Chapter 14: Final Practice, Secret Promise
The gym was a cathedral of quiet tension. Grace’s sneakers squeaked once, a sharp protest against the polished floor, before she fell still. She stood at the edge of the spring floor, her competition leotard a slash of navy blue against the muted beige mats. She rolled her shoulders back, the sequins on her chest catching the harsh fluorescent light in fleeting winks.
In the vast, echoing silence, she could hear the hum of the lights, the distant drip of a faucet from the locker room. And she could feel Skye’s gaze. It was a physical weight, warm and steady, from the third row of the bleachers where she sat, a single, still figure in the empty stands.
Grace took a slow, deep breath, filling her lungs with the familiar air—chalk dust, old rubber, the faint tang of industrial cleaner. She pictured the routine, not as separate skills, but as a single, flowing sentence her body needed to write.
She raised her arms.
And then she was moving.
Her body unspooled across the floor. A roundoff, a back handspring, her body a tight coil snapping open into a full-twisting layout. The impact of the springs thudded up through her bones. She landed clean, already launching into the next pass. There was no thought. There was only muscle memory and momentum, the world narrowing to the feel of the floor beneath her feet and the blur of the rafters above. A leap, a turn, a held pose that trembled with effort. She finished in her final corner, arms sharp above her head, chest heaving. The echo of her landing seemed to hang in the air for a long moment before the quiet rushed back in.
From the bleachers, a single, solid clap broke the silence.Then another. Not loud, but deliberate. Skye.
Grace let her arms fall, the formal pose dissolving as she turned, seeking her. Skye was on her feet now, a grin splitting her face. That was all it took. The professional mask Grace wore for her coach, for the imaginary judges, crumpled. A giddy, breathless laugh escaped her, the sound too loud in the empty space. She jogged over, the foam landing mats squishing under her feet.
“Nailed it,” Skye said as Grace climbed up the bleacher steps. Her voice was low, full of a reverence that made Grace’s skin prickle.
“It felt okay,” Grace said, dropping onto the bench beside her, close enough that their thighs touched. She was hyper-aware of everything—the cool metal of the bleacher against the back of her legs, the sweat drying on her spine, the way Skye was looking at her like she’d just built something miraculous.
“Okay? Grace, you just defied gravity, like, six times in a row.” Skye shook her head, her long hair swaying. “It was insane.”
Grace leaned into her, letting her head rest against Skye’s shoulder for a second. The cotton of Skye’s t-shirt was soft against her cheek. “I keep thinking about tomorrow. All those people. The actual judges.”
Skye’s hand found hers, lacing their fingers together on the sun-warmed bleacher. Her thumb began a slow, steady stroke across Grace’s knuckles. “Same floor. Same you. Just a bigger audience.” She paused. “Remember when I had that final match against State? I puked twice in the locker room.”
“You did not.”
“Swear to god. Nerves are just energy. You just have to point them in the right direction.” Skye turned her head, her lips close to Grace’s ear. “And tomorrow, you’ll point them into those flips. You’ll be amazing.”
Grace closed her eyes, absorbing the words, the touch. “Will you…” she started, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Can you meet me? Before I go on? In the locker room? Just for a second. A good-luck thing.”
Skye’s thumb stilled for a heartbeat. Then it resumed its path. “Yeah. Of course I will. Text me when you’re heading in. I’ll be there.”
The promise was a solid thing, a knot in the rope of Grace’s anxiety. She lifted her head and kissed Skye, a brief, salty press of lips. “Thank you.”
They sat for a while, not talking, watching the dust motes dance in the slants of late afternoon sun cutting through the high windows. Grace’s breathing slowly settled into sync with Skye’s.
Finally, Skye stirred. “You should go shower. You reek of accomplishment.”
Grace nudged her with a shoulder. “You love it.”
“I really do,” Skye said, without a trace of irony.
They gathered Grace’s bag and water bottle. At the gym’s heavy main doors, Skye pulled her into a tight hug. Grace melted into it, her face buried in the curve of Skye’s neck, inhaling the scent of her fabric softener and skin. Skye’s arms were strong around her, a secure cage. When she finally loosened her grip, she didn’t let go completely. She kept one hand on Grace’s waist, the other cupping the back of her head, and kissed her again.
This kiss was different. Not the quick, sweaty press from the bleachers. This was slow.Deep. A deliberate communication. Skye’s tongue traced the seam of her lips and Grace opened for her, a soft sound escaping her throat as the world narrowed to the warm slide of Skye’s mouth, the faint taste of her coffee, the sharp edge of her teeth. It was a kiss that felt like a beginning and an end all at once—an end to the practice, the waiting, the quiet uncertainty, and the beginning of whatever came next.
Skye broke the kiss, resting her forehead against Grace’s. Both of them were breathing heavily. “For luck,” Skye whispered, her voice rough.
Grace just nodded, her mind blank and full all at once.
Skye stepped back, her hand sliding down to squeeze Grace’s once more. “I’ll see you at home. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She pushed the door open and walked out into the golden evening, leaving Grace alone in the cool, darkening mouth of the gym. Grace touched her lips, still feeling the imprint. The anxiety was still there, a flutter in her gut. But underneath it, now, was a current of something ferocious and calm. She hefted her bag, turned off the last of the lights, and followed Skye out, the door clicking shut with a final, echoing thud behind her.