Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 25

"Stretching is for wimps, Karen." With that he took off at a run, then jumped into his round-off, which was a little slow and sloppy, plus he didn't even do a back handspring first. Coach Bentley would never let me train a triple back from just a round-off. If I did that, I'd never be able to actually perform it on the floor. Not that I planned on adding triple backs to my floor choreography anytime soon.

            Despite the rusty lead-up skills, Jordan managed to fling himself pretty high in the air, and with stuntman-like air sense, he found his way around the double flip. I clapped loudly, then attempted to whistle with my fingers in my mouth, but quickly decided that wasn't a good idea, considering the fact that he was topless. At least he wore pants today instead of just boxers.

            He walked over to me after climbing out of the pit and fake-fell onto the carpet. "I'm so out of shape. No triples today."

            I jumped to my feet, the rush of adrenaline I had earlier returning. "I'll give it a shot for both of us."

            "Wait...have you done these before?" he asked.

            "Um, technically no."

            He grabbed my ankle, causing me to fall over. "Don't do it. You'll get hurt before the first meet and it'll be my fault."

            My skin warmed in the places he touched, causing goose bumps to spread everywhere. I got up again and laughed at him. "I'm not going to get hurt. I'm safe and boring, remember? You said so yourself the other day."

            "Well, you were safe and boring. Maybe you aren't anymore," he conceded. "I take it back. Karen Campbell is a wild-ass risk taker. She should be riding a Harley through downtown St. Louis."

            I hopped onto the end of the tumble track, grinning down at him. "Jordan Bentley is a great big ass-kisser with the cardiovascular endurance of a ninety-year-old man."

            He glared at me. "I had no idea you were such a vindictive person. Go ahead and hurt yourself then. Fine with me."

            My head was already wrapping itself around the idea of yet another new skill. This one was more fun and less practical, but why the hell not? Seriously. In a last attempt at safe training, I called over my shoulder to Jordan, "Yank me out if I end up doing the ostrich in the sand move."

            "I'll think about it."

            I took off and lunged into my round-off back handspring, before setting myself up high enough for the triple back. Halfway through the second flip, I got a little lost and was totally shocked to end up feet first in the foam pit. Jordan had jumped up, cheering loudly. "That was awesome! So awesome!"

            "Karen!" a loud voice boomed from across the gym. "What the hell are you doing?"

            I crawled out of the pit, landing on the mat beside Jordan. Coach Bentley and several of his staff were heading our way.

            "What's going on?" he snapped at Jordan, who had already reached for his shirt and was buttoning it up. "I asked you to take Karen home."

            Jordan scowled at him. "Try checking your cell phone once in a while, Dad. Glad I wasn't choking or in great need of a guardian to sign off on medical procedures."

            "His car broke down," I said.

            Coach Bentley turned to me, eyes narrowing. "You know the rules, Karen. Nobody trains skills without a coach in the gym. What were you thinking? And triple backs?"

            I shrunk back, not sure how to react. Bentley had never yelled at me before. Stacey was right behind him, arms crossed, glaring at me. "This is something I expect from the little girls."

            "This is something I expect from my irresponsible son," Bentley said, "but not from you."

            The six or eight other coaches stayed back, watching this exchange from a distance. Coach Bentley strode over to the pit bar and yanked down my chart, which had already been marked up quite a bit in the last two days. My heart pounded, not knowing what was coming.

            "We're taking layout Jaegers off the bar training program for now. I thought you were mature enough to understand how to weigh the risk versus reward, but I guess I was wrong."

            "Come on, Dad," Jordan argued. "She was just playing around."

            I shook my head at him, not wanting any help with this. It was already bad enough. "I'm sorry," I said with a sigh, then left them to go and grab my stuff from the locker room.

Dad,

I know you said a long time ago that teenage boys are not likely to have a clean thought in their head and I should stay far, far away from all of them, but what about Jordan? Sure, he's a little bit of a playboy, but he's not just that. Are all boys like him? Were you like him? So far, I've talked to Jordan more about stuff that actually matters than anyone else. What if he's done the same with me? What does that mean?

It doesn't matter. I know he's not bad. Not perfect either, but not bad.

Love, Karen      

Coach Bentley,

You're right. I did know better. I'm sorry. I'll do whatever I have to do to earn your trust back.

—Karen

P.S.  You didn't lose everything. You still have Jordan.