Balance (Off Balance 1)

He said nothing, so I took a risk.

“What does Katja mean to you?”

Kova paused, his stance rigid. Interestingly, that must have struck a nerve. After witnessing two arguments between them, one he didn’t even know I knew about, I wanted to know if she was more than just a girlfriend to him, if he saw a future with her. I rested my hand on my hip, waiting for him to turn around. I was so positive he would respond that a smirk crept along my face.

I was shocked when his head twitched to the side, and he continued walking away from me, slamming the door shut to his office.

A GOOD PART of my morning workout had been fairly demanding. I had my ballet classes, which kept me busy for nearly two hours, then I moved on to conditioning. The two things I despised doing were the most strenuous and challenging. Challenging in the sense that it was easy to cut corners and do it half-assed and not get caught. Which I didn’t. I’d only hurt myself in the long run.

When I moved on to vault with Madeline, I made a conscious effort to avoid Kova. I purposely didn’t look in his direction and I acted like he didn’t exist, but it was a difficult feat. He was on my mind every few seconds and the fight to not look for him was a struggle. I got the feeling I was being watched, but didn’t want to make it obvious I was aware of his gaze. I could feel his eyes on me, crawling over my body. But I didn’t acknowledge it. The fear of seeing disgust sat heavy in my gut, and not something I wanted to face.

This morning I’d been working on my vault. I was trying to perfect the Amanar, a two and a half twisting Yurchenko. It was the hardest vault for women to master because of its level of difficulty, but also gave the most scoring points in difficulty too. If I didn’t pull through and only completed two twists instead of two and a half, I’d be downgraded for difficulty and not execution, surprisingly. The key to execution was a huge block. I had to push with all my might off the vault table using my shoulders and keeping my arms straight. If I bent my arms, it absorbed my power and I’d really mess up. But no matter what I did, I just couldn’t stick it. I’d step forward, land on my butt, land off to the side, bend my legs. I either under rotated or over rotated. I was an utter disaster. All of those landings would earn me deductions I couldn’t afford. The last thing I wanted was to lower my vault to two twists, but I knew if I didn’t start making progress soon, I would be forced to scale it back. I wanted the Amanar so bad I could taste it.

Vault was mine. I normally excelled at it, I just needed to stick my landing. But since I had come to World Cup, I’d been doing terribly. At least, it felt that way. I needed to be a little tighter, a little faster, a little higher, and I’d have it.

Easier said than done. Nerves and self-doubt got to me, I knew that was playing into my overall performance.

Madeline had mentioned we needed to start working on my alternate vault soon. Gymnasts always had two vaults, usually one that brought more points to the table. The new vault would be front flipping, I just wasn’t sure which one yet. Doing a front vault showed diversity.

“Adrianna. Instead of starting at seventy-three feet, try seventy-five. Do a double and land it. You’re getting there, but you may need more momentum.”

I nodded.

Madeline pulled her arms up to her chest, her hands in fists, and jerked to the left—giving me an example of what she meant. “Pop off the table and pull up high, squaring your shoulders and then twist hard. Got it? You really need to block.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go for it.”

I walked back to the end of the runway, looking for seventy-five feet. Grabbing a piece of chalk, I drew a line where my toes needed to start and then chalked my hands up good. I raised an arm and then took off running. My arms stayed like sticks by my side until I gained speed, and they bent. I pumped my legs harder than ever about twelve feet away and did a round-off onto the spring board, then a back handspring onto the vault table to complete the Yurchenko, popping off with my shoulders with a loud huff and pulled my twist up and into a double. I had height, a tad more than usual, but ended up taking a huge step forward on the soft practice mat.

Looking over my shoulder with my arms still in the air, I raised a brow at Madeline. She chewed her lips, staring at me curiously.

“Try starting off a bit slower.” I looked at her with a question in my eyes. I needed speed if anything. “Meaning, take a few larger, but slower steps at first, and then gun it around twenty-five feet away. And throw the Amanar instead. The double isn’t helping.”

I got to the end of the runway and chalked up again when Madeline yelled. “Practice a few slow starts first.”

The slow starts had a funny look to them. The knees came up higher, slower, and the step was much wider. It looked like giant skips at first. I knew what she wanted me to do, I just had never done it, and honestly, I didn’t think this was what I needed. But she was my coach so I listened.

I quickly practiced a few off to the side while Holly vaulted twice.

I took a handful of slower, wider steps and performed my vault, but I didn’t stick my landing. When I stood straight, the back of my calf started to glow with heat again, but this time it traveled down to my ankle. Bending down, I rotated my ankle around and massaged the muscle to relieve the warmth.

Her brows angled toward each other. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

I nodded. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?” I nodded and she asked, “Okay, so how did that feel?”

“It makes sense to start off slower, I think, and I can feel the change in momentum. I have more power. Can I try it again?”

“Of course.”

I got in line and waited for Holly to go. Once she finished a couple sets of vaults, it was my turn. I took off even slower by pulling my legs higher to the ceiling, but it wasn’t easy. I could feel my stomach clench and the muscles I needed to build in order to run like this. My vault was better, and my height too, but it didn’t feel perfect and I knew it.

“Okay—I know I’m throwing a lot at you right now, but what if we try to get your round-off closer to the ground, too.”

“What do you mean?”