cleanly. It’s the best wolf turn I’ve ever seen her do.

On her second tumbling pass, she flies high above the floor and sticks the landing. As she prances through her choreography, I whisper a prayer. Please keep this up. Please let this be okay. Hallie attacks her third and fourth tumbling passes with pure grit. She spirals through the air and digs in her heels when she lands. As the music hits its final note, she throws her head back into the dramatic pose we practiced so many times in the Summit mirror. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. There’s a second of silence, and then Hallie climbs to her feet, saluting the judges with all the energy she has left. The crowd claps as the judges continue to scribble down notes.

Ryan and I intercept her along the side of the floor for high fives and hugs, and we walk back to our spot together. Her breathing is ragged.

“Hallie, that was unbelievable,” I tell her excitedly. “The best I’ve ever seen you perform.”

“You were awesome,” Ryan confirms.

She pants and gives a half-hearted thumbs-up. “Don’t congratulate me until the score is ready,” she warns.

“Don’t worry about the score; that was phenomenal,” I insist.

I hope, of course, that the judges reward her for one of the best floor routines she’s probably ever done in her entire life. But I’m also nervous—they don’t award medals for personal improvement. Her score will be compared to the other gymnasts’.

The judges deliver their score: 13.475. It moves Hallie up to seventh place.

Hallie lets out a low moan. “That’s not good enough,” she wails.

“That’s a full point higher than you got at Worlds!” Ryan crows. “That’s a real improvement, Hal. You should be very proud of yourself.”

A full point! Selfishly, I glow with excitement.

“If this were Olympic Trials, seventh place wouldn’t be enough to make the Olympic Team,” Hallie says, sounding panicked.

Ryan kneels down in front of her and takes her hands. “But this isn’t Trials,” he points out. “You have months to go. So much can change between now and then.”

Hallie looks suspiciously around the arena. “Yeah, but everyone else will be training to improve, too.”