Page 1 of Salto

CHAPTER 1

Ialways bleed.

Palms, shins, elbows, face—name a body part, and I’ve seen it stained red.

Bleeding was inevitable when I'd spent the majority of my life throwing myself at inanimate objects, with gravity fighting my every move.

In any other universe, I’d be called insane.

But here, I was just a gymnast.

“Alright, go clean up your hands, Scar. You’re ruining my mats,” Coach Caldwell said, waving a dismissive hand in my direction.

“You saw that, though, right?” I asked, stepping off the mat beneath the uneven bars and heading for my grip bag where my emergency gauze and tape were waiting.

I’d just finished my last routine, and my palms were officially shredded.

Rips—or torn bloody calluses, as normal people called them—peppered my palms.

Blood was trailing down my wrists.

I probably should've stopped ten minutes ago.

But then I wouldn’t have stuck that double pike perfectly.

I fought a smile, the satisfying rush still pounding in my veins. This feeling? It was downright addictive.

“Yes, I saw it,” he sighed. “Now just do it at the meet without all the theatrics, would ya?” He gestured to the dramatic display of crimson staining my palms.

“I will,” I said, my high not dampened in the slightest by Caldwell's unimpressed response. I’d probably respond the same way if I had to coach an adrenaline junkie day in and day out.

I wrapped my palms methodically, the sting barely registering as I continued thinking about my dismount. It had been a perfect double pike. I could almost picture the skill diagram from the Code of Points.

I wish I had filmed it. I don't think I'd missed a single angle.

“Head home. I’ll see you on Monday,” Caldwell said.

“I was actually hoping to⁠—”

“I said, go home, Scarlet. You know the rules. Rest the day before a meet. Your hands are going to need it after today.”

I nodded, biting my tongue.

Caldwell preferred we all take breaks before a meet, but there was just no way I was sitting at home tomorrow.

I had a key to the gym. I would just do some light conditioning, nothing intense.

I headed into the locker room and was immediately greeted by metal doors slamming and bags jostling.

“I think you can do the half twist on floor, Laney. Don’t psych yourself out,” Mia said as I walked by.

“Maybe Scar should just do it. I can just compete on vault instead this time.”

I tugged open my locker and shook my head. “You need to try this once, Laney.”

“Your scores are more consistent, though,” Laney pouted.

It should've been a compliment, but instead the word caught like a splinter beneath my skin.