There’s nothing worth getting distracted from Olympic glory, least of all a crush—that’s what Dimitri drilled into me years ago. But the truth is that however deeply I know Ryan and I can’t hook up or date or whatever we were veering toward, I still want to kiss him again. I can’t stop thinking about running my fingers through his hair and feeling his powerful hands pressing into the curve of my waist. I like him. I liked him back then, too, though I didn’t think I could do anything about it. Now, though? I’m not sure. I’m in a new home. It’s a fresh start. Anything could be possible.

Chapter 12

• CHAPTER 12 •

Monday’s practice slips by in a flash. Hallie, clad in a blinding neon orange leotard sprayed with sparkles, whips through warm-ups and conditioning with alarming grit, charges down the vault runway like a sprinter, attacks her tumbling with gusto, and moves with an impressive sense of focus on beam. Nationals—the annual competition that brings together the country’s top talent—is one of the most important events of the year, and it’s just two months away. The upcoming competition sharpens the pressure. When Hallie’s moving in top form, like she is today, practice never drags. It’s impossible to look away from her.

She and Ryan have spent the final hour of the day together on bars, drilling her new Tkatchev–Pak Salto combo. It’s coming together nicely; right now, she can pull it off just fine, though she has some work to put in before the combination looks effortless. That’s the gold standard in gymnastics: making the impossible look not just possible, but easy. I’ve been sitting and stretching on the sidelines, watching Ryan tracking Hallie’s movements as she arcs through the air. His arms are outstretched; he’s ready to catch her if she falls.

“It’s six,” he says finally, after what must be her thirtieth attempt at the move.

“What?” she says, spinning around to look at the clock. She gapes. “No! I was just getting into it.”

“Time to go,” he says. “You know your parents like you out of the gym in time for homework.”

“One more?” she pleads.

He laughs. “One more. Then you gotta get out of here.”

“Avery, would you film this one?” she asks.

She likes to have video clips to post on Instagram—though, of course, only the most jaw-dropping ones actually get posted.

“Sure,” I say, digging my phone out of the pocket of my fleece zip-up and getting ready to record. “Ready when you are.”