Chapter 42
The audience erupts in applause as I walk onto the stage, leaving behind my rather intimidating bodyguard. Smoke drifts across the floor, so it appears I’m gliding through clouds.
Multicolored lasers flash in streams of light that bounce off the fog and the Navy and violet ribbons draped along my arms—helping to camouflage the bands at wrists and ankles.
I have ground to make up thanks to the betrayal of my frenemies, but I think this routine—which I have worked on every spare minute I’ve had—is everything I need to win. My mom’s favorite song, Aaliyah’s One in a Million, blasts through the speakers.
Raising one arm, I sprint across the floor then leap upwards. The ícaro mechanics catch. I fly back. Holding my pose with legs spread wide, I spin. My body shakes with the effort, my heart pounds. Twisting dramatically, I land in a crouch, stand, then fall forward as if dizzy or that I’ve tripped. I hear the audience gasp, remembering my fall when I took the stage that first day.
This fall is different—I catch myself, then proceed to do a series of push-ups. On the last one, I fling my legs up, rising into a handstand.
I walk across the stage on my hands for a beat, then lift one arm so that I am balancing on a single hand. The balance assist provided by the rig does little to compensate for the strength needed. My arms tremble and my wrists aches as I spread my legs wide.
The applause is instant.
With my strength failing, I push off and flip to my feet. I invite the audience to clap as I swing my hips and spread my arms. They do, matching the beat with enthusiasm.
I perform a fluid series of Bailarcise moves. Arms fashioning their own dance, I move from a back leg lift into a one-legged side lunge. I swing the same leg forward into a front leg lift then fall into a backbend with that same leg extended.
People cheer and clap spontaneously.
Kicking over with my legs, I flip into a series of back handsprings. I land with a flare of purple and blue, arms up, hips cocked in triumph.
People jump to their feet shouting their approval, whistling and stomping enthusiastically. I can’t even hear the heavy breaths passing through my lips over the deafening roar of joyful applause.
In response, I jump into the air, raising a fist to the sky.
They cheer louder.
I blow kisses and don’t wipe away the tears that stream down my face. For the first time in my life, I feel seen for all my creativity and strength. It feels amazing. Yo tengo esto.
With the audience still giving me a standing ovation, I wave and bounce on the balls of my feet, still blowing kisses.
Miguel, real tears glistening in his eyes, clasps his microphone between his hands and bows to me as he meets me center stage.
I place my hand over my heart so he knows how much I appreciate his enthusiasm.
With the audience still going wild, he leans down and whispers, “Nos hiciste sentir orgullosos a todos.”
Tears fill my throat at his pronouncement. You made us all proud.
All of the super-fit, former detective judges from Find A Way—Denis Hastert, Jeremy Rudd, and Theresa Oliver—stand and clap with the audience.
Agent Oliver—they all go by Agent and their last name—a tall woman with dark hair and penetrating hazel eyes, claps toward me with her hands outstretched. “That was beautiful,” she says. “The perfect combination of creativity, strength, balance, and endurance. It was everything this episode is about, introducing something unique and phenomenal.”
“Agreed,” says Agent Haster, a block of a guy with a shaved head, thick neck, and neatly trimmed eyebrows. “I’m ready to invest in ícaro. Not to mention, try it myself.”
I laugh. “I’m happy to give you a lesson. Just come up to the gym in La Vida Buena!”
The audience cheers at the idea of this huge man taking to the skies. He throws his head back and laughs.
Agent Rudd laughs, shaking with delight, then says, “I had misgivings after hearing the other contestants’ hesitation with the equipment, but, because of that, I had lowered expectations, so what you did…” He waves a hand at the sky. “I was completely blown away. You were perfection, Yolanda. Absolute perfection.”
The audience claps enthusiastically. Miguel says, “You’ve heard from the judges. Now, I need to ask you why you chose to use this equipment when your fellow contestants obviously had reservations.”
I have one shot to clearly and calmly explain the truth about ícaro, despite all the other voices on this show that have tried to belittle my brother’s invention.
Smiling and finding Mateo’s eyes in the front row, I take a deep, shaky breath. “Miguel, my brother’s blood, sweat, and tears have gone into this equipment.” I’m still breathless from my strenuous routine, but I continue. “He designed a version of this system after my uncle’s heart attack as a way to help him regain his strength.”
“Fascinating. Did it work?” he asks, genuinely interested.
“It did. It worked so well, and he recovered so quickly, that Tío asked if Mateo would create something more challenging. It took many years, along with my input as instructor and test subject, plus the development of advanced computer technologies for my brother to complete this amazing system. As you can see, it allows people to increase strength while trying new and advanced moves that make all that effort fun.”
“So,” Miguel says, “when you were on one hand, that required strength?”
“Sí. It was so much fun, but incredibly difficult. My routine challenged every bit of my strength and creativity.”
He hugs me to his side quickly before releasing me. “Perfecto. Perfect. Now that you’ve explained the device, let’s leave it up to the audience.”
* * *
I readthe text from Easton again. Beautiful. Perfect. My heart was in my throat. They see you now. Go out there and hold your head high.
A smile on my face, I pocket my cell and join the other contestants on stage as we come back from break. We stand, lined up, holding hands, as Miguel proceeds to go over each routine, reminding the audience what the judges have said about each contestant while highlights of each routine play on the large screen.
When my highlights appear, the audience breaks into a spontaneous cheering that turns into a standing ovation. All of my hard work, all my sweat and tears, the juggling of responsibilities, the long days and longer nights, have been worth it for this moment. I am overwhelmed with joy. My heart fills my throat and tears prick the corners of my eyes.
Miguel introduces the person delivering the envelope for tonight’s show. Reina Torres, a local celebrity, has a smile as bright as it is wide. She possesses the stage as she walks. The audience claps as she hands Miguel the envelope.
The drama of this moment has been as excruciating as any on this show, including the day I was desperately sick.
But I gave everything I had to give. I pray that people understand that the equipment I used was a tool—like Fonzie’s step, Kay Lee’s gymnastic ribbons, and Eli’s juggling balls—that aided my own strength and creativity. Still, I’m nervous that the words of the other contestants will stick with too many people.
Miguel opens the envelope with a flourish. He pulls out the card inside. His face falls. My heart sinks. I know. The audience knows. They begin to boo before he looks at me and announces, “Yolanda, as perfect as your routine was…”
“No!” Haydée is up in her seat in the front row, waving a fist in the air.
Tears sting my eyes now for a different reason. My heart beats wildly. I have to force myself not to grind my teeth. Was there something more I could have done or said? Regret pierces my heart, as sharp a pain as any I’d ever felt. I’ve let everyone down.
Miguel continues, “This week, you were the contestant with the least number of votes. As you know, each contestant only gets one Last Stand, and since you’ve used yours, this will be your last show.”
“Gracias, Miguel,” I say, dropping the hands of my fellow contestants.
Sil puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezes. Their comfort means so much.
“I’m so grateful that I was able to take part in this show, to meet all of my fellow contestants, and the amazing judges.”
“Yolanda”—Miguel’s throat works for a moment—”is there anything you’d like to say to the people who have believed in and supported you?”
Taking deep breaths, I struggle against the sob caught in my throat. Swallowing over all that pain, I manage, “Sí. Yes. To all of you here, watching at home, and at the gym in La Vida Buena, I say gracias, thank you. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. You inspire me every day.”
I turn to Sil, Kay Lee, Fonzie, and Colette. “And to my fellow contestants, those here and those who have gone…” I smile at each of them in turn. Tears stream down Kay Lee’s cheeks. Even Eli has tears in his eyes that don’t look fake. “Watching you perform, watching your fitness routines and the care you take with them, has taught me so much. I thank you for your brilliance and for putting yourselves out here. It takes a special kind of courage and generosity of spirit to do what you do.”
Sil rushes in and hugs me, followed by Collette. I’m swarmed by the warmth of my fellow contestants. Like me, they smell of our hard-fought routines.
“Join us Sunday,” Miguel says, “as we remember Yolanda’s journey on the show.” Then, in a more cheerful voice, he tells everyone the next competition will be judged by the ex-Special Forces team that developed the reality show The Gauntlet.
There’s an eruption of clapping and hoots of approval.
Releasing me, the other contestants cheer Miguel’s announcement. Kay Lee waves her hat in the air.
A regret so thick it feels like chains drags at my shoulders. Still, I don’t miss Miguel’s final words to me as I leave the show for good.
“You’re a class act, Yolanda. We will miss you.”