2. Sadie
Two
Sadie
The door closes behind the last of the moving helpers. Then it's just me standing in the middle of the room, as I turn slowly, taking it all in.
This is mine.
This whole small, slightly-smells-of-fresh-paint, wardrobe-door-that-doesn't-quite-close room is mine. There’s nobody else's stuff in it.
No one else's schedule on the wall, or dishes in the small sink, or noise coming through from the next room.
Well, there is noise coming through from the next room, someone's music with just enough bass to be felt rather than heard, but that's different.
That's just the building being alive around me.
Oh, I’m going to love it here.
I drop onto the edge of the bed, and it creaks loudly, which makes me think of things I shouldn’t. Things like how many people have had sex on this bed, I make a mental note to give the bed a deep clean, because I don’t know who’s been sleeping in here.
I reach for my camera. It's the first thing I unpacked. Before clothes, before toiletries, before the small, framed photo I brought from home, the camera came out of the bag and went around my neck.
I brought myself a card reader which I can use if I ever take a picture with my camera and want to send it to a friend. I can connect the SD card to my phone, and my laptop.
I start taking pictures of the room and then walk to the window. It's not a big window, but the evening light is coming through it at an angle that turns the dust motes golden and makes the whole room look like something from a film about someone whose life is just beginning.
Which, I think is accurate, because this is really the first day of my new life.
I press the shutter and move around the room shooting everything, the wardrobe door hanging open at its crooked angle, the desk with its surface still completely empty, and the view from the window which is not spectacular.
It's a car park, a stretch of sidewalk and the edge of another building. It’s the sky that’s spectacular it’s doing something extraordinary with the last of the light and I shoot that instead, leaning my elbows on the sill.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket.
I pull it out one-handed, my camera still raised.
Dan, I smile.
Dan
Are you there yet?
I lower the camera and type back with both thumbs.
Been here two hours already. It's so good Dan. I love it.
The three dots appear immediately.
Dan
Send pics.
I grin and scroll back through what I've just shot, the window light, the crooked wardrobe, the empty desk, and send them all at once.
Dan
Why does it look like a prison cell.
Sadie
It does NOT!
Dan
It absolutely does. A very nice prison cell.
Sadie
I hate you.
Dan
No, you don’t.
I'm laughing at my phone, shaking my head. He knows very well I don’t hate him.
I take a photo of my own feet on the bare floor, the camera strap pooling around my ankles, and send that too.
Dan
Artistic. Proud of you kid.
He calls me kid even though I'm only fourteen months younger and I’ve told him approximately eight hundred times that it doesn't work that way.
Sadie
I'll call you tomorrow.
I put my phone down on the bed and look around the room again.
There’re boxes still to unpack, my suitcase is open in the corner, and there’s the wardrobe with its stubborn door.
I need to unpack, but I’m really not that type of person who unpacks straight away.
I mean, it’ll be a few months before I even do anything like unpacking.
I pick the camera back up and smile. I have so many pictures to take; I’m going to make sure I take a picture of everything every day. No matter how small it is.
***
The gymnasium is on the east side of campus, a twelve-minute walk from my dorm if I cut through the science building and come out the other side.
I know this because I walked the route three times yesterday after I arrived.
I wanted to get to know the route I’ll be taking the most. There’s no way I’m getting in the bad books of the coach.
I’ve worked my ass off to get here; I’m not going to fuck it up now.
I push through the gymnasium doors at seven forty-five, and the smell hits me first: chalk, and I smile. I love the smell of chalk; this is home for me. I stand just inside the doors for a second and breathe it in.
The gym is bigger than I expected. It’s a good big.
The space has clearly been taken seriously, it has proper equipment, real floor space and lighting that doesn't flicker.
Three girls are already on the floor, running through a routine in sections, their movements are precise, showing that they're not performing; they're working.
A fourth is on the beam at the far end, standing still with her arms raised, holding a position with the focus of someone listening to something only she can hear.
I don't realize I'm smiling so hard until my cheeks tell me. I’m falling in love with collect even more now. This is going to be my happy place I just know it.
"You must be Sadie."
I turn.
The woman crossing the floor toward me is somewhere in her forties, with short hair, and a posture that comes from years of telling other people how to hold theirs.
She has a clipboard, a coffee, and the direct, assessing gaze of someone who’s been watching athletes long enough to see things other people miss.
I have a feeling she’ll give me one chance, and one chance only. If I fuck up, I don’t think I want her to see it.
"Coach Pearce." She doesn't extend her hand; the clipboard is in one, and the coffee in the other, but she nods once. "I've seen your competition footage."
"Good competitions or bad competitions?"
Something shifts at the corner of her mouth. It’s not quite a smile. "Your tumbling is exceptional. Your beam dismount needs work." She looks around at the other girls, then back to me. "We'll address that."
"Yes, ma'am."
She looks at me for a moment longer than feels comfortable, it’s a look that’s so deep I’m sure she can see my soul. I've learned how to hold a look like that without flinching, which is its own kind of gymnastics.
I can’t show anyone I’m tired, or if I don’t get as much rest as I would like. If I did, then I’d be kicked off the team, and I can't have that happen.
Whatever she finds, it seems to satisfy her.
"Drop your bag," she says, turning back toward the floor. "I'll introduce you to the team.”
I put my stuff to the side and follow her as she points to them all, telling me who they are.
Bree, the one from the beam, who lands her dismount while I'm still crossing the floor and doesn't look at me until she's fully upright, which I immediately respect.
Cara, on the floor, dark hair pulled back so tight it looks painful, who shakes my hand with a grip that means business. Then looks me up and down once in a way that is not unfriendly but is absolutely an assessment.
Does she think I’m her competition? I’m not. I’m here to improve. I’m here to learn.
Juno is the one who grins at me before Coach Pearce even says my name. It’s like we're already friends and the introduction is just a formality. "We've been waiting for you," she says. "Cara bet me you'd be tall."
"I'm five four," I say.
Juno looks at Cara. Cara looks at the ceiling.
"I said taller than me," Cara shouts. "I'm five two."
"You owe me ten dollars," Juno tells her with a laugh.
The fourth girl, Maya, is quieter. She's been stretching against the wall this whole time, her long legs extended, watching me with dark, careful eyes from underneath a fringe she keeps pushing out of the way. She nods when Coach Pearce says her name. I nod back.
I recognize her. Not her specifically, but the type; the ones who work hardest and talk the least. They have something to prove that nobody else can see. I've been that girl. I understand that girl completely.
"Alright," Coach Pearce says, in a tone that ends introductions. "Sadie, I want to see your floor routine. Full run, no adjustments, exactly as it is right now." She looks at me. "I want to see where you actually are, not where you want me to think you are."
I smile, then remove my hoodie and sweatpants already having my leotard on and get ready to show her what I can do.
Giving my music to one of the girls so they can put it on for me, as I have no idea who or where to put it on.
I roll my shoulders back, walk to the corner of the floor, and find my start position.
Feet together, arms down, chin up. The gymnasium goes quiet; the only thing I can hear is the music.
That’s all I need to hear at the moment.
I can feel them all watching, Coach Pearce with her clipboard, and I let myself feel it for exactly one second before I set it aside.
I know this routine. I’ve lived this routine for two years. Every tumbling pass, every turn sequence, every pointed toe and held line. I know it the way I know my own name.
The music starts in my head even without the speaker.
I move.
Once it’s finished, I look over at Coach, and she smiles then walks away. She doesn’t say one word. Was that good? Do I need to work on something? Well, I guess I’ll have to wait for her to talk to me when she’s ready.
Is that going to stress me out all day? Yes, I was hoping she would have said something, even if it was bad feedback, at least I would know what I need to work on.
I start walking to my bag, wondering what’s next because I don’t know how it works here. Juno falls into step beside me as we head toward the changing rooms, her water bottle swinging loosely from her fingers.
"Okay," she says, in the tone of someone delivering a verdict. "You're good."
"Thanks." I smile at her.
"Like, actually good," she says it like she's surprised, which I choose to take as a compliment. "Cara's going to pretend she's not impressed for about a week and then she'll get over it." Juno looks behind her, and I look too.
"I can hear you," Cara says from six feet behind us.
"I know," Juno says cheerfully. She glances at me sideways. "Where are you from?"