He probably didn’t invite her out; he probably just told her they were going, and that was that.

“He ordered beer after beer after beer,” she says. “I didn’t order anything; I was just twenty, not old enough to drink legally yet, and I was too afraid of being recognized to even try. He gave me sips of his beer when he thought the bartender wouldn’t notice. And then, right there at the bar, he kissed me. I didn’t know what to do—it’s not like I was going to say no to him.”

“Were you okay with that?” I ask.

“Not at first! I was terrified,” she says.

“But as time went on, it wasn’t so bad?” I ask.

“You have to remember, Avery, I didn’t have anything to compare it to,” she says sadly. “No other boyfriends. My mom had been single practically my entire life. It’s not like I had other friends my age with regular relationships, either. So… in time, it felt normal. That’s all I knew. Plus, he was established, respected, he had money… When he wanted to get married, it didn’t even cross my mind to say no. I thought this is just what people did.”

She pushes the box to the side and starts on another one.

“We were so sheltered,” I say.

“Mm-hmm,” Jasmine agrees. “It’s nice that Hallie has you, someone she can talk to, someone she can trust. We didn’t have anyone like that at the gym growing up.”

She absentmindedly fidgets with her necklace, surveying the spread of clothes still laid out on the bed.

“I guess,” I say. I still find it hard to take a compliment.

An idea comes to me, half-formed and fuzzy.

“We could do something,” I say, trying to pin down the exact thought. “I mean, we could help these girls. We’ve been through enough to know what they need.”

“You mean like a support group?” Jasmine asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, gymnasts know to take care of their bodies… but I don’t know if most of them take care of their minds, too. I didn’t. What if we help connect girls to mental health resources? That way, they can get the support they need, no matter what they’re dealing with.”

“That would be so cool!” Jasmine says.

“If anyone could do it, it would be us,” I point out. “I mean, mostly you—you still have a real name in gymnastics. You could get people to care.”

Jasmine leans onto the bed, too, and tilts her head.

“We could do that, couldn’t we?” she says, awestruck. “We could really help.”

“This could change girls’ lives,” I say.