POINT YOUR TOES

"Your all-around gymnast award goes to Bri Daniels!"

The crowd roared with an enthusiasm I only dreamed of under the covers of my twin bed growing up. I bounded up the steps to the podium and accepted my medal. I searched the crowd for my parents, waving big when I heard them cheering.

Even though I felt like I could fly, my heart sank when I couldn't find her. The photographer instructed us to pose. I arched my back and brought my arms above my head. Tears of joy rushed my cheeks.

"Chin up!" Someone yelled. "Smile!"

I couldn't stop the bubble of laughter on my lips and a memory from surfacing.

"Point your toes!"

The sound of her shrill voice stood my hair on end. My balance momentarily wavered as I kicked into a handstand on the four-inch wide balance beam.

The sound of her footsteps thundered near and when they stopped, she shook my legs. "Tighter. Your legs shouldn't shake like Jell-O."

Some of the other girls waiting their turn snickered and I felt my cheeks burn.

I ground my teeth together in an attempt to keep my cool and my balance before I tilted to the side and landed on the mat beneath me. Coach Harrod—hard-boiled—we called her when she wasn't around, was a no nonsense type of coach.

She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and smacked her gum a few times for good measure. "You can hold it longer if you squeeze your knees together. You won't place at the meet this weekend if you don't try harder."

"I'm trying," I said, dropping my gaze to my calloused palms. "I'm trying my best."

Coach Harrod smacked her gum. "Do you want to do your best or be the best?"

I slid my palms over my slick ponytail. "Be the best," I mumbled.

"Exactly. Run the floor before you leave."

I ran the floor with tears coating my cheeks, wondering if gymnastics was worth it, or if I'd ever be good enough to her. Our annual award ceremony rounded the corner, and I sat with my friends in a circle, waiting on our names.

When the entire gym received their trophies and I sat with nothing in my hand, I felt the air leave my lungs.

Coach Harrod walked out in front of the gymnasium with a huge trophy  in her hand. "We have one more trophy to give out. This trophy is the most precious to me. This girl shows up to every practice, she does whatever I ask her to, and pushes herself more than any other gymnast." Her dark eyes met mine from across the gym. "Gymnast of the Year goes to, Bri Daniels."

The flash of the camera brought me back to the present.

"Can I get a quick picture of you?" the photographer asked. "Can you do a handstand?"

I kicked into a handstand with a front leg spilt and held my position.

"Point your toes!" Coach Harrod yelled. 

I could hear the smile and pride in her voice.