Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 6

            When I woke up after my first night in Coach Bentley's home with a sore neck and aches in my lower back and stomach, I didn't think anything of it. I had slept on a closet floor after all. And I was a veteran when it came to sore muscles.

            Blurry-eyed, I glanced at my cell phone: 5:28. Too early for a check-in call to Grandma and too late to fall back asleep, not that I could with all these aches.

            After crawling out of the closet and hiding the blanket and pillow on the top shelf, sealing the door shut to keep it clean until tonight, I allowed myself thirty seconds to find a pink leotard and a pair of sweats before heading into the bathroom.

            Coach Bentley was already in the kitchen when I got downstairs. A large silver bowl filled with apples, oranges, and bananas now sat on the table. He pushed around what looked like scrambled eggs in a skillet with one hand. With his other hand, he opened the fridge, reached in and produced a paper bag, holding it out to me.

            "It's your lunch," he said. I took it out of his hand, setting it on the table. "You have that appointment at eleven thirty. The one your grandmother set up for you. We won't have time to come back for lunch."

            The shrink. I'd almost forgotten. It was part of the agreement to let me stay here. I had to see some woman who had a PhD in talking about dead parents.

            "Right, the appointment." I picked up an apple from the bowl and bit into it, just to kill the silence. There had been no apples in this house yesterday. Coach Bentley must have talked to Stacey and gotten up early to shop for groceries.

            He piled slightly runny eggs onto a plate and set it in front of me. I was so hungry from yesterday's lack of food I ate them all despite the gooeyness. I also finished my apple, moved on to a banana, then followed it all with a big glass of milk.

            Around six thirty, Jordan stumbled into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in all directions and nothing but boxer shorts on. I looked anywhere but at him. However, there was no avoiding noticing the fact that he was definitely not a couch potato.

I don't think Jordan even noticed me or Coach Bentley sitting at the table. He went right for the fridge, chugging milk straight from the carton. I eyed my nearly empty glass. Gross.

            Coach Bentley looked over the morning paper at his son. "Damn it, Jordan! Put on a shirt."

            And pants?

            Jordan glared at his dad but snatched a black hoodie from a hook by the back door and threw it on. Coach Bentley glared right back and turned to me. "Be ready in ten minutes?"

            I nodded, indicating I was ready to leave anytime, then I returned to watching YouTube videos on my phone. There was a release move on the uneven bars that I wanted to learn, even though Coach Bentley probably wouldn't let me try it. He was too obsessed with perfection to let me take a big risk. And honestly, I'd never been a risk-taker until recently. It was like an itch I couldn't scratch.

            Jordan nudged the gooey eggs around in the skillet, made a face, and reached in a high-up cabinet, removing a box of sugar-filled cereal. He plunged his hand right into the box and stuffed his mouth full of fruity pebbles.

            What would I have to do to disinfect this food? Spray it all with Lysol? At least I wouldn't be eating that cereal, but who knew what he'd get his hands in (literally) when I wasn't around to watch?

            I distracted myself from pointless germ thoughts and went back watching videos again.

            "No way," Jordan said with his mouth full.

            I jumped and glanced over my shoulder at him, now standing right behind me. "What?"

            "You can't do that." He pointed to the video on my phone.

            "I know that." I stuffed the phone in my gym bag and got up from the chair. "I like to watch videos of crazy moves when I'm bored."

            Jordan plopped right into my abandoned spot, his disheveled hair looking slightly more attractive than you'd think it would. He had dimples that popped up when his mouth wasn't too full, too. "A crazy move that my dad used to do."

            Now it was my turn to lift an eyebrow. "Yeah, I heard that, too, but I couldn't find a video of him performing it."

            Jordan tossed his feet up on the empty chair. "Because he tore his bicep doing that release right before the World Championships and never competed it."

            "That explains a lot." Maybe this wasn't the worst place to be living while training. It was kind of like a home court advantage.

            "Ready, Karen?" Coach Bentley called from the foyer.

            "I'll be in the shower in a few minutes," Jordan whispered loudly. "Just in case you need to know. Don't want you to accidently walk in on me. We should probably post a schedule or put an alarm on the bathroom door."

            I closed my eyes and turned around, feeling completely mortified.

            "Karen?"

            "Uh-huh," I said, not looking back at him.

            "Thanks for not saying anything. About yesterday..."

            Which part? Forgetting to give me a ride or the girl you were feeling up on the couch last night? I let out a breath. "No problem."

January 30

Coach Bentley,

Thanks for the scrambled eggs and for making my lunch this morning. I promise not to even so much as make a face during strength training today.

Thanks again, Karen

Jordan,

Can you please not drink out of the milk carton? I know it's your house but seriously, it's so gross. Also, you have really nice abs. What kind of core conditioning are you doing?

Your bathroommate, Karen