Page 3 of Burnout
“Who, me? The girl doing half-assed routines?” I ask in a sugary sweet voice, then drop the act. “Pass. I’d rather watch paint dry than listen to you talk about how awesome you are all night.”
I’m half kidding for the sake of this game of trading insults we like to play, but he does have a really high opinion of himself. And I definitely don’t want to spend my Friday night with him.
He huffs a short laugh. “I’m always going to tell it to you straight, Ollie. You’re better than this.” He waves a hand to the floor as if to indicate everything I’m doing out there. “Get out of your head.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat as he walks off to rejoin the guys. Tossing the wrap to the floor, I bend my right leg and stare at the red and slightly swollen skin around my knee. The vertical scar just below is still raised and ugly. I extend itback in front of me and stretch forward. It’s still a little weaker than my left leg, so it’s hard to tell if the pain I’m feeling is from that or if I’ve pushed it too hard.
The doctors thought I would be completely healed by now. I thought so too.
We’re a month into the new school year. Full practices began this week, but all summer I was in the gym, rehabbing my knee and keeping up with my skills as best I could with one leg.
After the disaster that was last season, I need to come back stronger than ever.
A few minutes after six, Coach calls practice for the day. I grab my bag and slip my bare feet into my slides. Before I can get out the door, my name is yelled from across the gym.
I pause, but don’t glance back, hoping I heard wrong.
“Avery,” she repeats, still yelling. “Can I see you before you leave?”
I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know it’s Coach Weaver. The dread filling my stomach tells me, as does the thick German accent. When I do make eye contact, I nod and backtrack across the gym to the beam corner.
She’s talking with a couple of freshman girls when I approach, so I hang back. The way these girls look at her, all awe-inspired with a heavy dose of fear, makes me smile. I remember feeling that exact way last year. To be honest, she still terrifies me, but she’s a great coach. I like her style. She says little, but it makes everything she does say feel that much more impactful.
“Hi, Coach,” I say when the others go.
“Avery.” Her voice lowers and she takes a step closer, gaze traveling down to my knee before returning to my face. “How is the knee holding up?”
“Good,” I say cheerily. Too cheerily. “It’s a little swollen, but the doctor said that was to be expected.”
“And how areyouholding up?”
The question surprises me enough that I don’t try to sugarcoat my answer. “I’m frustrated. I thought that I’d be back at one hundred percent by now, but my knee is still locking up on me.”
“When you’re tense, your body is tense.”
I nod, letting her words wash over me with the shame.
“One day at a time. Next week, I want you to work exclusively on floor.”
“Floor?” My brows pinch together.
“Yes. No beam, no vault. Nothing risky. You can practice your skills on the floor.”
It feels like ten steps backward, which, for the record, is not the direction I want to be going.
“But, Coach?—”
“That’s all. Enjoy your weekend. Ice that knee tonight.”
The walk back to my dorm does little to clear my head, but as soon as I push into the suite I share with my roommate, Quinn, I find myself smiling at the scene in front of me. She’s in a backbend, which wouldn’t be all that odd if she weren’t wearing a black leather miniskirt, white tank top and platform boots, and watching an old episode ofFriends.
“How can you watch TV that way?” I ask as I toss my bag into my room on the right side of the suite and then drop onto the couch in the shared living area.
She lifts one leg and then the other, kicking over to stand upright. “I’ve seen this one so many times I can recite it by heart.”
Quinn drops back onto the ground in the splits, facing me. “How was practice?”
“Not great.” At the reminder, I get up and pull an ice pack from the mini fridge, then sit back down and prop up my leg to ice my knee. “I froze on beam again.”
