“Let’s see what the judges have to say,” she says modestly.

The judges barely need to deliberate. They award her routine with a well-deserved 15.150.

Hallie squeals, smooshing a hand over her mouth to muffle her excitement.

“See? Nothing to worry about. You’re doing an amazing job,” Ryan tells her.

By the end of the first rotation, she reigns in second place. The only person who scored even a sliver higher than her for the first round was Dimitri’s gymnast Emma, with a 15.250 on beam. That doesn’t faze me. Emma is freakishly, supernaturally, horrifyingly talented. Hallie’s second-place showing is still fantastic. With a strong start like that, she could be a real contender for one of the four Olympic-bound spots.

Thanks to her excellent bars routine, Hallie’s sure-footed confidence carries over to vault. The event goes by in such a flash, I don’t even have time to get nervous. She sticks clean landings on both her first run, an Amanar, and her second, a Mustafina. After her final salute, she glides back to the bench serenely. The judges reveal her score as she settles down: 14.975.

Vault is the shortest event, which means there’s a bit of wait before the second rotation ends and we can see where Hallie will fall in the rankings. As she sucks down the contents of her water bottle, I watch the competition. Delia polishes off a glorious floor routine. Ayanna completes an impressive series of release moves on bars. On beam, Charlotte sways off balance when trying to land a front aerial and loses her footing. The crowd lets out a somber “Ooooh” when she falls to the ground. I cringe; I feel so terrible for her. She climbs back up on beam and finishes her routine with a disappointed grimace.

When the second rotation ends, Hallie has dropped into fourth place. That’s still a very good spot to be in—if the competition were over right this second, she’d make the Olympic team—but it also means there’s no more room for error or bad luck. If she doesn’t perform the hell out of her next two routines, or if anyone else happens to have a startlingly successful showing, it’s game over.

I’ve always known, of course, that making the Olympic team is a long shot. I knew there were no guarantees of Hallie’s success when I signed on to coach her. But somehow, I’ve never thought through exactly what to say or do to console her if it turns out that she doesn’t make the team, despite our best efforts. There’s no good way to comfort a person whose sole dream has just slipped away. I hope it doesn’t come to that.

Hallie heads off to warm up for beam.

“You okay, Avery?” Ryan asks, once she’s gone.

“Ha. Hanging in there,” I say.

“You look stressed,” he says.