“Avery, for you, this is personal, isn’t it?” Cynthia asks.
I knew this question was coming. It was part of our pitch to the network—a good sob story will catch people’s attention more than anything else we could say. Neither of us is ready to talk publicly about Dimitri yet, but there’s still plenty I can say.
“It is,” I confirm. “I suffered a knee injury during the Olympic Trials in 2012. Physically, I was able to bounce back after a few months, but I was depressed. I didn’t seek out help, but I should have. This organization would ensure that nobody feels alone. Gymnastics is a solo sport, but that doesn’t mean you’re on your own.”
Jasmine and I wrote five different versions of that line before we hit on the right one, and maybe the familiarity of it stirs something in her.
“Nobody has to be alone,” she adds. Under the desk, she grips my hand. “I’m grateful to be partnering with my friend Avery here.”
“That’s a great message. Now, Avery, you’re hopefully heading to the Olympics in Tokyo later this summer, isn’t that right?” Cynthia asks.
“I’m coaching a young gymnast named Hallie Conway, and I have to tell you, she is such a superstar,” I say. “I can’t wait for you to see her compete at the Olympic Trials.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Cynthia says. She turns away from us to face a different camera, and wraps up the segment. “This has been Jasmine Floyd and Avery Abrams, cofounders of the Elite Gymnastics Foundation. Back to you, Michael.”
The network cuts to a commercial break, and the producer shuffles us quickly offstage, unclipping our mics and sending us back to the greenroom.
“I’m shaking,” Jasmine whispers.
“You were great,” I reassure her.
“I lost it,” she says. “Her comment before we went on threw me off. You were amazing.”
“I don’t think we sounded so bad,” I admit.
“Next time, I’ll be better,” she insists.
“Next time?” I ask.
She beams. “Girl, this is just the beginning.”
In the greenroom, I dig my phone out of my purse. I’m caught off guard by a text from Ryan. After the breakup, our endless stream of texts came to a sudden halt; now we rarely text, and only about work.
I caught you on TV, he wrote. Very impressive. Just wanted to say congrats—what you and Jasmine are doing is so cool.
I had mentioned the segment to him, but I didn’t think he’d bother watching it. It’s one thing for him to pay lip service to our cause, but this shows he actually cares. I’m happy to hear from him. I slip my phone back into my purse without mentioning it to Jasmine.
* * *
I drive directly from NBC to the gym, where I change out of Jasmine’s dress into an old pair of Soffe shorts and a faded T-shirt with Summit’s logo splashed across the chest. I pull my hair back into a ponytail but don’t bother scrubbing the gloss off my lips.
“Whoa,” Hallie says when she sees me on the floor. “Why do you look so fancy?”
I hesitate to explain where I was earlier that morning. I haven’t told her anything at all about the Elite Gymnastics Foundation because it felt too embarrassingly personal. But now that she’s asking, I don’t have a choice.
“You probably haven’t heard about what I’m up to,” I confirm.
I doubt she watches cable news—and anyway, she’s been in the gym all day. But I also wouldn’t be surprised if this was lighting up her Twitter feed.
“Jasmine—Jasmine Floyd—and I went on NBC this morning to announce the launch of our new organization that helps out top gymnasts,” I explain. “You know how I connected you to Sara and got you into yoga? Think of that, plus connecting people to therapists and other experts who can help gymnasts stay healthy.”
She squeals a little. “Avery!”
“What?” I laugh nervously.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says.
It’s a funny thing for her to say—if anything, I’m proud of her. That’s how this relationship dynamic is supposed to go. But, hey, Jasmine and I created the foundation for the sole purpose of making life healthier and happier for girls like Hallie. If she’s on board with the idea, I’m elated.
Hallie sashays across the gym and finds Ryan filling up his water bottle.
“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan!” she calls.
He turns to look over his shoulder.
“Hallie, Hallie, Hallie, what’s up?” he mimics.
She leaps—and I mean literally executes a perfect, 180-degree split leap—in front of him. I wish I was her age and had that much energy on a Monday morning, or ever at all.
“Did you hear what Avery’s up to? It’s super cool! And very fancy. See how fancy she looks?” she says.
He laughs. “I heard. Pretty amazing, huh?”
“Guys, stop it,” I say bashfully. “Don’t we have work to do today? There are just—”
“Eighteen days left,” Hallie groans. “I know, I know.”
* * *
Maybe it’s because the Olympics are drawing closer, or maybe it’s because of Jasmine’s near celebrity status, but either way, the response to the NBC segment is thrilling. The story gets picked up by other outlets, including ESPN, Sports Illustrated, the Boston Globe, Cosmo, and BuzzFeed. Jasmine and I are invited on GymCastic, the gymternet’s most revered gymnastics-themed podcast, and a wave of current and former elite gymnasts urge their Instagram followers to donate to the foundation. Within three days, we raise nearly ten thousand dollars. It’s far more money than I could have hoped for.
We were disappointed that AGF never reached out to us directly, though when prodded by Cosmo, the organization apparently “declined to comment.” Predictably, the worst reaction came from Dimitri. He called Jasmine five times, and when she refused to pick up, he left a voicemail threatening that we better not say a word about him. She saved the voicemail—just in case we ever need it.
It’s nerve-wracking but exciting to have the foundation getting this much attention so early on. It feels like yet another good omen: now that I’ve encouraged Ryan to turn down Dimitri’s offer and work alongside Jasmine to make a real difference in this sport, I feel more capable and confident than I have in a long time. People say good things come in threes. And this summer, there’s only one goal left to tackle. It’s a big one. But I’m ready.
• CHAPTER 30 •
By Friday, of course, the countdown has dropped to just fifteen days. In two weeks’ time, Hallie will be about to compete at Trials; in six weeks, she could potentially be marching with the rest of the United States Olympic fleet at the opening ceremony in Tokyo. This afternoon, though, the only place Hallie is going is back and forth across the length of the beam. Ryan and I watch patiently as she drills her tumbling pass—a back handspring, whip back, back layout step-out—over and over. The goal is for her to smoothly connect each move into the next and finish the series with a satisfying thwack of a clean landing, no wobbles whatsoever.
As a rap song blares from the speaker, Hallie stands with her toes a millimeter from the edge of the beam and stretches her arms out in front of her, centering herself. Her chest rises and falls as she takes a deep breath. Then, in one sleek, catlike motion, she swings her arms behind her and lunges backward into the tumbling pass. The back handspring is solid, but she’s probably been doing that since she was nine years old. What’s trickier is the whip back, a fast-moving, arched flip in which her hands float a foot above the beam, and safely transitioning from that to a soaring back layout, which requires rotating high in the air with her body and legs extended to their fullest length. She lands with one heel just inches from the opposite end of the beam, and teeters ever so slightly to catch her balance. It’s not good enough, and she knows it.