Let's Start A Riot

Chapter One - My Life's a Bore

My name is Patience Wright, and for the past nineteen years of my life, I have been stuck. Stuck in the same town, with the same people, for so, so long.

I live in a small semi-detached house with my fourteen-year-old sister, Amelie, and my loving, caring, oh-so-delightful parents, Christopher, and Freya Wright. Don't get me wrong – I love my family, we don't fall out, we have a stable income, can buy nice things and new clothes, but it's just all so blatantly normal. It's boring.

The only thing I have going for me is gymnastics. In my town, the people pride themselves on the number of talented gymnasts they birth, so many of them going off to join Team GB and competing in World Championships and the Olympics. I am one of those proteges, and as much as I hate being pushed into something, I'm rather glad I got pushed into this. I love doing the flips and the tricks, the way the audience roars when you've just stuck the landing for the most complex routine in the competition. The feeling of winning, of having that weight on your chest from the medals that swing around your neck. I love it all. But it's not enough.

A condition of me training at the prestigious gymnasium I do was taking up college to still sustain some type of education, and I had completed that last year, so now my sole focus is on gymnastics.

I train, eat, sleep, repeat. It's a continuous cycle, one that I cannot escape – and let me tell you, I've tried, but it's impossible. The only time I leave is for competitions, but I've never left the country, never further than a three-hundred-mile radius from my home because my family was never willing to go that far or pay that money and take the time to take me any farther, so that is up to me now, to step it up that level. I want to leave, go travel, see the world, but I can't. According to every damn person in this god-awful town my obligation is to the town and its people, nothing more, nothing less – and until I prove I'm worthy of securing a spot on our nation's team, the only place I should know is the inside of that gymnasium. I just wish someone would hear my cries for help.

The alarm that sits on my bedside table drills for all to hear, piercing my ears and making me groan in displeasure. I roll over and slap my hand on the stop button, then roll back to face the ceiling. I lie staring into space, mentally preparing myself for the day ahead of training, then I drag myself to my feet. It is still dark outside, being only five o'clock in the morning, and it is deathly quiet. I grab the towel that is draped over the desk chair in the far corner of the room, and tiptoe out of my bedroom, across the hallway and into the bathroom. I pull the string to turn on the hot water and push the button to start the shower. The water gushes out, and it isn't long until steam is pouring off it. I strip out of my pyjamas and step under the scorching water, running my hands through my tousled silvery-blonde hair, which looks transparent through the water. I grab the apple-scented shampoo and start my hair washing routine, then shave, exfoliate, and wash my body. By the time I'm done, it is almost six o'clock, and I have to rush to grab my clothes and training bag, while trying to dry my hair.

At quarter past six I'm running out of the front door, a slice of burnt toast in hand, sprinting to the gymnasium so that I will get there before Coach Bailey can start shouting. I run into the changing area of the gym, kicking off my shoes and stuffing my things in my locker. I tie up my hair in a secure ponytail, and I speed-walk my way into the gymnasium where Coach is taking the register, two names away from calling my own.

"You're late." Coach says without looking up from the register.

"I know, sorry." I cringe, my face burning red.

Coach sighs, "Just get to work, you're on the beam today."

I nod and head over to the beam, my favourite piece of apparatus. I like how it gives me the feeling of being on the edge, quite literally, doing front-flips while having to maintain perfect balance, trying not to flip straight onto the most uncomfortable landing one could. I may be a clumsy person, but when it comes to the beam, I never miss, I land everything with fine-tuned precision. It makes me feel in control when I'm on the beam, something I rarely ever feel elsewhere in my life. People love to watch me when I'm on it – the other gymnasts, judges at competitions, and parents who are supposed to be watching their own children. It's gratifying, and a great ego boost. Coach said with a little bit more practice on my floor work, I was going to be in line for one of those Team GB spots – it was only my floor work that let me down at the last set of trials, I had been having a particularly off day, and have been making up for it ever since.