Perfect Twist (The Meet Your Match #1)

Prologue

Teagan

“Go fuck yourself,” I say to Blake Yelle, renowned retired gymnast and current asshole judge who’s docked me half a point for my bra strap showing during my floor routine.

Which is complete and utter bullshit. Especially considering that if I want to compete at nationals, I need to win this qualifier.

Yelle raises his grey eyebrows so high, they almost reach what must have once been his hairline, as things go eerily silent around us.

“Teagan,” Coach Samuels scolds.

“Excuse me, Ms. Witt?” Yelle says with a look of disbelief.

I’ll gladly say it again.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself,” I enunciate each word slowly, ensuring he hears exactly what I said this time.

I’m an elite athlete, with the accolades to prove it. In no lifetime am I letting something as trivial as a bra strap slip ruin my chances at going to another Olympics.

“I’m deducting another point for behaviour now,” Blake announces as he writes the deduction on my scorecard.

I open my mouth to retort when Coach places a hand on my shoulder, lightly guiding me away.

My irritation nearly boils over, and it takes everything in me to follow him out of the arena without protest. I can feel the eyes of the crowd on us, adding embarrassment to the list of emotions I’m currently feeling.

“You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” he snaps once we’re alone in the quiet hallway. “Now you’ve lost more points than you needed to, which not only affects your score, but this entire team’s.”

“Are you kidding me? He deducted me half a point because my bra strap was showing. Do we live in the 1800s? I was throwing my body into the air. Controlling my bra straps’ movements was the least of my worries,” I reply through gritted teeth so I don’t yell at him too.

“Why aren’t you wearing a bra with clear bra straps, as recommended?” he asks, ignoring the heart of the issue.

I know about the recommended clear bra straps, but I always wear my lucky blue sports bra during competitions. I’ve never lost with it.

Until today.

Of all days, it had to be qualifier day. Today was meant to secure my spot on this team that will attend the USA nationals next summer and get me to the 2028 Olympics.

“That’s not the problem right now. Why didn’t you stand up for me?” I fire back at him, my hands on my hips.

Current situation aside, Coach Samuels has always been someone I’ve looked to for guidance. He’s known me since I started gymnastics and usually goes to bat for me. So this seems off character for him.

His gaze hardens at my confrontational tone, but before he gets to say anything, Amy, our assistant coach, approaches us.

“Teagan.”

“Not you too,” I groan as my hands lift off my hips and ball into fists. “Aren’t you pissed about this, too?”

“While I do think it is an archaic rule, it’s a rule nonetheless,” she says gently, her expression full of pity.

“This is such bullshit,” I curse under my breath. Before I look away, I catch the two of them exchanging a decisive glance.

No fucking way.

My entire body goes numb. “You can’t kick me off the team,” I manage to say despite the large ball of emotion in my throat. I’m hoping I misread their glances and they’ll just give me a warning, because I can’t lose this.

Gymnastics makes up everything I am, and I don’t know what I’d do without it.

Besides, they would be idiots to suspend me when I hold the highest score on the team.

“Teagan,” Amy says softly. I know she means well and wants to keep the peace, but I’m past keeping calm.

“I am better than any of those girls out there. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good, but we all know I’m the best chance you have at winning gold at Nationals.”

It might sound cocky, but it’s the truth. Something I’ve never been afraid to speak.

Samuels shots me a glare. “While that might be true, your attitude sucks. We’ve witnessed it for years and have let it slide, but now you’ve proven to be a liability. We can’t risk that at the Olympics,” Samuels retorts, folding his arms across his chest.

“You do know you’re talking to the person who won in all categories at the last Olympics and won gold for our country?”

“I know exactly who I’m talking to,” he says with a hint of annoyance in his tone. “That’s precisely your problem. You don’t know when to stop when you’re upset, or think before you act, and we’re getting sick of cleaning up your messes.”

“We care about you, Teagan. But we need this team’s leader to promote positivity and strength,” Amy says, unaware of how deeply her words cut.

“Maybe if I had a coach who cared to stand up for what’s right, I wouldn’t have had to speak up for myself,” I say, my voice tight.

I’ve been training to be a gymnast since I was five years old and could attend the Elite Sports Academy. I grew up in the mold. Hell, I became the mold. Sure, I’m not the most positive person on this planet, but all I’ve done my entire life is be strong.

I was strong when I learned that my father wanted no part of being a parent.

I was strong when my mom sat me and my brother down outside of my grandparents’ house and told us she’d be back in a few months, only for those few months to turn into years of her loving to travel more than she did of being a parent.

I was strong when I made it to the Olympics and my mother sent me a postcard from Singapore instead of being there like she’d promised.

And I was really fucking strong when the two people I cared the most about passed away mere days from each other.

A single tear runs down my cheek, but I quickly shake it off. There are so many things I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut because I’m not certain I won’t say something to make this worse.

“Take some time off, lose the attitude, and maybe we’ll consider having you back in the future. For now, you’re off the team,” he says nonchalantly as if this isn’t the end of everything I’ve worked for.

“I’m twenty-four. You and I both know this is the last chance I have at making it to the next Olympics.”

“You should have thought of that before the scene you just caused,” he suggests, resting his hand on my shoulder.

I shrug his grip off. “Don’t touch me.”

He takes a step back, disappointment written all over his face. “You’ve got talent, kid. Don’t let your anger ruin your life.”

“What are you going to tell the team? To the judges? To the world?” I ask, my exasperation growing with each question.

I’m running out of things to defend my case. I might be under contract with the team, but they could use what just happened to claim unsportsmanlike conduct.

Unbothered, Samuels says, “That you’ve decided to retire. That you’re ready for the next step in your life after losing today.”

“No one will believe that.” My voice is the loudest it’s been as desperation takes over. “Aren’t there videos of what happened? People will know I got called on a bullshit rule and be on my side.”

Or at least I hope.

“PR is going to make sure it stays buried,” he says, his words final.

This feels personal, as if they were just waiting for the next time I opened my mouth to have a reason to kick me off the team. I’m not going down without a fight, though.

“I could go to the press with this information. I’m sure they’d love to know that the number one gymnastics house in America, the World Olympic Gymnastic Center, is sweeping things under the rug.”

“If you ever want to come back and join us, you’ll stay quiet.”

A sense of helplessness washes over at the threat. Coach Samuels knows how important the Olympics are to me. I trusted him with my secrets, and now he’s using them against me.

He knows I won’t jeopardize what could be my last chance at my dream.

Amy walks away silently, but Samuels lingers for a moment. “Take care of yourself, Teagan. Think about your actions and do better.”

I give him a fake smile, deciding to end this the way it started.

“Go fuck yourself.”