Page 3 of Salto

I immediately headed for the shower.

Most of the things in our apartment were on their last breath and in need of replacement. But the water pressure was surprisingly phenomenal, resembling more of a Jacuzzi jet than a normal shower. And the feel of it on my tired muscles was divine.

After thirty minutes, I finally forced myself out and dried off. Once I was cocooned in a plethora of towels, I jumped up onto the vanity to finally deal with my rips and reached above my head into the medicine cabinet for my first-aid bag.

Before I started tending to the torn skin, I ran my hand under running water, and it stung horribly.

I bit back a whimper.

Only after I could breathe normally again did I start clipping away the excess skin around my rips with fingernail clippers, gritting my teeth through every snip.

A few minutes later, I put the ointment on and covered everything with bandages.

Just as I finished, my phone pinged.

It was the little lullaby chime reminding me it was 9:00.

My bedtime.

I was a junior in college, and my bedtime was 9:00.

I sighed, hopped off the counter, and killed the bathroom light. Leaving my reflection behind, I wandered into my room and flicked on my Strawberry Shortcake lamp—the one Laney and Mia gave me for my birthday, back when they thought the short-redhead jokes were original. The room filled with a soft, sugary pink glow.

I grabbed my brush from the bedside table and started working through the wet tangles. The dark red ends spilled past my waist, insanely heavy and far too much to deal with after a long day at practice. I really needed to just cut it, but I had a sort of attachment to it. My mom liked it long, and she used to brush through it every night until I became a teenager and developed an “I’m too cool for that” complex. But now, it brought back a nostalgic feeling I sought out more and more lately.

Finally, when all the tangles were worked through, I grabbed the pill box from the edge of the bed, took my vitamins and birth control pill, and pulled the covers over my body. My head hit the pillow, and I reached to turn off the lamp before stopping halfway.

My gaze caught on the row of gymnastics medals hanging above the dresser. One of the medals in the little banner I'd created using thumbtacks and string had fallen out of place.

I got out of bed and went to straighten it out, fastening it again with the thumbtack so it was secure.

I couldn't help but hold the medal in my hands for a moment, tracing the stamp with my fingertips.

Elite Qualifier 2021

Bars 1st Place

I’d been fifteen. It felt so long ago, like a faraway dream.

There was a sort of nothingness, honestly, when I stared at the words.

It wasn’t hope. Or excitement. Or dread.

Just a quiet ache. The kind that came from wanting something you'd already convinced yourself wasn't possible.

I sighed, let the medal fall back into place, then climbed into bed and turned off my lamp. The light-pink glow disappeared, plunging my room into darkness. I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would come quickly enough to drown out the feeling still lingering inside me.

When I finally did fall asleep, I didn't dream of anything. It was just a normal, familiar darkness.

Predictable.

Like everything else always seemed to be.

CHAPTER 2

After every home meet, my family celebrated at STK Steakhouse in Westwood Village, just a few blocks from Pauley Pavilion.

The restaurant buzzed with an electric sort of energy, and the adrenaline still coursing through my veins made me feel untouchable.