Page 80 of Game On
I’m not just doing this for her, though, or for the chance to compete again. I’m doing this for the kid who used to think he couldn’t play the game anymore. The game that cost his father everything. For the pre-teen who found solace in cheer when the weight of legacy became too much. For the high-school junior who gave it all up in pursuit of a new goal.
Retrieving my phone, I draft another message to Ella, then erase it. What am I trying to say? That I’m nervous? That I hope she trusts me not to fuck this up?
Instead, I type out a different kind of message.
Hudson:
just had an idea for the routine. let’s talk in the morning?
Ella:
call me before you get on the bus?
Hudson:
*saluting emoji*
Ella:
night, Hudson
Hudson:
goodnight
The world outside is barely lit as I quietly slide open the balcony door. Levi’s snoring fills the room behind me. I need to make this call without waking him, and Ella’s already up—her recent Instagram likes are timestamped just minutes ago.She seems to be an early riser, or maybe she just never went to bed.
I dial her number, phone pressed to my ear.
“Hey,” she answers, her voice sleepy and low.
“Hey. So, I’ve been thinking about the routine,” I start, leaning on the balcony railing. “What if we switch out the initial stunt to a handski? It’s dynamic, could score us a bit higher.”
There’s a pause, a stretch of silence where I can almost hear her frown. “I don’t think we should switch things up right now. We haven’t even nailed it as it is.”
