Page 53 of Salto

Finally, she looked back up at me.

“Scarlet, honey... it's not the money. I just don't want you to get hurt. I was hoping that somehow you could make UCLA your dream.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and a lump formed in my throat.

“I know. Me too⁠—”

“But it’s not. The Olympics are your dream,” my dad finished for me.

I nodded slowly.

“Alright. Then we are here for you,” he said finally, in a tone that indicated the decision had been made. “And you will focus solely on gymnastics and maybe a few online classes. But you aren’t getting a part-time job. You’ll burn out.”

The guilt was nearly eating me from the inside out now. I had the most supportive parents in the world. It should be something to rejoice over. It should’ve made me happy. Instead, it made me feel selfish. I was angry that I couldn’t figure out how to do it without affecting them.

“We aren’t arguing about it any further,” my mom said firmly. “As long as you promise me you'll stop if it becomes too much. Nothing was harder than watching you go through all that pain when you were a teenager. I don't want you enduring that again.”

I nodded. “I promise.”

But little did she know, the pain wasn't going to magically disappear. It would be just as bad as it had always been.

I'd simply be better at hiding it.

But how was I supposed to tell my own mother that? That I was willingly signing up for excruciating pain in exchange for a chance at the dream I'd never quite let go of?

The answer was simple.

I couldn't.

The difference now was that she wouldn't be driving me to practice and watching it unfold day after day. She wouldn't be there when the pain hit, and she wouldn’t be trying to help me through it like before.

Someone else would.

Eero Rove.

The realization sent a chill down my spine. Rove had said he was familiar with pain. That he could help me through it. But pain didn't just affect the person living with it.

Would it eventually become too much for him? The same way it had for my mom?

“Alright, let’s not let the food get cold.” My mom sucked in a breath, as if attempting to pull herself together. “Everyone dig in.”

I didn't have much of an appetite after that, but I did my best to take a few bites.

Somehow, the conversation drifted to safer topics.

It was after dinner that my mom asked Jamie to help with the dishes, and my dad sat down on the couch to watch some TV and relax.

I took that opportunity to slip away down the hall and into my parents’ office.

There were two bookshelves, a modest desk, and my parents' old computer, which they'd had since I was in high school. I flicked on the ancient table lamp, and the room was bathed in an orangish-yellow hue. I sank into the old leather chair at the desk and pulled the welcome packet out of my bag. I set it down in front of me and took a deep breath.

I flipped to the last page, then grabbed a blue pen from the little succulent pen holder resting next to the stapler.

Then I signed it.

I was on autopilot, not really believing I was doing it. I just knew that if I didn't do it now, before I could talk myself out of it, I might never.

I scanned the contract on the printer and uploaded it to my email. Then I stared at the draft for a few minutes. The little attachment lit up in light blue.