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He folded his arms. "And don't leave your body out of the equation. I've watched you push through pain for three years. Elite will ask more of you than college gymnastics ever has."

I nodded. I knew exactly what elite demanded. I'd lived it before.

"That doesn't mean you can't do it," he continued, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It just means you need to be honest about what it'll cost. And if it's really what you want, you'll figure it out."

“I can see that you still want this…”

Rove’s words entered my mind, and my heart skipped a beat.

I did want it. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have gone to the camp. I was just too stubborn to admit it to myself.

And I was scared.

Of all the things that would come after if I chose it.

“I would love to have you on my team for the rest of your college years. But if you want to go elite, I would support you. You’re a great gymnast.”

“Thank you, Coach.” Suddenly my throat felt tight.

“Make your decision,” he said, then gestured to the gym doors. “If I don’t see you Monday, I’ll take that as your goodbye.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Was this really goodbye?

I guess it could really happen that quickly. If I quit NCAA, I could start attending Vanta the following week. And I would need to get everything situated. To move and get settled.

But it felt so… fast.

Too fast.

Caldwell chuckled. “Don’t get sappy on me, Scar.”

“Sorry.” I reached up and hurriedly wiped the unshed tears from my eyes, pulling myself together. “What about the team?”

“You still have a phone, right?” he said with the same dry humor he always used. “You can call them, maybe come to a few of their meets. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to still be there for them.”

“Will they be mad if I don’t do some big goodbye?”

He shook his head. “Laney and Mia will do all the explaining. Probably best for everyone that you rip the bandage off anyway.”

“Right,” I said. Then I smiled again, my eyes still ridiculously watery. “Thank you.”

“And if it doesn’t work out—” he called over his shoulder. “—you know where to find me if you ever need a coach.”

CHAPTER 19

Ipulled up to my parents' house for dinner Sunday night. The old red brick house sat on a small property with two large birch trees out front. Dark green ivy climbed the porch beams up toward the window where my bedroom used to be, nearly overtaking the entryway. The front door, once stark white, had faded to a yellowish cream over the years.

I walked up the steps, passing my mom's garden gnomes, Remmy and Charles. Jamie and I had named them when we were kids. They each held a little flowerpot, overflowing with orange and yellow marigolds.

I walked into the smell of my mom's famous Pasta e Fagioli. My mom knew it was my favorite, and I couldn't help but smile when I spotted a giant pot of it steaming on the stove. It was my Nonna's recipe, and the ultimate comfort food.

"Hey," I called, and my mom turned at the sound of my voice. When I stepped into the kitchen, she slipped off her oven mitts and wrapped me in a hug.

“Hey, honey, how are you?”

“I’m good.” I glanced to the living room to find Jamie on her phone and my dad nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Dad?”