Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 85

"I love the dark blue and black with Karen's hair."

"Much better than the pink leos."

"The dark colors aren't quite as bold with Stevie's skin tones."

"The cut is a little high on the hips with Blair's long torso."

            Stacey had me and my teammates lined up in the training room after morning practice, modeling our new competition leotards that we'd be wearing in Chicago. This was Stacey's department one hundred percent, now that Bentley was head coach. He wanted nothing to do with "costume choice," as he called it. She had elected two helpers to walk behind her making notes—Mrs. Garrett, the old receptionist, and Ally, our athletic training coach. We all thought Stacey was taking this job a little too seriously. Any time one of us moved or spoke up without being told it was okay, she snapped her fingers to shut us up. Blair and I were about five seconds from collapsing into a fit of giggles.

            "Are we doing the nude colored brief and brassiere?" Mrs. Garrett asked. "I want to make sure I've got all their sizes in stock."

            Brassiere. Seriously? I glanced at Blair again and that was it for us, we both busted out laughing.

            "Girls!" Stacey continued her slow walk past Ellen. "Ellen can still wear anything, so we don't need to worry about her. And I'm still deciding between nude and black on the briefs and sports bras, probably nude."

            Mrs. Garrett scribbled on her clipboard, her old body hunched over as she walked. Stacey was in front of me again, tugging at the top of my leotard. This style had a lower neckline in the front, almost heart shaped. Whenever we'd had this style in the past, especially when I was really young, me being on the skinnier side always made it not fit right. If I put my arms together in the front and leaned forward, the leo would bunch and you could see right down it.

            "Look at that," Stacey said, still tugging at me. "You've finally got enough boobs to make this stay in place."

            I glanced down at my chest, feeling my face redden. Mrs. Garrett whipped out a tape measure and wrapped it around my chest, then she scribbled more on her clipboard.

            "Stacey, hon," Mrs. Garrett interrupted. "Can you show me styles you want for the undergarments? I've got the catalog over here."

            They moved to the table on the far side of the room just as Jordan poked his head in the training room. His hand covered his eyes. "Is it safe to enter? I heard this was the new dressing room."

            "I like the term multipurpose room better," Ally said.

            I walked over to Jordan while Stacey and Mrs. Garrett were still huddled in deep discussion over sports bras on the other side of the room. "What are you doing here, school skipper? The truancy officer might show up with a big van to haul you away."

            "I'm in charge of feeding you lunch today, Coach Bentley's orders. He was a little busy last night and didn't get to the grocery store," he said. "And he wants Ally to look at my elbow."

            I glanced over my shoulder at Stacey and back at Jordan. "I think my self-esteem has been lowered from this try-on session," I whispered. "I'm so ready to get out of here."

            "Let me see your arm, Jordan," Ally said. "ER doctors are so incompetent when it comes to dislocations."

            "Actually, Coach Bentley did it himself," Jordan said.

            Ally's eyebrows lifted. "Then you're fine, I'm sure. Of course, he'd get sued if it was anyone but his own kid."

            "I'm done with you girls!" Stacey yelled over her shoulder. "See you at three, and do not stuff those leos in your gym bags. There's a purpose for that hanger it came on."

            Ally was carefully removing the splint from Jordan's arm, examining it closely.

            "If you guys are done," Jordan said. "There's a big guy in the lobby waiting for you."

            The four of us looked at each other and then Blair's face brightened. "Oh! Coach Cordes is here, he's having lunch with my parents today. I guess I should have figured he'd stop by the gym."

            "He's in town?" My stomach wadded up into a ball of knots. "I didn't know that."

            Blair turned me around, giving me her I'm-trying-to-mentally-tell-you-something face. And then it dawned on me. He's having lunch with her parents...UCLA probably has a meet in Iowa or Illinois this weekend. He's recruiting.   

            "Oh my God," I mumbled.

            "I know," Blair said. "I can't jinx it, but seriously, you'll be two years ahead of me. Promise you won't get too attached to your roommate so we can be college roomies, please, please, please."

            I smiled at Blair, and before we could even enter the lobby, Coach Cordes walked right into the training room. He was a big guy and famous for his giant bear hugs. Ellen and Blair got the first hugs. Stevie was a little old for it, I guess, because she got a one-armed awkward hug. "I'm so glad to see you back in the gym, Stevie," he said.

I got lifted off my feet. Then, when he set me down and held on to my hands, sure enough, there was the dead parents face. We had talked on the phone right after it happened, and I hardly remembered what he'd said because I was trying so hard not to cry on the phone with my old/future coach.

            "Karen, honey, how are you?" He even leaned down and was practically eye-level with me.

            "Fine—I mean, okay, I guess." There were too many people in the room for my body to even process the idea of shedding a tear, and I'd done this so many times already that it wasn't nearly as hard as that day on the phone.

            Blair slung an arm around my shoulders. "She's great, actually, kicking some serious ass in the gym."

            A grin spread across his face. "That's what I like to hear, as your former and future coach. I thought you might have taken some time off."

            I hadn't taken any time off. I was back in the gym the day after my parents' funeral.

"Doesn't matter," Cordes said, after I didn't respond. "You still have plenty of time to get those old skills ready for UCLA. No one will be in top form when we start practices in June. Lydia, our beam coach, can't wait to get her hands on you. We've been struggling on that event this season."

June. Here it was again.

Stevie made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a snort, but I couldn't understand why she'd be laughing right now. "Karen's done a lot more than maintain her old skills. You should see her bar routine. She's got an Amanar and a layout Jaeger, a tucked full on beam . . ."

My face felt hotter than hell and I turned to Stevie, glaring at her and hoping she'd shut up. She'd made it sound like those skills were a sure thing, and Bentley hadn't confirmed I'd be competing any of them. Ever. I already gotten into UCLA based on my old skills. I didn't want to come there with all these extra expectations. What if Cordes started bragging to the other coaches about these new skills, and then I couldn't even do them anymore in a year and a half?

March 31

Stevie,

Sometimes you don't know when to shut up! Is this because you were homeschooled? I'm going to make you a progress chart and you're going to master the skill of minding your own gymnastics business!

Love, Karen

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