Page 81 of Salto

Lexi was older—closer to my age than the rest of the girls.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked at the end of the day while we were putting our things away in the locker room. “I saw you fall the other day and wanted to make sure you're alright.”

“Yeah,” I said, flushing. “I'm good.”

She smiled. “Well, if you need anything, let me know.” She winked and walked away.

It was the nicest interaction I'd had the whole time I'd been there.

Soon, I started to forget about what had happened on bars.

Until Friday rolled around.

“Scarlet, I want to meet with you after practice,” Vanta called during our final stretches.

It sent cold fear straight down my spine.

The second I stepped into his office, my heart rate picked up, and a million little knots formed in my stomach.

It felt all too familiar.

I didn’t have the best luck with being called into a coach’s office. It brought back memories from when I was seventeen, when I’d returned after healing from my fall and had been hopeful that everything would finally go back to normal.

Instead, Coach Renna had folded her hands across her desk and told me she didn’t think elite was the right path for me anymore. That UCLA would be safer. That she couldn’t keep coaching me because the risk was too high.

And just like that, my elite dream had ended.

Every time I sat in one of these chairs, it felt like someone was about to tell me they were giving up on me again.

I sat down across from him at his desk and waited for some sort of verbal lashing.

“Your Elite Qualifier is tomorrow,” he said simply. He was calm and stone-cold as ever. “I wanted to remind you that if you don't score high enough, we'll be offering your spot to someone else.”

“Yes, Coach.” I wasn't sure what else he expected me to say.

“I know you had some rough days the past few weeks,” he continued. “And I can see you're trying to push through. But things are only going to get harder from here. I want you to understand that.”

It almost sounded like he was trying to get me to reconsider.

Like maybe he could talk me into quitting on my own.

“I'm not giving up,” I said immediately.

His brow furrowed.

“Then I guess tomorrow will determine whether you get the chance to keep going.”

The underlying challenge in his words made me bristle.

“Are you angry that Rove is coaching me?” I asked suddenly, not sure where the audacity to ask the question came from.

Vanta seemed to think about it for a moment, pressing the edge of his fingers to his lips.

“I'm not angry that he's coaching you. I just hope he's not wasting his time.”

“And?”

I could tell there was more.