The text shows a preview of the NBC story, with the headline “A Seventh Gymnast Accuses Dr. Ron Kaminsky of Sexual Abuse” and a photo of Skylar Hayashi taken at a competition. I feel disgusted as I click on the story and wait for it to load. I don’t know much about Skylar other than that she’s one of Dimitri’s gymnasts, she only competes on vault, and as far as I’ve seen, she can stick perfect landings in her sleep.

I sink down on the couch to read more. NBC reports that Skylar came forward on Twitter early this morning, writing, “I have some difficult news to share. Like many of my fellow athletes, I survived sexual abuse by Dr. Ron Kaminsky. For those of you who may be suffering in silence, I encourage you to seek the help you deserve. #MeToo.” NBC notes that Skylar accused Kaminsky of abuse following similar allegations from Delia Cruz, Maggie Farber, Kiki McCloud, Emily Jenkins, Bridget Sweeney, and Liora Cohen, and that Kaminsky’s criminal trial is set for this winter. The American Gymnastics Federation, the sport’s governing body, issued a statement this morning in support of its gymnasts’ bravery, but that doesn’t feel like enough to me. They must have known what was going on. Didn’t they?

Reluctantly, I head outside and drive to Summit. I know Hallie is going to be shaken up today, and I wish I had a way to shield her from all of this pain. What Skylar and Hallie and all the other girls are doing is already painful enough. They’ve already sacrificed enough of their childhood, their freedom, their health, and their families’ peace of mind in order to be where they are. It’s unbelievably unfair that grown men, monsters, can step in and make everything even worse.

When I spot Hallie glumly sprawled across a crash mat, I don’t have to ask if she’s seen the news. I can tell.

“Skylar,” she says heavily. “You saw?”

“I did,” I say.

“Out of everyone, I didn’t think it would be Skylar,” she says, shaking her head. “I mean, out of all of us, she’s, like, the normal one.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Hallie sighs. “She has school friends. She has a boyfriend. She’s really pretty and goes to Aruba with her family every winter, and she went to a Post Malone concert last month.”

“This can happen to anyone,” I say gently.

“Yeah, but you’d just think… ugh, god…” Hallie says, trailing off. “You’d hope that not everybody’s life would be ruined, you know?”

I nod, because what else is there to say?

Ryan approaches us gingerly, squatting down so he’s on Hallie’s eye level. He glances at me and gives a nervous half smile as a greeting.

“Hi. How are you doing?” he asks Hallie.