“Hallie, this is awful. I’m so sorry you had to find out like this,” I manage.

She stares glumly off into space for a long time.

“Maybe if I had said something… spoken up… this wouldn’t have happened to Delia?” she asks.

She looks to me hopefully, as if I have the answers. It’s too horrible to comprehend. But this time, I know what to say.

“No,” I insist. “This isn’t your fault. The only person who could’ve prevented this is him. This is not on you. Please remember that.”

I realize that if Dr. Kaminsky did this to Delia, and nearly did it to Hallie, he must have done it to other girls, too. It’s too awful to imagine how many others there are, how big this is.

Hallie is still flat on the mat, but now her chin digs into her hands and her lower lip curls inward, like she’s trying to prevent it from trembling. I don’t know what to do, but I know I have to try something. I stroke comforting circles on her upper back, and her eyes start to water.

“Hallie?” I ask tentatively.

“It’s just… I don’t…” she begins, hastily rubbing away her tears and sniffling. “This is not supposed to be happening right now.”

“I know.”

“I have to focus right now,” she insists.

“Well—” I start, intending to remind her that taking care of herself is far more important than muscling through practice, but she’s too incensed to let me speak.

“I hate him, I hate him, he makes me so mad, I hate him so much!” she says, voice curdling with anger.

She’s close to shouting now. Other gymnasts and coaches have turned to stare. I want to snap at them. It’s like a spotlight follows Hallie around the gym; she’s the only one here worth gawking at. But right now, she’s not performing. She just needs privacy.

“Why don’t we take a break from this and head outside for a bit?” I ask.

I can practically see the first thought that flashes through her head: No. I need to work. But then she heaves a sigh, wipes under each eye, and nods silently in agreement. She strides across the floor and the vault runway—the other gymnasts defer to her right of way, letting her cross before they resume tumbling and sprinting—and pushes open the gym’s side door. It opens out to the parking lot. There’s a set of metal stairs there that we can sit on. It’s cold outside, but she’s been working hard; I bet the chill feels good on her bare arms and legs.