Page 60 of Salto

I was in the middle of a vast ocean, waves crashing against the sides of the ship as it rocked beneath my feet. I gripped the railing, salt spray hitting my face as I stared out at the horizon.

Raging grey storm clouds stretched across the sky, blocking the path in the distance. I didn't know where I was going. Only that I needed to get through those clouds to whatever waited on the other side.

Another wave slammed into the boat, and cold water splashed across my face, waking me up.

My eyes flew open as I was abruptly startled from the dream, my heart pounding rapidly in my chest.

For a disoriented second, I didn’t remember where I was.

When I took in the sight of the round porthole in the ceiling above my bed, realization dawned.

I was in my weird little apartment.

I sat up and pressed a hand to my chest. The dream had felt so real that I could still swear the room was rocking.

After the room stopped moving, I reached for my phone on the nightstand.

I'd somehow beaten my alarm. There were still five minutes before it would go off.

A notification sat above it. A single text message that had been sent thirty minutes ago.

ROVE: Don't be late.

I pulled into the parking lot at Vanta Elite with five minutes to spare. My stomach was a tangled mess of nerves as I stepped inside.

The building was almost eerily quiet. At 5:55 in the morning, only a handful of lights glowed overhead, casting long shadows across the empty lobby.

My footsteps echoed against the tile as I walked farther in. Beyond the front desk, the massive training facility stretched out before me. A light glowed from Coach Vanta's office on the main floor. The blinds were partially drawn, but through the glass I caught sight of him bent over a desk covered in paperwork.

Rove wasn't anywhere in sight.

Biting my lip, I glanced around, unsure where to go. That's when I noticed a staircase leading up to the spectator area. Beyond the bleachers, a hallway disappeared into several rooms. Light spilled from beneath one of the doorways.

I climbed the stairs, my heartbeat quickening with every step.

When I walked into the room with the lights on, I found a soft, cushioned floor with a row of mirrors and a ballet barre.

Rove was inside, situating a stack of panel mats.

I lingered in the doorway for a beat before forcing myself inside.

“Hey,” I said, wincing inwardly at my awkwardness.

He glanced up at the sound of my voice before straightening and running a hand through his hair.

“Warm up really fast so you don’t pull something,” he instructed.

Right to it, then.

I set my bag against the wall and started into a quick series of dynamic stretches. The room was deathly quiet. Every breath, every footstep, every movement seemed louder than it should've been.

Music would've been nice.

But it was my first day. I wasn't about to ask.

Once I'd finished warming up, I walked over to him.

A notepad and pen rested in his hands. As I approached, he set them on the floor beside him before turning to face me, crossing his arms over his chest. He wore another oversized sweatsuit, the same style he always seemed to wear.