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Chapter Two
Sofia
Glaringat the bars that stand sturdy and tall in front of me, I unlatch my grips and then latch them back. I do it two more times, the sound of the Velcro on my grips music to my ears as I go through my routine. I see it all. My jumps, my giants, and even my dismount that has been a pain in my ass since I changed it.
But I had to change it.
I have to be the best.
I was brought to Bellevue to be the best. I didn’t come all the way from Nevada to be mediocre. No. I came to kick ass and take names. This may be only a practice routine, but at practice is where I perform. And the meets my team goes to, well, that’s where I get my medals.
Because all I do is win.
I had the choice of so many schools. I could have gone to the best of the best, but the charm of Nashville, Tennessee, along with knowing I would have a full ride accompanied by a badass sponsorship program where everything and anything I would need was paid for, gave me all the incentive I needed to come here. I didn’t want my mom to have to worry about anything. I wanted her to sit back, enjoy not having to work three jobs anymore for my gym tuition, and just relax. It was my turn to worry about everything that went along with my career. She had done her part. Now I would get one hell of an education at one of the up-and-coming schools in the country, and I would be the best of the best. I would put the GymBulls on the map.
We would win.
And when it’s all over, I can take care of my mom the way she’s cared for me.
Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders and then take off, running toward the springboard to elevate me over the lower bar to the high bar. As I swing out, my toes are well above where they need to be, and it’s time to get started. My routine is spot-on and perfect. I may have relaxed my toes in my release series, but that’s okay. No one would notice because when I’m on the bars, I’m flying, and people are amazed by how fucking high I get.
When it’s time for my two giants in a row, I know I’ll land my dismount. It’s a tough one. Full twisting double back layout that, in my opinion, is badass. When I let go of the bars, tucking my body in tight, it’s all normal for me. A way of life almost. My feet hit the mat, and my arms go out in front of me, keeping me balanced. Throwing my hands up, I nod.
That’s how it’s done.
“Sof!”
I look toward my coach, Damien, with his insanely stern face and thick, dark brows. His wife, Melissa, stands beside him, both of them with their arms crossed over their chests as they watch me. “Your legs went slack on the dismount. You gotta make sure to stay tight so that when you go into the layout, it’s fluid.”
Or so I thought.
“You’re almost there,” Melissa calls to me, her face bright and happy. “And those layouts are phenomenal.”
These two play good cop, bad cop. When Damien is tough, Melissa is there to pick you up. I kind of like it. I came from a gym where my coach was hard as fuck twenty-four seven, and he never once told me I was doing well. Even when I placed first in the state and sixteenth in the country, or when I won the Jesolo trophy two years in a row, he told me I could do better. He also called me a dumb fuck for picking a school that didn’t have an established team.
He was awesome. Insert eye roll.
But here, they’re hard, but they’re nice too. They appreciate me. I think they might actually care for me, which is refreshing. My mom says it’s awesome, and I guess she’s right, but I’m still a little nervous. I’m waiting for someone to throw a block of chalk at me and tell me I suck. But since I arrived here, almost three months ago, it hasn’t happened yet.
I’m still waiting, though.
“Okay, I’ll do it again.”
“No, let’s just do the dismount,” Damien calls to me as he comes toward me. “Get up there.”
I go to the lower bar and pull up before squatting on as he comes toward me, standing beneath the high bar. He nods to me, and just as I go to jump, my roommate—or I guess, my new best friend, as she’s told me we are—Amelia hollers out, “You got this, Sofia! Get it!”
I don’t know why, but her statement makes me a grin. In my old gym, we didn’t have close friendships. We were all against each other. We didn’t have that camaraderie. But Amelia Justice came from a gym where everyone was best friends, and she is all about making me hers. I’m a little hesitant. I mean, I don’t know her from Adam, but it’s refreshing, and she’s super sweet.
I jump hard to the bar, working up the speed to do my giants as the rest of the team gathers around, clapping and calling out my name, telling me I can do it. I thrive on this. The pressure, the need to succeed, and I know I’ll land it, and it will be the best ever.
Getting momentum, I go around the bar with ease, and when it’s time to let go, I’m so tight, I feel like I’m gonna break. But when I hit the mat and I raise my arms, I know I landed it. All the girls scream, even Melissa, and when I look to Damien, he gives me a curt nod.
“Perfection.” A grin spreads across my lips as I nod back, smacking my hand to his as his other hand comes up to squeeze my shoulder. “Attagirl.”
When I turn, Amelia is there, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me tightly. “That was awesome!”
I curve my lips as we pull away. “Thanks. It’s been bugging me.”
“Can’t tell. You’re so badass.”
We share a smile as we gather at the chalk bowl. “You’re badass too.”
“Well, duh,” she says, a sparkle in her eye. “But for real. Perfect ten.”
“You’re insane. My feet weren’t flexed.”
“Who the hell watches that?” she laughs, and I smile as she slaps her hands together. “What did you end up doing last night?”
“Oh, since you blew me off?”
She rolls her eyes. “Family thing.”
I set her with a look. “You blew me off to go play dress-up.”
She makes a face, her little nose wrinkling up as she holds my gaze. Unlike me, she is itty-bitty. We’re the same height, about five two, but she’s lean and strong, while I have some junk in the trunk and very thick shoulders. When I first met her, I didn’t know that someone could have such blue eyes but such dark hair. Her eyes are like the brightest bluish ocean, just stunning. Her hair reaches to her waist when it’s down, but like mine, it’s currently in one hell of a messy bun, tendrils falling down her cheeks, which are rosy with exertion.
She’s pretty adorable.
I throw her a playful grin. “What were you? A dude?”
