Kim and Todd leave, and Hallie and Ryan enter the gym. I tell them I’ll join in just a minute, and make it to the bathroom just in time. Locked in a stall, I slump against the cool white tile wall, clap a hand over my mouth to muffle my sobs, and break down silently. I’ve never felt such intense relief in my life. I felt aimless in LA and completely lost back in Greenwood; once I had my heart set on this job, nothing else remotely measured up. I can’t believe it’s mine. The tears come in hot and fast. My shoulders shake. There is still so much of my life to figure out—I can’t live in my childhood bedroom forever, and the loneliness I’m facing in the wake of my breakup is awfully isolating—but this is a start. This is good. I will be okay.

After wiping away my tears, I find Hallie warming up on floor, running through the same rote cardio exercises and stretches every gymnast has burned into their memory. Ryan flicks on the lights and the radio for her, then joins me to watch on the sidelines. I’m still buzzing with adrenaline.

“Nice speech in there,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re good under pressure.”

All gymnasts are.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Her parents aren’t really so bad,” he says. “Todd’s a little intense, but he just wants the best for her. They both do. Kim used to work in marketing, but now volunteers part-time at the library so she can mostly be around for Hallie.”

Ryan pulls a three-ring binder from the shelf under the stereo. “I have her training mapped out for the next eight months, but I want to get your take on it,” he says, taking a seat on the floor. “Sit. Let’s look at this together while she finishes up.”

We sit side by side. I try not to notice the way his white T-shirt stretches across his broad chest, though it’s not easy. He flips through the stuffed binder, showing me the Code of Points, which assigns a different level of difficulty to each skill and changes every three years; a practice schedule; a list of goals; Hallie’s emergency contacts and list of doctors. He finds the calendar section, outlined with what he and Hallie will be working on every month until Trials. It’s crammed with his spiky handwriting—notes to himself.

“When it comes to vault, she’s solid. She does an Amanar and a Mustafina,” he explains.

Those are two of the most difficult vaults in the world, both named after the first gymnast to perform each, as is the sport’s custom. The Amanar is a round-off, back handspring onto the board, with a two-and-a-half twisting back layout off, while the Mustafina is a round-off and half turn onto the board with a full-twisting front layout off.