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  The Bethany girl couldn’t seem to get a word in edgewise, but her “yeah” seemed to be the one-word answer Taylor was looking for. At least it satisfied Taylor enough so that she let Bethany go.

  “Great!” Taylor squeaked. “See you Friday!”

  I narrowed my eyes at her tone. The squeak in her voice seemed a little too . . . squeaky. Her voice was a little too loud. Even the way she was waving and talking seemed kind of hyper for Taylor. Was she up to something?

  When Nikki and I began heading to our homeroom and I saw Taylor come running past us to grab another girl, I knew she must be.

  “Hi, Stella!” she squeaked in that fake squeak. “Will you be coming on Friday? It’ll be so much fun! You will? Oh, yay! See you then!”

  I almost asked Nikki what Taylor was talking about. Just what was happening on Friday? But instead I held my tongue. I knew Taylor was just trying to make me curious, and I didn’t want to fall for it. The only problem was, of course, that she had made me curious. Then I realized that Nikki had been chattering away to me about gymnastics the whole time and I had zoned out. “Oh, sorry, what was that again?”

  “Oh, just that you’ll love our coach—and our team—oh, and everything!”

  “I’m sure I will,” I assured her.

  At lunchtime I sat at a table with Nikki, Guadalupe, Krista, and, of course, Taylor, who joined us last. She was just slipping into her seat when I asked Nikki, “So the fall session at Grace-n-Power doesn’t really begin until after Labor Day, right? So will today’s class be more like—”

  “Are you two still talking about gymnastics?” Taylor rolled her eyes. “Get a life already.”

  Nikki looked stunned. “Gymnastics is my life!”

  “Yeah, don’t be mean, Tay,” Krista snapped.

  Taylor shrank a little in her seat.

  “Go on, Ans,” Krista said.

  I lost my train of thought. “I-I was just saying, well . . . never mind, we can talk later. At the gym.” I ripped a bite out of my sandwich and chewed way harder than was necessary to break down the bread.

  Taylor watched me with the tiniest of smiles on her lips before she turned to Guadalupe. “So, Lupe, are you coming Friday?”

  “I don’t know,” Guadalupe said. “I mean, I’m allergic to wheat. I won’t really be able to eat anything there.”

  “Oh, we’ll have something gluten free for you, don’t worry,” Taylor said. “Please say you’ll come! It’ll be so much fun!”

  “You have celiac?” I asked Guadalupe.

  Guadalupe nodded glumly.

  “So you won’t be able to eat where?”

  “You know,” Krista said, finger-combing her bangs over her forehead. “At Taylor’s party on Friday. Since it’s going to be at the bakery.”

  “Oh,” I said, and I looked sidelong at Taylor. So that’s what she’d been trying to do this morning: let me know that she was having a party and that I wasn’t invited. I felt as though a hand had clamped over my heart. But I didn’t want to show her that I was hurt. Instead, I smiled at Taylor and asked, “Is it your birthday or something?” I tried to sound polite, but not that interested at the same time.

  Taylor shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Krista took over, “Oh, no, it’s like the invitation said—it’s just a party celebrating the first week of school. She did this last year too.” Then a frown flickered on Krista’s face for about a second and a half. “You did get an invitation, right?”

  I looked straight into Taylor’s eyes, but she quickly looked away and down at the bottled drink she was sipping. “I guess my dad must have,” I said. “Or something.”

  “You’ll love the party,” Krista went on. “It’s right up your alley. Her grandma closes the bakery and we all get to use the oven and make cupcakes and stuff.”

  I heard Guadalupe sigh on my left.

  “And you should see what Taylor can sculpt with fondant! She’s a true artist,” Krista went on.

  Taylor flushed with pleasure.

  I didn’t like to admit it to myself, but it did sound like fun to me, and I did want to try my hand at fondant if I could. I found myself wanting to go to the party very much. “Well, if the invitation turns up,” I said, “of course I’ll go.”

  Krista waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “Oh, I’m sure you won’t need it. Just show up.”

  Taylor twisted her mouth into a knot, but then tried to force her lips into a smile. She pressed them so tightly together, though, that her lips practically disappeared, making her mouth look like a hand puppet’s. “No problem, Ansley,” she said, finally. “I’ll make sure my grandmother sends your parents the address—if you can’t find the invitation, that is.”

  I winced a little at the word “parents” (plural). I didn’t correct her, though. If the girls didn’t already know about my mom, I wasn’t ready to tell them just yet—most of all Taylor. “Okay, thanks,” I said. “I’ll tell my dad to keep an eye out for the invite.” . . . that doesn’t exist, I finished in my head.

  Taylor changed the subject. “Anyone else taking art as an elective this year?”

  “With you winning all the prizes?” Nikki asked. “No thanks! I’m taking drama.”

  “Maybe next term,” Guadalupe said.

  “Sorry, Tay. Art was my second choice, though,” Krista said. She wrinkled her forehead so much in her apology that her eyebrows slid right under her bangs. “I’m taking creative writing.”

  “What about you, Ansley?” Taylor turned to me last. She looked almost afraid to hear what I would say.

  “No, I’m not taking art,” I said and hesitated as Taylor let out a breath of relief, probably. “Actually, I’m taking creative writing too.”

  Taylor crossed her arms and shot glowering looks at me, then at Krista, and then at me again.

  Krista, who wasn’t looking at her, clapped the tips of her fingers together in dainty applause. “Yay, Ansley! Do you like writing stories?”

  “Oh, yes!” I nodded vigorously. “Stories, poems, plays. And reading them out loud or acting in them too.”

  “Too bad you aren’t in drama with me, then,” Nikki pouted. “We had fun acting in Sunday school the other day. Didn’t we, Ansley?”

  “What did you say?” I blurted out. And the both of us laughed for about a full minute. “Sorry,” I said to the others, finally. “Private joke.” I turned back to Krista. “Anyway, acting’s all right, and I was thinking of maybe trying it next term. But first I wanted to try creative writing because I want to learn how to better communicate my thoughts and ideas through the written word and the spoken word.”

  “It just sounds like an extra language arts class to me,” Taylor said making a face.

  I ignored her. “We’re supposed to read our stuff aloud in class and critique each other and everything. Anyway, my dad thought it sounded like it would be helpful training for public speaking and stuff like that.”

  “Public speaking? Why? You’re not, like, shy or anything,” Nikki said. “And you speak fine.”

  “Yeah, but he thinks this class would be really good to teach me how to present myself when giving a presentation or telling a story on the radio or something. That kind of thing.”

  “On the radio!” Taylor scoffed. “Why would you ever have to be on the radio?”

  “For your information,” I snapped, “I’ve already been on the radio. With Mallory Winston.”

  There were gasps around the table.

  “Mallory Winston!”

  “She’s my favorite singer!”

  “How cool! How? When? Why?”

  “You’re lying,” Taylor said, shaking her head.

  “I’m not lying,” I said. “Look for it online. It should be easy enough to find.” I felt my nostrils flare as I charged ahead, “My big sister, Lena, was in a movie with Mallory a couple of years back. Maybe you’ve seen it? Above the Waters?”

  There were ooohs and ahhhs around the table. “After they shot the movi
e, Lena went on tour with Mallory and I got to spend some time with her on the road. We had a great, fancy tour bus like rock stars,” I went on. “And once I was even interviewed on the radio with my sister and Mallory.” At this point I had tilted my chin up high and was sitting so tall in my seat that I was literally looking down at everyone else at the table. “Mallory’s still a family friend. She calls us all the time . . .” I trailed off when I suddenly remembered that the last time I had seen or heard from Mallory Winston was at my mother’s funeral. “Anyway,” I shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

  The faces of everyone else at the table looked either stunned or impressed. Even Taylor seemed to be at a loss for words. Then the table exploded as the girls all started asking me more questions about Mallory and if I had had any other cool “brushes with fame” to share with them.

  “Calm down, everyone. One at a time,” I said. But even though I was smiling, I couldn’t help but notice the feeling of shame that had begun creeping up the back of my neck. Because even though it hadn’t been my intention to boast about Mallory—I had just wanted to defend my father’s advice about taking the creative writing class—by the end of my “speech” I had ended up sounding really braggy. What’s wrong with me? I thought, cringing to myself. I’m not usually a show-off. “Fancy tour bus?” “Rock stars?” “Mallory calls us all the time?” Why had I said all those things?

  I shot a glance at Taylor. She was the only one not jumping up and down and peppering me with questions. Her arms were crossed, and her mouth was pursed in an angle that made her look very disapproving.

  The thing she didn’t know? I was feeling the same way about myself as she was about me.

  Chapter 9

  By the end of the day, it seemed like the whole middle school had found out my family knew Mallory Winston. Students I didn’t know were waving at me in the hallways and calling me by name. But I couldn’t feel happy about being popular. I never liked the idea of people wanting to be friends with others because of who they know instead of because of who they are. Plus, I didn’t like having so many people liking me when I wasn’t really liking myself so much right now.

  So I could hardly wait to go to Grace-n-Power Gym that afternoon. The moment I walked through the front doors, I let out a long sigh. The sight of the shiny gym floors, the smell of the powdery chalk, and the sounds of squeaking bars and gymnasts landing with solid thumps on mats filled me with both peace and excitement! I don’t think I’d ever changed into my leotard so fast. I just needed to feel my blood pumping through my veins. Gymnastics had a way of helping me sweat out my problems and clear my mind.

  The coach for my group was a man named Philip Well. Everyone called him “Flip” for short, because he had been an Olympic gymnast and could flip well! He told us that the lesson that day was really to help the new people figure out what groups they would best belong in and for the old and new members to get to know each other.

  “Even though you will eventually be separated into groups according to your ages and abilities,” Coach Flip said, “I want you all to think of everyone in this gym as a part of your family. Because that’s how we roll around here. We help each other out. We want to see one another do well—even our competitors. We are here to build each other up, and to enjoy using the talents God has given us.”

  My ears perked up when he mentioned talents. And then he began our lesson with a prayer.

  “Lord, it is written that our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit. Help us to take good care of these temples so that we can glorify you through the work we do with them. Accept the way we use our talents as an offering of praise and thanksgiving to you and keep us always in your loving protection. Amen.”

  That’s right, I thought to myself. I didn’t really think about it before when Lena was singing for Aunt Sam the other day, but being a good athlete was just as good as being a talented singer. Just as a singer could praise God through their voice in song, an athlete could praise God through their body in sport. Maybe this is it! I thought. Maybe this is the talent I can use to give God glory. I started hopping in place a little. Gymnastics takes discipline, commitment, and lots of practice. But so does any kind of work or art form you want to do well. I could hardly wait to get started. But first I had a question. I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Ansley?”

  “So . . . would you say that the better we get at gymnastics, the better our offering to God can become?”

  Coach Flip thought about it for a minute. “You do want to give your best to God, yes. But it’s about the effort you put into it more than the result. If you try your best, that’s the offering that’s most pleasing to God. He doesn’t care if you get a gold medal or a silver medal—or no medal at all. He cares that you are sincerely trying to learn, to improve, and to give him your all. Do you understand?”

  “I think so,” I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Great!” he clapped his hands together. “Show me what you got!”

  I walked on the balance beam, worked out on the uneven bars, and demonstrated a floor routine that I had made up at my old gym. As I went along, Nikki and Coach shouted out encouragement—but so did other gymnasts I didn’t know—even kids in different groups and their coaches. Coach Flip had been right about it being a family atmosphere and everyone trying to build everyone else up. Hearing all their cheers, whistles, and shouts for me seemed to make me do better and better. By the end, when I flew off the lower uneven bars and hit my landing, I was feeling pretty good about how I’d done.

  Coach Flip looked impressed. “Yes. Ansley, you can definitely be in the Gracelets if you’re interested,” he said, which made Nikki do a little dance of joy, since the Gracelets was the competitive team that she was on. “But before we start our competitive season, we have a performance coming up. I’m going to see if we can work you into it somehow.”

  “Performance?”

  “Can we just show her?” Nikki asked. And with Coach’s permission, four girls around my age (the Gracelets) gathered together at the center of the gym. They were each holding these long wands with brilliant red streamers attached to them. They stood, waiting, two pairs of girls side-by-side and face-to-face. Then Coach Flip pointed to an older student. “Music, please.”

  She scrolled down a smart phone and pressed its screen. Suddenly, music by Mallory Winston started coming out of speakers in all corners of the gym. She was singing a praise song called One-Three-Nine about being “wonderfully made” by God.

  I squirmed a little when I heard Mallory’s voice, especially when Nikki grinned at me and flashed me a thumbs-up. But then I found myself caught up in their performance.

  It was like watching a modern ballet. The girls did a floor ribbon routine that was incredibly synchronized, and the way they made the scarlet ribbons flutter, stream, and spiral looked downright magical. “How pretty!” I whispered under my breath. I also liked how each girl had a little solo to do so that they could have a moment to shine individually before all coming together again for the finale. When they were done, I clapped really hard. “That was great!”

  The girls ran up to me, smiling and panting. “We’ll be performing it at the Founder’s Day Fair,” Nicki said, wiping some sweat off her forehead.

  “Oh, I wish I could join you! But it’s too late,” I said, hanging my head. “The fair’s this weekend!”

  “Maybe it’s not,” Coach Flip said. “Maybe we can work in a little part where you pop in, do a tumbling pass, and then pop out again. Not with a ribbon or anything, but at least you get to participate. How about it, girls? Want to give it a try?”

  Nikki and Guadalupe each took one of my hands and pulled me into a circle made up of them and the other two Gracelets (a Gracelet bracelet). Then they jumped up and down, yelling “Yes! Yes!” to show me how pumped they were to make it all happen.

  We used the rest of the class to work on the routine, figure out when the best time was for me to come in, and what moves I should do. “Come back again on Thur
sday and rehearse some more,” Coach Flip said. “You’ll see. We can make it work.”

  I certainly hoped so!

  When class was over, as Nikki, Guadalupe, and I walked to the locker rooms to change, Nikki chattered away about the upcoming performance. “Just think, if we’re really good, we could inspire other girls to take gymnastics too!” Her face glowed with both exercise and excitement. “And what did you think about our choice of music, huh? I thought you’d like that!”

  I felt my face burn. “Yeah, of course I did. But . . . to be honest, I feel kind of bad about how I boasted earlier today about knowing Mallory,” I blurted out. “I sounded like a show-off. It was awful.”

  Guadalupe’s mouth dropped open in silent surprise. Nikki blinked hard a few times as she took in what I said. Then she shrugged. “I didn’t think you were showing off.”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” I said with a sigh, “but I thought I sounded boastful, and I’m probably not the only one who thought so.” My mind flashed back to the memory of Taylor’s face. “Anyway, I think it would be better if we didn’t talk about Mallory Winston for a while. Okay?”

  I raised my eyebrows at Guadalupe to include her.

  “Okay, but . . .” Guadalupe dropped her voice to a whisper. “We kind of have to say her name sometimes—like when we use her music for the performance.”

  I burst out laughing. “You don’t have to whisper! I didn’t mean that her name was taboo. I just meant . . . I didn’t think it was right of me to use her name to make myself look important. It was like I was . . . using her, like a thing, to make friends.” I sat down on a bench in front of our lockers and shuddered a little. “But she’s not a thing, she’s a person—and a really nice one at that.”

  Nikki sank down next to me. “I think I know what you mean,” she said, her eyes large and dark in sympathy. “You’re saying that you’d rather not talk about her at all than talk about her to show off—or have people think you’re showing off.”