AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm doing my best to make this part accessible for non-gymnasts. Gymnastics is a hard sport to write about (if you think it's hard to write about it, try doing it!) but I have done my best, which is part of the reason it took so long. For the gymnasts out there, I am using a Prep-Optional/AAU/NCAA scoring system, in which (I believe) the gymnasts start with a score of ten. It was just easier than having to explain the USAG system. And yes, the ending to this is very similar to the 1996 Atlanta Kerri Strug story. But it had to have some sort of spectacular ending.
A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER TWELVE – UNTITLED
"Go Kestle!" Portman hollered from the stands. He and Fulton had managed to snag tickets to the gold medal gymnastics competition. Portman was much more excited than Fulton.
"Why are we even here?" Fulton asked, reaching into the popcorn box between them.
"I'm here because I want to root for Kestle," Portman said. "You're here because you like Kathryn."
"I do not!" Fulton protested.
"Well, she likes you," Portman amended. "That's why she was giving you goo-goo eyes at the ice cream stand last night."
"She is cute," Fulton admitted.
"Hey! There they are!" Portman pointed to a group of seven red, white and blue-clad girls marching in, headed by a woman and a man in matching outfits.
"Psst!" Kathryn nudged Kestle as they waved to the enthusiastic crowd. "There's Dean."
Kestle looked around the stands for a moment, finally spying Dean and Fulton sitting two rows up from the uneven bars. "Yeah, and Fulton's there, too."
"Who?" Kathryn began waving to the crowd with both hands.
"Dean's buddy," Kestle clarified, ignoring a boy in the nosebleed section holding up a huge sign that read, "Marry Me Kestle." "The one you like."
"I do not like him," Kathryn said disparagingly. "He's fat and he needs a haircut."
"Those can both be taken care of," Kestle said. "What matters is-" She bumped into the girl in front of her as the line stopped. "Sorry, Sonia," Kestle apologized quickly.
"What?" Kathryn whispered. The whole arena had gone silent.
"After," Kestle said.
"They're so small," Fulton observed.
"They're gymnasts," Portman pointed out. "They have to be small."
"What place are they in?" Fulton asked.
"Um…" Portman looked through his program. "Fifth. Kestle told me they have tough competition from Russia. USA may not get a medal."
"I hope they do better than we did when they came to watch us," Fulton said.
Portman winced. "Me too."
"You ready, Kathryn?" Kestle asked her nervous friend. USA was starting on the uneven bars, and the second girl was halfway through her routine.
"No," Kathryn said in a half-whine.
Leighanne, the girl next to Kestle, looked around. "Careful," she said softly. "Coach Brad might hear that, and we'll be doing push-ups until forever."
Kestle nodded. Brad, the head coach, was a former Navy SEAL. He believed very strongly in physical discipline. If one team member messed up, everyone paid the price. He was a good coach, Kestle thought, but his way of discipline hadn't been very good for building team spirit.
"Yes," Kathryn's voice still hadn't lost its whining quality.
"Come on, Kathryn, you'll do fine," Jenny tried to encourage. "You've done this routine a million times."
"But I hate-" Kathryn stopped as she saw Coach Brad look her way. "Bars isn't exactly my favorite event," she amended.
Thank you, Kestle thought as Sonia finished her routine. "You're up, Kathryn."
Kathryn winced, but stood up and accepted a hug from Sonia. "You can do it, Kathryn," the perky blond said confidently.
Kestle smiled. Sonia was the perfect team captain: she was always smiling and encouraging. With Coach Brad trying to turn them into five-foot-tall Navy SEALs, they needed it.
"You have any idea what they're doing?" Fulton asked Portman. Kathryn was swinging on the bars, executing moves and skills so quickly Fulton couldn't follow them.
"Not really," Portman confessed.
"Open up that program thingy." Fulton pointed to the program they'd been handed when they came in. "Maybe that'll tell us something."
Portman leafed through the program. "Oh! Here's a profile of her. Kathryn Dallings. It says to watch for good swing."
Kathryn swung around the high bar twice. "Yeah. She's got that," Fulton pointed out.
Portman read on. "And…a twisting Stalder."
"What the heck is that?" Fulton asked.
"I don't know!" Portman said defensively. "Do I speak gymnast or something?"
"Excuse me," the woman in the row behind them said, not so politely. "We are trying to watch the competition. Would you boys please be quiet?"
"Sure," both Bash Brothers said, but each was thinking the same thing: No way.
"Was that so bad?" Kestle asked as Kathryn bounded down the stairs, looking very relieved.
"Yes," Kathryn said as Coach Jodie hugged her.
"Liar," Kestle slapped her friend on the shoulder.
"The score for Kathryn Dallings, nine point seven," the announcer's calm voice said.
"Nine point seven?" Fulton asked. "Is that good?"
"I dunno," Portman answered. "Let me check."
The woman behind them leaned over, looking somewhat annoyed. "The total score you can get in gymnastics is a ten," she said. "It starts from there. Kathryn lost three tenths of a point on her routine."
"Oh," Fulton said. "Thanks."
"All right, Kestle," Leighanne said. "You're up."
Kestle adjusted her beam shoes. They looked like ballet slippers, but they had a more rugged bottom. Kestle hated performing on the beam barefoot. In competitions, she got so nervous that her feet got sweaty and stuck on all her turns.
"Good luck," Amanda, one of the other girls, said.
"Thanks." Keslte stepped up and nervously waited for her turn.
"All right, here goes Kestle on the balance beam," Portman said.
"The highlight of your evening, I'm sure," Fulton quipped.
Portman ignored his friend. "I don't know how they do this," he said. "I wouldn't tumble on a four-inch beam for anything."
"Look at what she's doing!" Fulton gasped as Kestle flipped high over the beam and landed perfectly.
"That's called a layout," The woman behind them offered.
Kestle took a deep breath. She was almost done with her routine. She now had fifteen feet behind her in which to do two back handsprings and her dismount.
Forcing herself to shut out all other thoughts, Kestle jumped backwards onto her hands, then landed on her feet. But she didn't land squarely and had to bend her knees to stay on the beam.
Shoot, Kestle thought. What would she do now? Going back to start her pass over would lower her score, but that little wobble had already gotten some points deducted. I can pull off my dismount from here, Kestle decided, bravely going for her second back handspring.
She was right, but just barely. Kestle landed too far forward and nearly fell on her face. But she didn't, and managed to keep her hands off the floor. After saluting the judges, Kestle trotted back to her teammates.
"You did OK, Kestle," Sonia encouraged.
"Thanks," Kestle mumbled.
"The score for Kestle Carter, nine point two," the announcer stated.
"Only the top five scores count," Coach Brad reminded Kestle.
Kestle nodded.
"Is that a bad score?" Portman asked.
"I guess not," Fulton said. "I mean, people are clapping."
"They're trying to be supportive," the woman, whose name was Emma, said.
"Oh," both Bash Brothers said in unison. After a quick glance at each other, they started clapping.
"OK, Kathryn," Kestle said. "Floor's your best event. You're great at floor. You can do it, OK?"
"Leave the encouraging to Sonia," Kathryn groaned.
Kestle made a face. "Come on! We're in fourth place. I do not want to finish fourth. Last is better than fourth. Just do your best, all right?"
"You're up, Kathryn," Coach Brad said. Even when he said something as innocuous as "you're up," he sounded like the drill sergeant R. Lee Ermey had played in Full Metal Jacket. No wonder Kathryn was nervous.
"Hey, here's Kathryn," Fulton said.
"You sound extremely excited about that," Portman observed.
Fulton ignored his friend as Kathryn's floor music started. "Aw, Bad to the Bone!" He said. "I love this girl…I mean, this song."
"Mm-hm," Portman said. "I know you do."
Kathryn was sweating bullets as she finished her routine. It had been nearly flawless.
"Look, look!" Sonia said as Kathryn bounded off the floor. "Nine point eight! You just put us in third!"
"Hey! USA's in third place!" Portman announced.
"OK, Keslte," Coach Jodie said. "You're last up on vault. If you don't make any mistakes, we'll stay in third place. OK?"
No pressure, Kestle thought. But she just nodded.
Take the mark, salute the judge, run, bounce, twist, push, flip, land. Kestle went through her vault in her mind. As the judges gave her the green light, she turned off her mind and began to run.
Bounce, twist, push…SPLAT!
"Ow!" Kestle cried involuntarily as she landed on her face. What had happened? She hadn't gotten her flip in, had she?
"Kestle! Kestle! Are you OK?" Coach Jodie asked in concern.
Kestle saluted the judge and felt her shoulder pop. "Uh, I think so." What's going on? Her shoulder felt…disconnected. What have I done?
Just don't say anything, Kestle decided. It's probably nothing. She took the position for her second vault.
Run, bounce, twist, push-Rrrrip.
Oh, so that's what happened. It was a very brief realization as Kestle finished her vault and landed. She saluted the judges with only her left arm and trotted off the mat.
"Kestle, what happened?" Kathryn asked.
Kestle fingered her right shoulder. Her arm had gone totally numb all the way to her fingertips. "I think I did something to my shoulder."
"They got bronze!" Fulton said.
Portman didn't hear him. "Something's wrong with Kestle. She hurt her arm or something."
In all the hubbub of the impending medal ceremony, nobody gave thought to what happened to Kestle. The Russians celebrated their gold, the Australians tolerated their silver, and the Americans sighed with relief at their comeback.
"OK, Kestle, just hold still." Coach Brad said.
"What did I do?" Kestle asked. Her arm was beginning to hurt. A lot.
"I'm willing to bet you tore a ligament," Coach Brad said as he draped a sling around Kestle's neck.
"Vaulting?" Kathryn asked.
"If it was weak to begin with, it's a possibility," Coach Brad said emotionlessly.
"Let's line up," Coach Jodie said.
The Bash Brothers watched the medal ceremony. "We've got to meet them for ice cream or something tomorrow," Fulton said. "A little congratulatory thing."
"I hope Kestle's OK," Portman said.
"You're in love, Bash Brother," Fulton said as the Russian national anthem started.
Kestle stood on the podium as Russia's national anthem was played. She'd never heard it before. Biting her lip, Kestle tried to ignore the agony in her arm. Her shoulder felt as if it was on fire. I wish it would go numb again, she thought.
"Hey," Kathryn nudged her as the anthem stopped and the crowd applauded. "You OK?"
"My arm hurts really bad," Kestle whimpered.
Jenny, who was standing to Kestle's left, got down from the podium and grabbed Coach Jodie. Kestle smiled. That was so Jenny. Break every rule there was if it would alleviate someone else's pain.
A few seconds later Coach Jodie made her way up the stairs. "All right, Kestle. We're going to take you to the hospital and have that shoulder x-rayed."
"Now?" Kestle asked. "Can't I just take some ibuprofen?"
Coach Jodie looked at her as if she were crazy. "No, Kestle. Coach Brad thinks you may have torn some ligaments. That can't be left too long without treatment."
"It doesn't hurt so bad anymore," Kestle lied.
"It will." Coach Jodie led Kestle off the podium.
Fulton and Portman wedged their way through the crowd into the night air. "That was good," Portman said. "A bronze medal for the USA gymnasts."
"I hope we do better," Fulton said. "I do not want to go home with anything less than gold."