remarkably lithe and the strongest girl on the team. She was also 100 percent athlete, totally in tune with her body. And tonight, she simply didn’t feel right. She went up on her toes and snapped her hands across her body, then up toward the ceiling. To the casual observer, she would have looked lightning quick. But she knew that she was unnaturally aware of her right leg when she flexed at the ankle, and that her right arm felt slightly sluggish as well. They had been on tour for more than a month, with shows sometimes three nights in a row. Maybe she was just wearing down.
Across the room, Shasheen was entertaining several of the girls and coaches with one of her stories. Marci smiled. Talk about loose .
“Five minutes,” the promoter called into the room. “Five minutes, everyone. Marci, that deal with the governor’s going to happen at intermission. I told his people you felt uncomfortable being singled out, but they reminded me that you’re the only one on the team from Massachusetts, and that the small print in our contract says we have to cooperate with this sort of thing. It’s just a plaque of some kind. Your folks’ll love it.”
“Viva Sheprow,” Shasheen cheered with her typical sly edge.
The others laughed and applauded. At one time or another, everyone on the team had had differences with the others, but by and large they had stuck together pretty well. Marci bowed to the group and nodded to the promoter that she was okay about the plaque. She pulled on her warm-up jacket and tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the strange leaden feeling from her right arm. Finally she zipped up and followed the others out to the arena.
As Marci had anticipated, there were few empty seats in the house—probably the biggest crowd they had drawn on the entire tour. Through the playing of the national anthem and the introduction of the team, Marci tested her muscles—fingers, hands, arms, shoulders, neck, legs. Better , she thought. Everything felt better. She went up on her toes again. No real problem. Well, maybe a little weirdness.
What in the hell is going on?
She was scheduled to perform on the balance beam and uneven bars, as well as the vault. Then she and two others were to do a series of synchronized tumbling passes. Maybe she could beg off that.
“You okay, Marse?” Shasheen asked.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m okay, I guess.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I’m okay.”
“Marci, you’re not speaking right.”
“I’m okay.”
Her words sounded fine now. This was like the flu, she thought, or some kind of sugar thing. She typically wouldn’t eat for hours before a competition, and even though this was only an exhibition, she should never have had a frappe and sandwich. The loudspeaker announcer called the eight of them to their places. Shasheen was starting on the uneven bars. Marci would be vaulting.
“Knock ’em dead,” Shasheen said, giving her a thumbs-up as she headed across the arena.
“Yeah,” Marci whispered to no one. “You, too.”
She followed a teammate toward the head of the runway leading to the vault horse. Her individual gold medal was on the balance beam, but of all the events, vault was the most natural and automatic for her. Again, her right arm and leg seemed heavy. She felt confused and, for the first time, frightened.
Knock ’em dead.
Marci watched her teammate do an adequate vault, then heard her own name reverberate through the vast arena.
Mom, something’s wrong with me. What should I do?
Marci looked to her left, where her parents, sister, relatives, and friends took up most of three rows. Barbara Sheprow, with her flaming red hair and the white suit she had bought for the occasion, beamed at her and pumped both fists in the air.
Mama?
Marci suddenly became aware that the entire Fleet Center had become eerily silent. Everyone was watching her ... waiting. She hadn’t even begun going through the mental prep to vault.
She turned toward the runway,
Across the room, Shasheen was entertaining several of the girls and coaches with one of her stories. Marci smiled. Talk about loose .
“Five minutes,” the promoter called into the room. “Five minutes, everyone. Marci, that deal with the governor’s going to happen at intermission. I told his people you felt uncomfortable being singled out, but they reminded me that you’re the only one on the team from Massachusetts, and that the small print in our contract says we have to cooperate with this sort of thing. It’s just a plaque of some kind. Your folks’ll love it.”
“Viva Sheprow,” Shasheen cheered with her typical sly edge.
The others laughed and applauded. At one time or another, everyone on the team had had differences with the others, but by and large they had stuck together pretty well. Marci bowed to the group and nodded to the promoter that she was okay about the plaque. She pulled on her warm-up jacket and tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the strange leaden feeling from her right arm. Finally she zipped up and followed the others out to the arena.
As Marci had anticipated, there were few empty seats in the house—probably the biggest crowd they had drawn on the entire tour. Through the playing of the national anthem and the introduction of the team, Marci tested her muscles—fingers, hands, arms, shoulders, neck, legs. Better , she thought. Everything felt better. She went up on her toes again. No real problem. Well, maybe a little weirdness.
What in the hell is going on?
She was scheduled to perform on the balance beam and uneven bars, as well as the vault. Then she and two others were to do a series of synchronized tumbling passes. Maybe she could beg off that.
“You okay, Marse?” Shasheen asked.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m okay, I guess.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I’m okay.”
“Marci, you’re not speaking right.”
“I’m okay.”
Her words sounded fine now. This was like the flu, she thought, or some kind of sugar thing. She typically wouldn’t eat for hours before a competition, and even though this was only an exhibition, she should never have had a frappe and sandwich. The loudspeaker announcer called the eight of them to their places. Shasheen was starting on the uneven bars. Marci would be vaulting.
“Knock ’em dead,” Shasheen said, giving her a thumbs-up as she headed across the arena.
“Yeah,” Marci whispered to no one. “You, too.”
She followed a teammate toward the head of the runway leading to the vault horse. Her individual gold medal was on the balance beam, but of all the events, vault was the most natural and automatic for her. Again, her right arm and leg seemed heavy. She felt confused and, for the first time, frightened.
Knock ’em dead.
Marci watched her teammate do an adequate vault, then heard her own name reverberate through the vast arena.
Mom, something’s wrong with me. What should I do?
Marci looked to her left, where her parents, sister, relatives, and friends took up most of three rows. Barbara Sheprow, with her flaming red hair and the white suit she had bought for the occasion, beamed at her and pumped both fists in the air.
Mama?
Marci suddenly became aware that the entire Fleet Center had become eerily silent. Everyone was watching her ... waiting. She hadn’t even begun going through the mental prep to vault.
She turned toward the runway,
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