Page 87 of Salto

When I mounted, I forced myself to quiet the part of my brain that wanted to think too far ahead.

Beam was all about focus. A meticulous sort of focus that required me to tune out everything else around me.

The skills flowed one into the next, each connection landing exactly where it was supposed to. When I got to my switch leap, I landed funny, and my perfect routine was ruined in a split second.

It happened so fast that there was no time to try to save it.

My heart dropped into my stomach as my feet hit the mat, and I felt the panic tighten every single cell in my body.

I took a breath, faced the beam again, and told myself not to let the fall ruin the rest of the routine. I still had to finish this.

I remounted, then went to the point in my routine where I’d fallen.

I knew it would be a hefty deduction. And there was a chance that it could ruin everything. I had to stick the rest of the routine flawlessly so it wouldn't be a detrimental mistake.

I landed my turn, completed my jump series, and then finished with my gainer dismount. I stuck it, but I felt dread the moment I was done. I saluted and walked off the mat to meet Rove, who’d been crouched by the dismount mat, waiting for me.

“I just blew it,” I muttered under my breath so only he could hear.

He straightened and shook his head. “No, you didn’t. It was only one point. Everything else was great. You’ll still score fine.”

His words helped, but I didn't believe them until the score went up. When it did, the dread in my stomach eased a bit. It wasn't great, but it wasn't going to keep me from qualifying.

“Just one more, okay?” he said as we started walking to the last event.

I nodded, trying to keep my head steady. The problem with falling was not the point loss itself; it was not letting the fall affect the other events.

Because now I was in my head. It would be a mental fight the rest of the meet.

Bars was my final rotation.

The pressure hit me full force. What if I failed the last event and lost it all when I was so close to qualifying?

We were off to the side of the bars. Another girl was competing, and I was putting on my grips when Rove came to stand in front of me. I would be up in just a few minutes.

I was struggling to buckle up my grips because my hands were starting to shake.

I never got shaky. But then again, I never had this much riding on my routines.

Before I could keep fumbling, Rove caught hold of the grip strap.

“Give me that,” he demanded, helping me finish buckling them.

“What if I mess it all up?” I whispered, glancing over to the bars again.

“You won’t. Bars is your strongest event. Just go out there and do what you always do.”

I bit my lip and watched him finish buckling the last loop, and then he released me.

My hands fell to my sides.

“Number,” he suddenly said.

“Two,” I said, being honest.

He nodded, glanced at the bars, then back at me again. “You got this.”

All too soon, it was my turn, and I stood off to the side, waiting for the judges to raise their hands so I could salute.