Hallie holds up one leotard in front of her, then the other. The first is bright purple, with an ombré effect on the bodice, mesh cutouts on the sleeves, and a spray of rhinestones over the chest. It’s like the sporty version of a beauty pageant gown—what Miss America might wear for her talent portion. The second one is much simpler: entirely red and flecked with silver shimmer.

“You’d look great in both,” I say.

“But if you had to pick one,” she implores.

It truly doesn’t matter what she wears; the most important thing is that she feels confident. I don’t want to accidentally pick the one she’s leaning against and trigger her to second-guess her instincts.

“I really like both,” I insist.

She purses her lips. “You know why I like the red one?” she says shyly.

“It’s more comfortable?” I guess.

“This doesn’t look familiar?” she asks.

I try to remember if she’s worn it before, but I can’t recall.

“You wore one just like this,” she says, blushing a little. “I saw you on TV when I was little, and I was so starstruck.”

Suddenly, I know exactly what she’s talking about.

“Olympic Trials, 2012,” I say.

She nods. “I wanted to be just like you. I still do.”

“That was my very last competition, you know,” I say carefully.

“But this won’t be mine, because you’ve coached me so well,” she says. “I wouldn’t even be here at Trials without you.”

A hard lump forms in the back of my throat. For so many years now, I’ve felt like a failure: I failed to make the Olympics; I literally failed out of college; I floundered through a failing relationship. I squandered my fresh start in California, and I neglected to take care of myself the way I deserved. But none of that matters to Hallie. In her eyes, it seems as if I’m an inspiration. I’m a role model. And most important, I’m a coach who has helped to give her a fair shot at achieving her lifelong dream.

“Oh, Hallie,” I say, wrapping her in a hug. “Being your coach is truly the best thing I’ve ever done. I mean it. I don’t know what I would’ve done without this job.”

“Thank you for everything,” she says, squeezing me back.

I blink hard twice and shake my head to keep the tears at bay. Now is not the time. Hallie puts the purple leotard back in the closet, then takes the red one into the bathroom to change. When she opens the door again a minute later, she twirls in a circle to show off the look.