Jessica

The police have gone silent as Crystal Cove waits for more answers. Tegan is awake, but her lawyers won’t allow her to talk until she’s had a few more cognitive tests, and Jake still isn’t speaking to me. This weekend he went surfing with Manny and Alyssa. No one invited me, and I can’t blame them. Chloe is at the college gymnastics showcase in Arizona, and Shawna’s mother held a Celebration of Life yesterday. I wasn’t invited to that either.

Sunday evening my new phone rings. It’s Chloe, calling from the showcase in Arizona. She’s breathless. “I made it, Jessica! I committed to UCLA, and as long as nothing goes wrong, I’ll sign in November!” Her words bubble across the phone line, effervescent, without a trace of her prior anger.

“Chloe! I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it.”

She leaps into a retelling of her competition, all the highs and lows and slight bobbles and perfect landings. “I nailed my beam routine, finally! Didn’t even chip a tooth.” She laughs about the beam injury that almost ruined her career, which is so unlike Chloe. She’s high from her success. She won her prize. “It was all worth it,” she whispers.

I imagine the hours in the gym, the missed parties and date nights, the injuries, the pain, the surgeries. “Of course it was,” I tell her.

Her breath catches, and she’s quiet a moment. “Jess, I’m sorry I got angry about the bet thing. I understand why you didn’t want to tell anyone. We’re flying home tonight and my parents are having a dinner for me tomorrow. Will you come?”

“Yes!” A feeling of hope washes through me. Chloe and I are okay, and she accomplished her dream. Maybe Jake will forgive me too. Maybe everything will be okay.

The following evening, I drive to Chloe’s. The second lightning storm from Mexico is expected to arrive soon, bringing rain and high winds, another gift of global warming. Our meteorologist dubbed the storm “rainopalypse.” It’s gray and miserable and windy outside.

Chloe lives near the mouth of the Russian River on the north side of Blind Beach. Her house is small, just two bedrooms with a wraparound porch. I brought flowers for her, and Grady is here too with his dog, Boomer. He gives Chloe a solid gold necklace with a cursive pendant that reads Champion.

“It’s not a gold medal, but it’s gold metal,” he says, blushing.

“That’s cute.” I snap a photo of them with my phone.

Her parents serve a six-course salmon dinner that is delicious. No one speaks about Tegan, or about Shawna’s unsolved death, even though we have a clear view of Falcon’s Peak from the windows.

After dinner, Chloe, Grady, and I decide to walk their dogs on the beach before the storm makes landfall.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I say, nodding toward the restroom.

Chloe and Grady gather the goldendoodles and run, laughing, to the beach. I hit the restroom and then stop in Chloe’s bedroom to snap a picture of her new trophy. Her shelves are lined with them and dripping with medals and photos, a lifetime of dedication and talent.

The photos progress with her age. She was so cute as a toddler, already at the gym, tumbling. Fifteen years later, she’s not much bigger, but her body is banded in muscle. She’s stiff but graceful, light but powerful, with eyes like portals that see the future. You don’t work as hard as Chloe if you can’t see the finish line.

I trace my finger along her older trophies, and stop at the one she earned the day she busted out her front teeth. It was the last event we attended with Tegan, before the friendship fell apart. Chloe won the trophy for her bar performance, but balance beam was next and that routine was difficult. She’d struggled with it for weeks before the competition. Still, everyone expected her to win the all-around and qualify for the National Junior Olympics.

But that day, she was not herself. She didn’t work the beam; it worked her. When she flipped backward, she under-rotated and landed on her face, almost snapped her corded neck. The gym erupted, officials running, her parents crying, her blood spurting. Chloe crumpled like a baby bird fallen out of its nest. Tegan and I watched, horrified.

Winning the cup for bars meant nothing to her that day, and here it is, crooked on her shelf, like a twisted tooth. I realign the trophy so it’s as perfect as the others, and hear a rattling noise. Reaching inside the metal cup, I pull out an object that makes my heart tumble into erratic thudding. No, no, no! This is not what I think it is. It can’t be!

I rewind it, hit the play button, and my world, my childhood, and my friendships—they implode.