yours | adam banks.

chapter eight

ava

My gym bag bounces against my hip as I enter Edina Cheer, bouncing on my tiptoes to reach the door, slapping the 'go all out' signed taped on the wooden frame. As soon as I walk through the doors and into the room, my team spins around and races over to me, barrelling me into a huge group hug.

"Okay, hi, yes, please be careful with my sling!" I yelp, laughing softly. They all pull away and all begin talking at once, yelling over each other to be heard.

I wave my good arm around to silence the squad and they listen, their rumble of speech dying down to zero.

"That's better. Now I can hear myself think." I quip, placing a hand on my right hip.

"It's good to see you guys!" I exclaim, side hugging Chloe as I scan everyone's bright and beaming faces until they all part a little and a sheepish looking Peter steps forward, gaze to the floor before he looks up at me with uncertainty.

"How've you been holding up?" He asks softly, glimpsing quickly at my cast before flitting his eyes back to me.

I smile and push his chest lightly, causing him to raise his eyebrows and a hesitant grin to form on his features.

"You're acting like someone's died! Don't sweat about it Peter, it's just a limb. It'll heal in no time. Until then, don't think you can slack off!"

I point my finger to everyone around me. "I've got my eye on you alright? Just 'cause I'm out of action doesn't mean you all get time off as well."

There's mumbled sarcastic remarks before Coach calls them in and I take a seat cross-legged on the edge of the mat, listening from afar.

Technically, I'm here to start psychical therapy on my arm. Good thing about a removable cast is that I can take the damn thing off.

Instead of waiting hours for hospital care, Mom and Dad hired some fancy physio to come in and help me privately. It was nice since I can stay in contact with everyone in the gym, see any changes that might come to the routine. This way as soon as my arm heals I can hop right in and fill my spot on the roster.

Right now, they have Chloe filling my spot. The whole thing I know is new for her, she's used to being a tumbler or midway up the pyramid. Now that Coach has popped her into my spot, she's at the top of the food chain. It's a hell of a lot scarier dismounting from a stunt whenever it's twice as high as you usually drop.

It's like going from medium to the highest podium in a diving competition, you don't think it'll be much of a difference from afar but up close it's nerve wracking.

I've only had my sling on for a little over a week, so I'm not sure how much my physio can really do with me. I suppose I'll just be stretching out the joints or something, I don't know.

I watch wistfully as the team goes through part of the routine they're working on, no music only counts. They move about so elegantly yet full of power. I'm not used to be on the outside looking in.

Something tells me I'm gonna be doing a lot more of that these next few weeks.

Time passes rather quickly, I have my tendons or whatever they're called stretched and tested by my physio before I say goodbye to everyone and head out of the building, waiting for Mom to pull up out front.

I perch on the bottom steps like a bird and look out across the parking lot until I see her car and bounce up onto my feet, waving enthusiastically with my good arm.

As soon as Mom pulls in fully, I'm at the car door. I shuffle inside and throw my stuff in the back seat and grin at Mom.

"So, how was things?" She enquires as she drives out onto the road, checking her wing mirror and whatever else.

"Same old, same old. The routine's gotta be reorganised to fit Chloe into my role."

Mom glances at me. "Well at least you know Chloe can handle it. You know her skill level, I mean she's your best friend."

I raise my eyebrows. "Regardless if she's my best friend, she's not really prepped to be a flyer. I just hope she'll be able to pull it off."

There's a weird silence in the car as my words seem to sink in. Did I really think Chloe couldn't do it? Really? I mean, sure she was a little wobbly at practice but the girl had only been slotted in for a week tops. What am I even talking about?

Mom switches on the radio but she doesn't pick a music channel she chooses one of the talk ones. They're nattering on softly about something politics related or something.

Either way it's been tuned out of my focus long ago. The only things in my mind right now are school and cheer. Which is interesting on the latter part seeing as I hadn't even been taking part in practice. How can I analyse my effort if I couldn't make any.

A few minutes later, the car pulls into the driveway and I hop out, grabbing my bag and jogging lightly up the steps into the house. A quick hi to Dad and I officially escape to my bedroom, closing the door shut tight behind me.

I set my bag down beside my desk and check the time. 9:00pm.

Enough time to do a little homework I suppose. Nah.

Instead, I cross the room to my bookshelf and close my eyes and randomly point at a book. I open them again and slide the book of the shelf into my awaiting hands.

I've pored over every single word in these books and the one in my hands is no exception. This one's spine was wrinkled and the pages smelled like ageing paper, a feeling of comfort emitting from it.

There's nothing like the smell of an old book. It transports you back into the memories that cling to the pages, leaving you to revel in those moments, either happy or sad.

This one in particular takes me back to the lake by my house, where it's the epicentre of a rather busy park area. I would sit for hours cross-legged beneath a tree, book nestled in my lap as I watched the world go by.

I still do it now, however I usually don't stay long. The feeling of insecurity and loneliness is too much to bear, especially whenever the winter would slowly creep in and freeze the lake's waters.

With that, the hockey season would begin and before everything changed, Adam would be out skating on the ice, glancing to me as I'd eagerly cheer him on from the sidelines when he'd shoot a puck into a trash can and watch it soar.

Times were so much simpler then.

I snap out of my reverie and slide the book back onto its shelf, turning on my heel and deciding to head downstairs.

Now was not the time for reminiscing. Now was the time to heal.