Page 34 of Salto

There weren’t any windows at the gym at UCLA; it was a literal box. A nice box, but still a box.

Everything was super sleek and modern, with multiple sets of bars, beams, vaults, floors, and pits. Endless equipment stretched in every direction, and there was even a little café off to the right.

A cafe.

What in the world?

There was a table on the main floor where someone was checking people in.

There was already a large group of girls stretching on the main spring floor, chalk dust hanging faintly in the air, voices overlapping as everyone checked in and warmed up.

I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, taking it in for a second longer than I meant to.

Finally, when I was able to snap out of my awe, I hurried over to the table and told them my name. They gave me a number and told me to start warming up and that the camp would be starting soon.

I set my bag on a bench off to the side and took off my sweats.

I had just stepped onto the floor when I spotted Sloane with Tatum and Eva.

The three of them were stretching together.

I slowed, feeling my guard immediately go up at the sight of them.

Just a few days ago, we had all competed together.

Now I felt strangely separate from them.

“Scar,” Sloane said, recognizing me instantly. Her eyes widened. “You actually came.”

The surprise in her voice sent a small wave of irritation through me.

“I told you I might.”

Tatum gave me a small wave, but she didn’t seem too thrilled to see me either. “Hey, Scar.”

“Hey,” Eva chimed in. “Glad to see you could make it.” Eva’s smile seemed genuine, and she reached out to lightly touch my shoulder.

“Thanks. You too.”

Sloane's gaze lingered on me for a second longer. “Well,” she said, offering a smile that looked more like a grimace, “good luck today.”

“You too.”

I took that opportunity to move a few feet away from them and started into my stretches. I wasn’t going to let all the weird tension Sloane had created at that stupid party rattle me too much. I needed to focus.

I had been stretching for about ten minutes when someone finally stepped onto the floor to start the camp.

“Alright, everyone, bring it in!”

The voice cut through the quiet buzz of conversation, startling me a little.

I stood and turned toward the center of the floor to see a woman approaching us. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with short black hair pulled into a tight bun and a pair of glasses framing her face.

She held a clipboard in her hands.

“Let’s go, circle up!” she called again, gesturing for us to gather.

The group shifted quickly, girls moving in from all sides.