Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 86

Cordes's face scrunched up and he stared at me. "Wait, you changed your routines?"

"No," I said firmly. "Nothing's definite. If I stick my old routines, then Bentley lets me work on new skills, that's all. Just like always."

'You should see how high her vault is," Ellen squealed. "It's like McKayla Maroney high."

God, not Ellen, too!

I could feel Jordan's eyes on the back of my head. He was seated at one of the training tables, still getting his arm examined. Stacey seemed to have stopped talking right then, too, and gave Cordes a smile and a wave.

"Did you hear about Ellen's meet in Australia?" I said, since we were obviously playing the talk-about-your-teammate game. "She won all-around and floor."

Cordes gave Ellen a high five and she beamed, flashing her smile full of braces. "Great job, E. So proud of you!" Then he turned back to me. "Karen, honey, you can be NCAA National all-around champion with a Yurchenko full or a one and a half. There's always been a chance we'd water down that double. You certainly don't need an Amanar."

Stevie shrugged. "Well, she's got one."

"Is this Nina Jones's influence?" he asked. "I can talk to her and let her know your plans for June and get her to back off at the camp coming up."

My heart raced, but there was no way around me answering this question with as much truth as I could muster. "I want to compete at Nationals," I said. "And if it goes well, then World trials."

It felt like a giant weight had lifted off me, finally speaking this goal aloud. But I hadn't even said it to Bentley, hadn't asked if I was welcome at his house for a few months longer.

Coach Cordes drew in a deep breath, his jaw tightening. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Well, this is unexpected. We talked about this last summer, Karen. Your parents and I sat in my office and—"

He stopped, abruptly realizing his casual mention of my parents, and his expression smoothed into a more calm one as if he was putting several pieces together. "I'll talk to Bentley. We'll figure everything out, okay?"

I honestly had no idea what that meant. Would he try to get Bentley to ship me to California in June, or would he figure out how to let me join the team late? And I couldn't believe that the decision was finally made, just like that. I'm going to compete at Nationals. I'm going to try for a spot on the World team.

We chatted for a few more minutes, and then my teammates and I went into the locker room to change. I waited until I was totally dressed to say anything to Stevie. "What were you doing? You know Bentley's not going to add all that stuff to my routines, and I don't want anyone having these huge expectations."

            "Well you should want that," Stevie said.

            Now I was getting really pissed at her. "That's for me to decide, not you!"

            "I'm getting out of here before you guys start throwing around Gatorade and ruin my new leotard," Ellen said, trying to lighten the mood before she rushed out of the locker room.

            Blair was at my side in seconds. "She's right, Stevie. You're just bitter because Karen was always Cordes's favorite. We all had to deal with it, but it's not her fault."

            Stevie shook her head. "If by favorite, you mean the gymnast he had the lowest expectations for, then you're right. That would be Karen."

            I stared at Stevie, shocked. "God, what is your problem?"

            "Every coach has a favorite," Blair said. "You know you're Bentley's favorite."

            This stalled my anger for a second. I'd never gotten the impression Stevie was the favorite with the head coach now. It just seemed like Bentley respected the fact that Stevie was an adult and aware of her limits. Not just an adult but a seasoned veteran in this sport. If she said she was tired, he'd assume she meant it, whereas with the rest of us, he'd assume it was his job to tell us when we should be tired. That hadn't really bothered me before, and I didn't realize it bothered Blair until now.

            "I was okay with how Cordes treated you before," Stevie said to me. "Because I figured he was right..."

            "Right about what?!" Blair and I said together.

            "Several years ago," Stevie said, "my mom and I were in his office for a meeting. She was complaining about my progress and why hadn't I won Nationals and why was Karen Campbell getting all the special treatment and why did he let you back in the gym after he kicked you out of practice when I'd have to miss an entire workout..."

            Blair's arms were folded over her chest, her foot tapping like she was in major defensive mode. I, on the other hand, had no clue where Stevie was going with this.

            "I sat right in his office while he told me and my mom that you weren't as talented as I was and he didn't see international elite competitions in your future," Stevie said. "I remember feeling relieved, and then I had this almost permanent smirk on my face when I was around you because I had a secret that you didn't have. But once I got out of my egotistical Ellen phase, I could see that he was wrong."

            "He might not be wrong," I said. "You've won world championships. I haven't gotten any senior international assignments and I might not. Ever. Yes, I'd like to, but getting a full ride to UCLA for gymnastics isn't exactly displaying a lack of talent."

            "Seriously," Blair chimed in.

            Stevie laughed derisively. "I'm so not spelling this out for you." She spun around and left before either of us could respond.

            I was numb with confusion when I finally exited the locker room. Jordan was waiting for me outside, a new, smaller splint on his left arm. He also had a baseball cap on, probably to cover up the stitches in his head.

            "You look pensive," he said, eyeing me carefully.

            "I think I feel pensive." I could see Bentley and Cordes talking in Bentley's office and I tried and failed to read lips for about thirty seconds.

            "Lunch?" Jordan prompted, nodding toward the front doors.

            "Right, lunch."

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