Page 55 of The Fall of Iris Henley
A moment later, my body hits the ground full force.
My lungs spasm. Pain blooms across my rib cage. From far away I hear the music stop suddenly. The sudden absence of bass makes my heart sound like an angry machine in my ears. Hard, unkind faces peer down at me and then vanish. I’m stuck in a private eternity, unable to breathe or talk or think.
Gloria makes everyone else move back. A young woman I recognize as the school nurse has appeared next to me—Idon’t know when—and is holding up fingers, trying to get me to count them.
I’m not sure how much time passes. Usually when someone takes a fall everyone applauds when she gets up. That doesn’t happen for me. They all watch as I find my feet. Some—Molly, for instance—just watch, their expressions hard. Some look away when I try to make eye contact. Hayden is at the back of the crowd and watches as I limp off to the locker room.
I’ve been friends with these girls most of my life. We grew up together. We were bound by blood and sweat and training, and none of it matters to them. All that matters is what some anonymous person said online.
“Henley.” It’s Gloria. The lemony smell of her perfume catches me a moment before she does, but her fingers curl around my arm.
“I’m sorry, Coach, I just need a minute,” I mumble. “I’m okay though. I’ll be back out there on my feet in no time.”
“No,” she says firmly. I turn to look at her. She’s never a cuddly presence, Gloria, but there’s something almost pitying in her expression. Like she’s going to have to let me down easy or something.
“No,” she says again. “Take the week off, Henley. You’re benched.”
After everything else that’s happened, you’d think I would be immune to shock, but my jaw drops open. “Gloria, that wasn’t my fault! I hit that lift perfectly!”
“I know that,” she says. She glances behind us toward the door, like she’s making sure no one else is there eavesdropping. “But right now, things are complicated.”
Complicated? So she knows about the rumors. I guess everyone does, by now.
“Your teammates can’t work with you,” Gloria says. “Not right now, anyway.”
“That’s not my fault!” I’ve never argued with Gloria before. She’s tough, but she’s usually fair, and so I’ve always accepted her rulings. But the unfairness of this brings out something whiny and pleading in my voice. I hate it. But I can’t help it. “Gloria, I swear, I didn’t… I didn’t do the things they’re saying.”
She looks me in the eye for a long moment, then shrugs. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “You’re still benched.”
“But that’s not fair!”
“Maybe not,” she says. “But that’s how it is. They’re the ones that dropped you. But I can’t bench everyone, so I’ve got to bench you. It’s not personal. At least, not personal with me. We’ve got to get this routine down, and right now, they cannot do that with you.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “It feels like I’m being punished for something I didn’t even do.”
Gloria nods. “I get that. I do. I’m sorry, Henley. But if you’re going to fly, you have to be able to trust your spotters.”
She turns away to go back into the gym, but then pauses on the threshold. “And right now… no one’s willing to catch you.”
CHAPTER 30
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 15, 2:42PM
VARDA HIGH
I sit in the locker room for a long time, listening to the music vibrate through the gym. My fingers tap the bench. Hips. Clasp. High V. Clasp. The music stops and starts, stops and starts. Gloria’s running them through the start of the routine over and over. She can’t bench all of them, but she can punish them in a different way. They’re stuck with the boring, basic arm motions. It looks good in sync, but it’s simple—the stuff we can do in our sleep. The fun stuff comes later. The tumbling and the lifts.
The toss.
My rib cage aches, but I’m pretty sure it’s just a bruise—nothing permanent. I’m lucky it wasn’t worse. Muscle memory saved me from cracking my head, that split second when my body knew they let me fall before my brain did.
I wrench my locker open and yank out the contents, stuffing it all into my duffel bag. I rip down the team pictures. Who do they think’s going to be top girl now? Vanessa is too tall. Bella’s strong but not as flexible, and Tammy’s a chickenshit. Sophie could do it—but she’s benched. Good luck. I slam the empty locker shut and glance over to the one next to it.
Lynette’s.
Gloria never reassigned it to anyone. The door still hangs a little crooked. I wasn’t there the day Gloria made her clean it out, but I can still picture her, slamming that door with all her might, not caring who heard or saw. The girls told me she’d thrown all her stuff in the big gray trash can by the door.
Did she regret it eventually, I wonder? Did she miss her photos, the magnet she got at Schlitterbahn on our middle school trip? Maybe she would have eventually, if she’d had more time. If she’d gotten clean.
