It didn’t actually occur to me that I’d need to figure out a way to spend the afternoon.

“I usually take my lunch in the office, help out around the gym, that kind of thing,” Ryan offers.

I’d be happy to help other coaches with whatever they need, but the prospect of eating lunch alone with Ryan makes me nervous. Aside from Hallie, I’m not sure what we’d talk about. I grew up exclusively around fellow female gymnasts, gossiping about cute boys we saw at competitions, trading compliments on new leotards and scrunchies, and quoting Stick It to each other (“It’s not called gym-nice-tics”). I’ve never had any platonic male friends; the only times I’ve ever hung out one-on-one with guys were dates. Freshly heartbroken or not, I still can’t ignore that Ryan—formerly a cute boy—grew up into a highly attractive man. It’s not smart for me to let this crush of mine fester. The last thing I need to do is let my feelings get in the way of this job or dump my broken heart on Ryan’s plate.

“I, uh, I think I’m going to head home. But I’ll be back later this afternoon, cool?”

Ryan fist-bumps me. “Cool, see ya.”

I head into the parking lot and sit in the driver’s seat, but don’t want to go home just yet. Now that I’m alone, I can’t help but dwell on Hallie’s tossed-off comment from this morning—the one about failing out of gymnastics and being stuck living at home forever. Out of curiosity, I look at Craigslist for houses or apartments with spare rooms nearby. I’ve never looked for a place to live outside of LA before, and the tiny selection of results makes me nervous. There aren’t that many people like me in Greenwood—the town is mostly filled with families raising kids in big, beautiful houses, not single people who need to rent out a spare bedroom. Rent here is more affordable than it was back in LA, but not by much. I’ll need to work for a few months to save up enough money to move out. It’s a daunting goal, but I know I can do it. I haven’t had much faith in myself these past few years, but I have faith in this: my ability to work hard.

It’s lunchtime. I could drive into the town center to pick up a sandwich or a salad. There’s a new Italian place that opened up since I’ve last lived here that looks delicious. But that’s money I don’t need to spend. Instead, I drive back to my parents’ house, thinking all the while about the day I’ll call somewhere else home.

Chapter 6

• CHAPTER 6 •