Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 29

We always had physical abilities testing the second we arrived at the National Team Training Center, which was literally in the middle of nowhere. I was one of the lucky few who got cell phone reception.

            I pushed through the rope climb, leg lifts, and sprint tests with really good scores. There were twenty-eight girls here this month, both seniors and juniors. A few of the other elite gymnasts had injuries that prevented them from attending, but other than that, everyone came. No excuses. We ranged in age from twelve all the way up to twenty-two.

            Right before the press handstand test, Bentley walked over to me and whispered, "We can sit this one out if you think it'll aggravate your shoulder."

            I knew it would aggravate my shoulder, but I wasn't about to bail out of it and look like a baby before camp even started. The first two press handstands hurt like hell, but then it was tolerable. It was also my lowest scoring test. As soon as I finished, Blair was right behind me, rubbing my shoulder.

            "That hurt me just to watch," she whispered.

            "How are your shins?" I whispered back to her.

            "Bad," she admitted. "It was just a dull ache, but when we were doing jumps in warm-ups, it turned into a sharp pain, right along the bone. Do you think it's a stress fracture?"

            Worry for my best friend overtook my own pain. We usually dropped our workout competiveness at training camps because any success from our gym improved all of our chances. It made Coach Bentley look more capable and more likely to produce multiple stars. Plus, we really were like sisters and needed the support in emotionally draining situations like these.

            "I don't know, but you should probably tell Bentley. He'll be pissed if you don't."

            She sighed, looking defeated. "I know."

            When Blair left to talk to Bentley, Ellen and Stevie joined me to stretch out. Ellen looked pale and was clutching her stomach. "I feel like I'm gonna barf."

            Ellen's brown curls were clinging to her face and she looked even younger than usual.

            "Try putting your head between your knees," Stevie suggested.

            "Maybe drink some water," I added.

            "Oh God," Ellen groaned. Then she leapt up from the floor and ran over to a garbage can by the side door and puked in it, just in time, her fingers gripping the sides, holding her up.

            Stevie and I both covered our eyes at the same time. "Poor thing," Stevie said.

            "She hasn't been able to keep anything down all week. Blair's shins are really bad. She went to tell Bentley."

            "Man," Stevie mumbled. "I'd hate to be Coach Bentley right now. His team is a mess."

            We watched as Bentley left Blair mid-sentence and ran over to Ellen, who was still heaving into the garbage can. Nearly everyone in the gym had their attention on Ellen as we wrapped up the strength testing. Bentley helped her over to the bleachers and another coach brought her a tissue to wipe her mouth and face. Then I saw Bentley rest a hand on her forehead before calling the team doctor over.

            Stevie and I finished our cool-down stretches quietly, listening in on the discussions around us. It was decided that Ellen, who was running a fever of a hundred and three, would be sent to bed with fluids and Tylenol. Then they spent several minutes deciding to put Ellen in her own room so she wouldn't infect any of the others.

            Blair was checked out by the team doctor next and restricted to only bars and beam—no tumbling, vault, or dismounts for the entire weekend. Needless to say, none of us were in good spirits by the time we headed to our rooms.

            But I was pleasantly surprised to have a text from Jordan waiting for me on my cell phone. This led to a long exchange over the next several hours between dinner, showering, bringing Ellen my fuzzy slippers, and a team meeting.

Jordan: Mrs. Garrett's teeth are soaking in a glass on the kitchen counter...can you pls break your ankle or something and come home early?

Me: Omg! Ew. I'll try to help you help out. Maybe I'll throw a triple back on floor tomorrow

Jordan: Thanks! How's camp so far? Do they really have llamas there?

Me: Yep. There's a llama and a few bulls and some chickens. I think it's gonna be a rough weekend. Ellen's sick. Blair might have a stress fracture...Stevie's under way too much pressure

Jordan: Stevie's a pro. Don't worry about her. She'll come through. Besides, I thought we were feeling sorry for me right now. Not you. What do you think Mrs. Garrett wears to bed? It's gonna be scary, isn't it?

Me: Right. I apologize for not focusing 100% on Jordan Bentley's problems

Jordan: Apology accepted

Me: Can I ask you something?

Jordan: Sure...

Me: You go to Catholic school, right? You have church or mass or religion class or whatever?

Jordan: All of the above

Me: This is a stupid question, so don't answer it if you don't want to...but what do you believe? As far as afterlife goes? I know it's stupid. You can ignore me.

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