A tiny moan escaped Tess Marshall’s lips, barely audible. She rose from her pillow and glanced around the van’s dim interior. No one seemed to notice. Most of her teammates were out cold, sleeping through every pothole and rough patch of highway. They’d been at it for ten hours, through six hundred miles of oil fields chasing sunrise to arrive on time. The towns had begun to blur together long before nightfall; Tess had felt every mile. The pain in her hip wouldn’t let up. What started as a burning sensation hours earlier had sharpened into intermittent jabs, like an ice pick buried deep inside her leg. Something was wrong. But she had worked too hard to get here. She wasn’t about to say anything now.

Tess managed a small stretch as they rolled into Houston, easing the pain in her leg just enough to press her cheek to the cool window. She watched the morning light spill across glass buildings and construction cranes rising in the distance. Back home, in Ashvale, Texas, a grain elevator was about as close as it came to a skyline. 

“Look alive, ladies. Daylight’s burning,” Coach Selena called, her voice cutting through the engine’s rattle. “These judges don’t care how long you’ve been on the road.”

Tess climbed out with seven other girls, dragging her bag across the pavement as she fought a yawn. She squinted into the glare of a gymnasium looming at the far edge of the parking lot.

“Top three advance. Everyone else goes home.”

Beads of sweat gathered on Tess’s palms.

Across town, Naomi Marshall sat stuck in traffic along the Katy Freeway, glancing at her phone. Eight texts. Edits on at least three segments. She didn’t have time for a gymnastics meet.

She had come to loathe these days. They seemed to drag on forever, always in some distant gymnasium where she sat by herself while the other mothers huddled, whispering and laughing at jokes no one bothered to explain. Somehow, they knew when to clap and when to cheer. And still, here she was, in a rental, inching forward bumper-to-bumper.  

The morning had not been easy. The SUV they’d given her was electric, and she’d spent ten minutes in the airport garage trying to figure out how to get the damn thing in reverse.

Tess had her teammates, her coach, her earbuds. She didn’t need her mother hovering. But the others would notice if Naomi wasn’t in the stands. So many of her loyal viewers would be here, watching their own daughters, and they expected two things from Naomi: the news at six and that smile. Always that smile. 

At the gym, Tess limped through the front door and paused in the hallway to stretch her hip. Blake trailed behind re-wrapping her wrist.

“Need a brace?” Blake squatted to meet Tess’s eyes. “I’ve got like a zillion in my bag.”

Tess nodded toward the wrap on Blake’s knee. “You sure?”

Blake smiled and unzipped her white leather duffle, the letters B.L.A.K.E stitched across the top in bright Rockstarz red.

“I’m basically running a pharmacy out of here—bandages, tape, painkillers.”

Tess forced a grin. “Impressive.”

“Trust me,” Blake laughed as she reached for a compression wrap. “I’m like one sprained ankle away from a thriving side hustle.”

Tess winced and adjusted her hip. “Thanks, but the brace isn’t gonna help. I just took some meds, and it’s still killing me.”

Blake cocked her head. “Thought it was your knee?”

“That was last week. Now it’s everywhere,” Tess said.

Blake grinned. “You know what Selena’s gonna say. Pain is temporary.”

“Yeah,” Tess finished. “But a gold medal is forever.”

At fifteen, Tess barely brushed three feet ten. Everyone at school towered over her; she was often mistaken for a third grader. Before she made it to kindergarten, doctors tossed around the term Failure to Thrive, which made her sound like a wilting houseplant instead of a kid. They offered guesses, ran tests, and more tests. Nothing panned out. So, the whole thing became less of a crisis and more of a hassle no one could fix. The kitchen sink was out of reach, and she couldn’t see herself in the bathroom mirror. But in the gym, her size made sense. Truth was, it made her exceptional.

“Here’s our locker room.” Selena waved her hands as if she was directing traffic at an intersection. “Shower and change into your leos. We need to take our turn warming up on the equipment.”

Thirty minutes later, the girls stepped onto the arena floor, identical in their neon red leotards and glittering eyeshadow. Tess glanced at Blake’s thick brunette bun, pulled tight and perfect. Tess’s hair had a mind of its own. Blonde wisps floated free, no matter how much gel she used.  

The ceiling climbed out of sight. Rows of empty seats surrounded them. She and Blake stopped to take a few breaths.

“Wow,” Tess said, almost in a whisper.

“Enormous, I know,” Blake called as the music began to blare from the loudspeakers. “You’re golden, Tess. Nail that beam routine and you’re headed to state.”

“I’m only nervous till I’m up there,” Tess shouted back.

“A clean mount,” Blake said, twirling toward the center of the gym in rhythm with the music. “The judges will be speechless,” she called before striking a final pose.

Tess was stifling a laugh when Selena’s voice sliced through the noise.

“Blake, stop clowning around and stretch. You need to get to the uneven bars. And Tess, wrap those ankles before you warm up. You can’t afford a sprain.”

Tess sat on the mat and felt the steady pull of athletic tape as the trainer wound it carefully around her ankle. This late in the season everyone wore tape, carried ice packs, and hobbled from one event to the next.

She glanced up at the seats, where spectators were just beginning to trickle in, some clutching coffee cups, others scanning the floor. Blake’s mother and father waved and held up homemade posters that shouted, GO ROCKSTARZ! And YOU’VE GOT THIS GIRLS! But Tess saw no sign of her own parents.

Dickie Marshall’s game was golf. It’s where he picked up most of his clients. This just wasn’t his thing. She knew better than to expect him. If Tess needed anything, she’d call the courthouse or the country club.

“Spot me?” Cat called.

Tess slid the springboard into place. Cat took a quick run, launched herself, and landed on the balance beam. Tess yanked the board free and nudged the mat back into place.

“I’ve got her,” Selena said as she stepped next to Tess. In a low voice, she added, “How’s that leg? Saw you limping earlier.”

“Only hurts when I move,” Tess replied with a grin.

“Ninety seconds,” Selena said. “A near perfect beam routine is all that stands between you and finals. Push through that, Tess, and you’re competing with the best in Austin.”

Tess moved toward the chalk bin, trying to ignore the pinch in her hip. Around her, teammates stretched or quietly mapped their routines, too focused to notice her. So, when a calm voice behind her said, “Hey Tess, you hurt?” she nearly jumped.

She turned. It was Sadie Robinson, long-legged, her back impossibly straight.

Sadie was a year older and, at least in Tess’s mind, light-years better. Tess had studied everything about her: that focus, even the way she moved across the gym like she had nothing to worry about. Tess would have been thrilled to capture even a fraction of it. If anyone was headed for the big stage someday, it was Sadie.

“Nope, just fine,” Tess lied, unsure why.

Sadie smiled. “Well, that’s good,” she said. “Back in Dallas, I told my coach you were the only one from Ashvale who might push us a little.”

Tess pressed her tongue hard against the back of her teeth. Finally, something she could use. Better angry than nervous.

Ashvale was wind, stubble, and wide-open nothing. It was a dot in the Texas Panhandle where tumbleweeds the size of Toyotas tore across the highways and piled along barbed-wire fences. It wasn’t much, but for now it was hers.

“Let’s get you to the floor,” Selena said, steering her toward a raised, spring-loaded platform at the heart of the gym.

“Push us a little?” Tess muttered, glancing back.

Sadie had already turned away, adjusting the tape around her wrist as her coach called her over.

“I think she meant that as a compliment,” Selena said.

“Don’t,” Tess said.

Selena gave her a look. “You’re doing it again.”

“It works,” Tess said.

“Careful what you let stick,” Selena said, her hand on Tess’s shoulder. “We spend the first twenty years seeing ourselves through everyone else’s eyes.”

She glanced down, then back at Tess.

“And if we’re not careful, we’ll waste the rest of our lives trying to decide if they were right.”

“That sounds exhausting,” Tess said as she scrunched her nose. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“Truth is, on some level we all care,” Selena said.

Tess didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she agreed, but Selena’s words stayed with her as they stood together watching other gymnasts run through their tumbling passes.

“She’s here!” Blake nudged Tess and nodded toward Naomi who was making her way through the crowd in her three-inch heels and starched white blouse. Naomi smiled at familiar faces, shaking hands as she scanned the section of rows for an open seat.

Naomi had a way of making an entrance. She sometimes joked that gymnastics was an acquired taste: two hours of boredom followed by one minute of sheer panic. This time she was cutting it close.

Cat leaned in behind Tess and whispered, “I grew up watching your mom. She’s like a celebrity.”

Tess rolled her eyes.

“It’s like she’s running for office or something,” Cat added, laughing.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tess said as she slipped two fingers beneath the tip of her tongue and unleashed a whistle sharp enough to cut glass. Naomi froze mid-step and glanced up. She scanned the gym floor, found Tess, and gave a quick wave as she settled into a seat about halfway up.

A moment later, the gym’s buzzer blared, cutting through the crowd like a starting gun. Selena paced along the edge of the floor, clipboard in hand, calling out last-minute corrections. Tess had learned to tune out the chaos and listen only to the sound of her coach. The buzzer sounded again, and she rolled her shoulders once, then again. It was time.

“Rockstarz, line up!” Selena snapped, corralling the team to the center of the gym.

Tess and her teammates waved to the stands as they made their official entrance, their smiles held in place. It was all just part of the show. They marched behind Selena in perfect formation. By the time they settled onto the bench, Tess could feel her muscles stiffening. The pain in her knee had begun to radiate toward her hip. She waited her turn.

Eight gymnasts performed on the floor ahead of Tess. She shifted on the bench, concentrating on her lap as applause rose and fell around her. Her mind replayed the routine on a loop, and her fingers twitched in time with the rhythm of her imagined passes.

When Sadie’s name was called, the gym fell silent. Tess couldn’t look away. Sadie’s program was deliberately difficult to showcase her power. Her opening tumbling pass was explosive, and her layout full seemed to hang suspended in midair. For a moment, Tess wondered what it would be like to trust her body that much. The crowd erupted as Sadie struck her final pose. Tess cheered too, along with every other gymnast in the competition. Then a hush fell over the room while the judges tallied her scores.

The numbers flashed. Sadie had taken the top spot. For now. Tess swallowed against the lump in her throat. She was next.

The announcer’s voice boomed across the gym: “Competing on floor, Tess Marshall, Ashvale Rockstarz.”

Selena caught her arm just before she stepped forward. “Stick to the plan,” she said. “Clean landings over flash. Give me a solid performance. Stay controlled. Don’t chase it.”

Tess nodded, but she knew clean landings were not going to get her out of Ashvale. If there were scouts in the stands, they were there for Sadie, not her. Tess had two seasons left, maybe less. She had to stand out, or college coaches would look right past her.

She stepped onto the mat and blocked out everything but the music and the routine in front of her. Her hands tingled as adrenaline coursed through her body. The hum of the crowd dissolved. Even the judges, heads down over score sheets moments earlier, faded into the background. Her focus narrowed to the floor beneath her and muscle memory guided her steps.

Her first tumbling pass was a roundoff back handspring into a layout with a clean landing. She launched into it but mid-flight her sore leg refused to respond, and she couldn’t get the height she needed. She managed to stay on her feet but felt how low she’d been immediately.

“Something’s off,” Sadie said, eyes still on Tess.

“Don’t count her out,” Blake snapped back, low enough that only Sadie could hear.

Tess moved on to her second pass but knew the moment she left the floor it wasn’t there. She dropped the pike and went with a simple front handspring. Her leg wouldn’t survive a third pass, not if she wanted anything left for the beam.

When the music ended, Tess saluted the judges and walked off the mat knowing it wouldn’t be enough.

Her fingers curled into her palms as she collapsed onto the bench near Selena. Tess forced herself to sit through the polite applause.

“Let it go,” Selena said as she crouched in front of her. “You still have the beam. That’s where you’ve got to shine.”

Tess nodded and blinked hard, trying to reset as the score appeared on the screen. Third place, for now. Sadie had the gold locked up, and Tess’s hold on the bronze felt shaky at best. She wiped her hands on her leotard as Blake stepped onto the mat for the final floor routine of the day.

Blake’s tumbling passes were crisp and clean, her landings rock-solid. When the scores were posted, Tess’s name slipped to fourth. Tess clapped and cheered as she smiled through the sting in her eyes. Her friend had earned a spot on the podium, no question about it. But that didn’t stop Tess from wishing her routine had gone better.

Fourth place.

Tess favored her right leg as she walked across the gym. The ache in her hip pulsed with every step, but she refused to limp. Not here. At the chalk station, she dipped her hands into the cool, fine powder. She took her time working it between her fingers. She closed her eyes and whispered—chalk, rub, breathe—hoping it would steady her.

“Beam is yours, Tess,” Selena said from behind her.

Tess kept her eyes on her hands, rubbing away the chalk as if she hadn’t heard. Still, Selena’s words pierced the weak band of concentration she was clinging to, like a hard wind slapping at a sail. She wanted to turn and scream, “Shut up. Please, just stop!” For a split second, she had to fight the instinct to bolt from the arena.  

“Focus on clean connections and stick the dismount,” Selena kept on. “Forget the pain. Remember how hard you’ve worked to be here.”

Tess inhaled sharply and forced everything else to the edges. She held her breath for a beat before exhaling. The beam stretched ahead of her. It stood solid, patiently waiting. It did not care about her botched floor routine. It didn’t care about scores, or competition, or even sore hips.

With the crowd reduced to background noise, Tess went over the mount one more time in her head, faster this time. Her hands gripped the edge of the mat as she bent one knee, ready to step into the spotlight. The beam had always been the one place where things made sense. Tess stepped forward, every muscle braced for the moment she would leave the ground.

“Tess Marshall, Ashvale Rockstarz, to the balance beam,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

“You own this, Tess!” Blake’s voice rang out, a little too bright, a little too hopeful. Tess didn’t look back.