hide the panic in my voice.
“Why are you asking me?” He ran the hot water, filling the pot.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “You seem to be experienced in the field of lying to adults, which I’m not. Other than today. I could just tell him that I lied to Stacey about being sick because I was upset about…”
“About…?” Jordan prompted, trying to get me to say it again.
“About my parents being dead,” I whispered, keeping my eyes focused on my hands. “So tell him I lied to Stacey?”
“Stacey.” He stared dreamily over my shoulder. “Stacey is hot.”
I rolled my eyes. “She’s also married and has a baby.” And stretch marks and leaking breasts…
“Good point.” He refocused his attention on me. “Yes, you could tell him the truth. That would make the most sense, which clearly means you’re not going to do that. Maybe go to bed early and wake up fully recovered?”
I shook my head right away, knowing I couldn’t spend any extra time in that room. Plus, what if Coach Bentley came in to check on me and found me in the closet. Explaining that would be worse than the truth. I really have to get myself out of that closet .
Jordan turned his back to me, reaching in the cabinet for the box of pasta. I watched his hamstrings flex in response to his every movement. In my mind, I passed it off as athletes’ admiration, because hamstrings are so hard to build.
“Just do what all the chicks in my school do to get out of PE. Female problems . Best excuse ever. No male teacher wants to hear any details. They just wave them off to the bleachers and pray the discussion is over.”
My face flamed up instantly, but Jordan’s back was still to me. He couldn’t possibly know what had happened earlier? It had to be a coincidence. God, I’d die of humiliation before telling Coach Bentley that I started my period today… for the first time …one day after moving in with him.
“Although, you’ve probably got gymnastics spies watching you, giving him all the details of your life,” Jordan mused, oblivious to my current distress as he tossed a handful of salt into the pot of hot water. “He gets reports in the mail every time you guys go to those team training camps in the middle of the forest or wherever it is.”
“Houston,” I said. “What reports?”
“I don’t know what’s inside. Just an envelope that says, ‘Karen Campbell monthly evaluation.’”
My heart started pounding faster, my palms sweaty. The US Gymnastics committee was like the CIA, apparently. Before I even had a chance to absorb the shock, Jordan was sliding toward the built–in desk in the kitchen, bending over and flinging a file cabinet below the desk open, revealing a folder with my name. I stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, listening to him read the top paper on the thick stack of pages.
“Karen Louise Campbell — ” He scrunched up his nose. “Louise? Really?”
“It’s my grandmother’s name,” I snapped.
He held up his hands as if to say sorry and continued reading. “ Four foot eleven and three quarters…ninety two pounds—” His gaze jerked up from the page and he bent over to stuff it back in the folder. “We’ll both be murdered if he catches us looking through his shit.”
“What did it say?” I begged. “You read something, didn’t you?”
“Just don’t mess with it.” He turned back to the pasta. “I was being stupid. Never follow my example.”
I couldn’t leave it at that. “Does it say, Karen sucks, she’s hopeless and has no chance of making the World team?”
Jordan sighed. “Of course not. Even if it did, you think my dad’s just going to throw in the towel after reading that report? He does possess the ability to think for himself.”
I dove down on the floor under his leg, reaching for the handle of the drawer. Jordan was quicker than I expected, squatting down and slapping his hand to the top of the cabinet so I couldn’t pull it open.
“Okay,”
“Why are you asking me?” He ran the hot water, filling the pot.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “You seem to be experienced in the field of lying to adults, which I’m not. Other than today. I could just tell him that I lied to Stacey about being sick because I was upset about…”
“About…?” Jordan prompted, trying to get me to say it again.
“About my parents being dead,” I whispered, keeping my eyes focused on my hands. “So tell him I lied to Stacey?”
“Stacey.” He stared dreamily over my shoulder. “Stacey is hot.”
I rolled my eyes. “She’s also married and has a baby.” And stretch marks and leaking breasts…
“Good point.” He refocused his attention on me. “Yes, you could tell him the truth. That would make the most sense, which clearly means you’re not going to do that. Maybe go to bed early and wake up fully recovered?”
I shook my head right away, knowing I couldn’t spend any extra time in that room. Plus, what if Coach Bentley came in to check on me and found me in the closet. Explaining that would be worse than the truth. I really have to get myself out of that closet .
Jordan turned his back to me, reaching in the cabinet for the box of pasta. I watched his hamstrings flex in response to his every movement. In my mind, I passed it off as athletes’ admiration, because hamstrings are so hard to build.
“Just do what all the chicks in my school do to get out of PE. Female problems . Best excuse ever. No male teacher wants to hear any details. They just wave them off to the bleachers and pray the discussion is over.”
My face flamed up instantly, but Jordan’s back was still to me. He couldn’t possibly know what had happened earlier? It had to be a coincidence. God, I’d die of humiliation before telling Coach Bentley that I started my period today… for the first time …one day after moving in with him.
“Although, you’ve probably got gymnastics spies watching you, giving him all the details of your life,” Jordan mused, oblivious to my current distress as he tossed a handful of salt into the pot of hot water. “He gets reports in the mail every time you guys go to those team training camps in the middle of the forest or wherever it is.”
“Houston,” I said. “What reports?”
“I don’t know what’s inside. Just an envelope that says, ‘Karen Campbell monthly evaluation.’”
My heart started pounding faster, my palms sweaty. The US Gymnastics committee was like the CIA, apparently. Before I even had a chance to absorb the shock, Jordan was sliding toward the built–in desk in the kitchen, bending over and flinging a file cabinet below the desk open, revealing a folder with my name. I stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, listening to him read the top paper on the thick stack of pages.
“Karen Louise Campbell — ” He scrunched up his nose. “Louise? Really?”
“It’s my grandmother’s name,” I snapped.
He held up his hands as if to say sorry and continued reading. “ Four foot eleven and three quarters…ninety two pounds—” His gaze jerked up from the page and he bent over to stuff it back in the folder. “We’ll both be murdered if he catches us looking through his shit.”
“What did it say?” I begged. “You read something, didn’t you?”
“Just don’t mess with it.” He turned back to the pasta. “I was being stupid. Never follow my example.”
I couldn’t leave it at that. “Does it say, Karen sucks, she’s hopeless and has no chance of making the World team?”
Jordan sighed. “Of course not. Even if it did, you think my dad’s just going to throw in the towel after reading that report? He does possess the ability to think for himself.”
I dove down on the floor under his leg, reaching for the handle of the drawer. Jordan was quicker than I expected, squatting down and slapping his hand to the top of the cabinet so I couldn’t pull it open.
“Okay,”
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