They lean forward hungrily. As much as Hallie has her eyes set on the Olympics, so do they—maybe even more so.
“I’d like to choreograph a new routine for Hallie, one that plays to her strengths,” I explain. “It sounds like she’s been performing the same routine for years, and it isn’t serving her well anymore. Once she learns the new routine, it’ll be a matter of finessing her performance: we’ll work on controlling that extra power she gets on her tumbling passes, sticking the landings, moving with more poise and better posture, and polishing her dance elements. Her skills are all there. But her execution could be more graceful and dynamic, and that’s where I can help.”
Todd sits back in his seat. Kim bites her lip. They look at each other.
“Hmm,” Kim says.
I can’t tell yet if they’re fully convinced.
“If you’re able to find another floor specialist who can work well with Hallie with just eight months to go until Trials, by all means, please do,” I say. “But more than anyone else out there right now, I get exactly what Hallie is going through and I know how to help her. So, please. Let me help your daughter.”
Todd rubs his jaw. Kim swallows. I feel the same way I did during competitions, back when I had finished a routine I felt unsure about and had to wait torturous minutes for the judges to reveal my score.
“Mom, Dad, I really need help,” Hallie adds. “Come on.”
Her parents exchange glances.
“You really want this?” Todd asks.
She throws her arms up, exasperated. “I don’t have time to waste. I’m going to go warm up.”
Hallie heads to the locker room to drop off her bag.
“Let’s give this a shot,” Ryan says. “Trust me.”
Kim sighs. “All right, but if the new routine doesn’t come together soon… we’ll have to have another conversation about what’s next.”
Todd gets up, closes the button on his suit jacket, then shakes hands with Ryan and me again.
“Let’s make this work,” he says.
I can’t tell if that’s a promise or a threat.
* * *
Kim and Todd leave, and Hallie and Ryan enter the gym. I tell them I’ll join in just a minute, and make it to the bathroom just in time. Locked in a stall, I slump against the cool white tile wall, clap a hand over my mouth to muffle my sobs, and break down silently. I’ve never felt such intense relief in my life. I felt aimless in LA and completely lost back in Greenwood; once I had my heart set on this job, nothing else remotely measured up. I can’t believe it’s mine. The tears come in hot and fast. My shoulders shake. There is still so much of my life to figure out—I can’t live in my childhood bedroom forever, and the loneliness I’m facing in the wake of my breakup is awfully isolating—but this is a start. This is good. I will be okay.
After wiping away my tears, I find Hallie warming up on floor, running through the same rote cardio exercises and stretches every gymnast has burned into their memory. Ryan flicks on the lights and the radio for her, then joins me to watch on the sidelines. I’m still buzzing with adrenaline.
“Nice speech in there,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re good under pressure.”
All gymnasts are.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Her parents aren’t really so bad,” he says. “Todd’s a little intense, but he just wants the best for her. They both do. Kim used to work in marketing, but now volunteers part-time at the library so she can mostly be around for Hallie.”
Ryan pulls a three-ring binder from the shelf under the stereo. “I have her training mapped out for the next eight months, but I want to get your take on it,” he says, taking a seat on the floor. “Sit. Let’s look at this together while she finishes up.”
We sit side by side. I try not to notice the way his white T-shirt stretches across his broad chest, though it’s not easy. He flips through the stuffed binder, showing me the Code of Points, which assigns a different level of difficulty to each skill and changes every three years; a practice schedule; a list of goals; Hallie’s emergency contacts and list of doctors. He finds the calendar section, outlined with what he and Hallie will be working on every month until Trials. It’s crammed with his spiky handwriting—notes to himself.
“When it comes to vault, she’s solid. She does an Amanar and a Mustafina,” he explains.
Those are two of the most difficult vaults in the world, both named after the first gymnast to perform each, as is the sport’s custom. The Amanar is a round-off, back handspring onto the board, with a two-and-a-half twisting back layout off, while the Mustafina is a round-off and half turn onto the board with a full-twisting front layout off.
“Her right ankle bothers her sometimes, so we’ve mostly been drilling them into the pit these days,” Ryan continues. “I don’t want to push her too hard on the landings. But the thing is, she gets a ton of power off the board, so she has a tough time sticking it. So one thing we’re focusing on is keeping her ankle strong, so we can get those landings in consistently good shape.”
“Got it. I’ll be careful about her ankle.”
“On bars, her routine is already excellent, but I’d like to upgrade it over the next few months,” he says. “Like, right now, she does a Tkatchev into a giant into a Pak Salto, but she could cut the giant.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken the language of gymnastics, and I’m relieved that it all comes flooding back: the Tkatchev involves flinging yourself up and over the high bar backward in a straddle position; a giant means swinging around the bar in a full circle with body outstretched; a Pak Salto is when you swing off the high bar, arch into an elegant back flip, and catch the low bar.
“Which means a higher difficulty value,” I say, mentally mapping out the combination in my head.
Because the Tkatchev and the Pak Salto are both release moves, Hallie would earn more points for connecting them back-to-back, rather than separating them with a giant, which is considered an easier (and less risky) move.
“Exactly. We’ll play around with it. And we’re working on some other cool stuff. Have you ever heard of a Seitz?”
“Maybe?” I cock my head. I’ve been out of this world for a long time.
His eyes sparkle. “It’s a transition move. Imagine a toe-on circle on the low bar with a full twist to catch the high bar.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow,” he says, exhaling. “That’s our girl. We just gotta get her the recognition she deserves.
“She’s not bad on beam. Her acrobatic skills are all there—a back handspring, back whip, back layout combo you could die for, a solid front aerial. But there are places she could tighten up, like that goddamn wolf turn.”
“She does that on beam, too?”
“The way the Code of Points is these days, you basically have to. She does hers as a double, but I’m hoping we can get it to a two and a half.”
“That’ll be tough.”
“Right.” He closes the binder and drums his fingers on the cover. “And then there’s floor. That’s in your hands now.”