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something.”
    And the pressure would increase because they might take more of an interest in my success and my failures.
    â€œThey’ll get it when you make the Olympic team,” Gwen says. “Then they’ll all be proud to know you.”
    â€œBut then they’ll treat me differently. And they’ll ask me about gymnastics at school. And I’d have a lot of friends who aren’t real friends.” School is my safe place right now, my place to get away from the pressure, to be an average kid. I don’t know how it would affect my gymnastics if at least half my life weren’t normal .
    â€œA boyfriend isn’t practical, Charlie,” Gwen says kindly. “Not now. Not when so much is on the line. Not if you really want the dream.”
    â€œOf course I want the dream! Are you serious?” That’s why I’m keeping up this balancing act, because it’s helping me get there. I want the dream more than anything else.
    Gwen falls back onto the pillow, smiling. “Good to hear. For a minute there, I thought I’d lost you to being normal .”
    â€œI’m planning to be anything but normal at the gym, so you’d better watch your back!” I punch her playfully in the arm.
    â€œOh, I have no doubt.” She’s laughing. “I believe in you, Charlie. You got this!” She ducks sideways, clutching her sides with laughter, to avoid my second play-punch.
    â€œYou got this” is our inside joke. Back when Gwen was in level eight—the first level where a gymnast chooses her own routines—at her Georgia gym, I guess someone from the crowd yelled “You got this, Gwen!” right before she started a run on vault. She was competing with a Yurchenko—round-off with a back handspring onto the vault, with a full flip off the vault—but she over-rotated and landed flat on her back. It was one of those catastrophic moments that brought an edge of superstition to Gwen’s competitive career. After that the phrase “You got this!” became a serious taboo. When Gwen moved to Gold Star two years ago, we were all ordered not to say it.
    â€œWe’re so close to making it,” I say, letting out a ragged breath of excitement. There are certain moments when I think about what we’re doing and how far we’ve come, when the Olympics seem not only reachable but right at my fingertips. There’s a bubble of excitement that grows in my chest, making me so light that I could float to the ceiling.
    â€œClose,” Gwen agrees, seizing my hand again and squeezing. “Just remember that you’ve got to follow your heart, and right now, as much as I wish the reality were different, it can’t go chasing after boys.”
    My heart. What my heart wants is easy. It wants an Olympic gold medal. It’s my brain that confuses things.
    In the end, is my wanting to be ordinary going to cost me my dreams?

Chapter Four
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    â€œAnd what did Coach Chris say?” Mom leans forward, a piece of glazed chicken dangling from her fork. Dad picked me up at the airport. Now we’re sitting around the dinner table. I’ve just finished telling Mom about my new series on beam.
    â€œHe didn’t say much,” I say. “You know Coach. But I could tell he was happy.”
    Dad grins at his plate. He’s not one to say much either. “That’s great, Charlie. I’m proud of you.”
    I can’t help but smile. “But that wasn’t the coolest thing that happened. There was Gwen’s Kovacs! She has totally nailed it. I was so excited.”
    â€œWhat’s a Kovacs again?” Mom asks. She and Dad are pretty good about keeping up with my gymnastics skills, but they certainly don’t obsess about it. Since I’ve never even attempted a Kovacs, this is new territory for them.
    â€œIt’s that release move I was telling you about. Here, let me pull up a video.” I pick