McKenna, Ready to Fly Read online

  For the kids and volunteers at the Forget-Me-Not Riding Center,

  for young gymnasts everywhere,

  and for readers of all kinds and abilities.

  Follow your dreams!

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: A Big Decision

  Chapter 2: Trouble with Toulane

  Chapter 3: Hearts and Horses

  Chapter 4: Cast Off!

  Chapter 5: Spook-Proof

  Chapter 6: Volunteer Day

  Chapter 7: No More Tutor?

  Chapter 8: Searching for Balance

  Chapter 9: Pop, Pop, Pop!

  Chapter 10: A Basket of Butterflies

  Chapter 11: Touching the Stars

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Letter from American Girl

  Real Girls Who Encourage Others

  Preview of Gabriela

  Copyright

  Like butterfly wings, a hum of energy filled the gym at Shooting Star Gymnastics. Then I realized that the hum was coming from me! After more than two long months, my broken ankle had finally healed. My cast was coming off!

  Friday.

  Only three days away.

  Waiting to take my turn on the uneven bars, I could hardly sit still on the mats beside my Level 4 teammates. I happily wiggled my bare toes at the end of my cast, which was covered with a zillion signatures.

  Coach Isabelle tucked her sleek brunette hair behind her ear and scanned our team of ten girls. Then she nodded to Sierra Kuchinko, sitting on my right. “You’re up next, Sierra,” Coach said.

  With her red hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, Sierra hopped up and approached the low bar. Because of her extra height, she jumped up with ease—unlike some of my teammates, who needed a boost. Although Sierra was new to Seattle and our team last fall, she’d made steady progress. She muscled through her routine with a smile.

  “She’s getting really good!” I whispered to Toulane Thomas, who was sitting on my left. Toulane and I have been “gym rats,” practicing gymnastics together, since preschool.

  Between Toulane’s intense dark eyes, a tiny gully of worry formed. “Maybe too good,” she said, lowering her voice. “My mom said there are only two open spots on the competitive team. Sierra might grab a spot that should be yours—or mine.”

  Toulane glanced at the viewing area, where her mom, Mrs. Thomas, sat and watched with eagle eyes. Ever since Toulane’s older sister, Tasha, was injured and had to quit the competitive gymnastics team, Toulane had been getting all of her mother’s attention—maybe too much, because under her mom’s watchful eye, Toulane couldn’t seem to relax.

  “Don’t worry,” I said to her. “March-fest and tryouts are still two months away.”

  March-fest was a big event—a day when Shooting Star’s competitive team would compete with other area gymnastics clubs. For Toulane and me, it was also the day when we would try out with other girls to be on the Level 4 competitive team. I studied my cast. I was the one who should be worrying about tryouts, not Toulane.

  Toulane wrapped her arms tightly around her knees. “But the stakes are extra high this year with only a couple of spots available,” she said, raising her hand to chew at a fingernail. “I just feel all this pressure. Don’t you?”

  I nodded. I was worried about team tryouts, but now that my ankle was nearly healed, I couldn’t wait to throw myself back into training.

  “This comes off Friday,” I whispered back, tapping my cast with a grin.

  “Finally!” Toulane said, a little too loudly. “Then we’ll be a real team again.”

  Coach Isabelle held her finger to her lips and nodded toward the bars, reminding us to focus on our teammate’s routine. As Sierra swung through to her dismount, I held my breath, hoping she’d stick her landing. But she came down wrong and fell to her knees. I could see the disappointment in her face, but she jumped up quickly and shrugged it off.

  “Nice overall routine, Sierra,” Coach Isabelle said, writing something on her clipboard.

  “Good job!” I said, smiling over at Sierra as she dropped down onto the mat beside Toulane. I couldn’t hold it against her that she was good. Plus, she’d become a friend.

  I absolutely couldn’t wait to get back to doing what I loved.

  To gymnastics.

  To soaring again.

  A thousand butterflies took flight inside me.

  The next afternoon, I glanced outside the school library windows at the drizzle coming down. On the glass, beads of moisture formed into tiny rivers. But inside, it was warm and cozy as Josie and I worked together. Josie had started tutoring me last fall, when I’d been struggling with reading. At first I met with Josie twice a week, but now we’re down to once a week, and our time together always flies by.

  Blue paper snowflakes twirled slowly overhead as the clock neared three-thirty. I started stuffing my backpack with books, ready to head home.

  But Josie wasn’t packing up. She twirled the ends of her blonde hair with one hand and tapped the arm of her wheelchair, which she’d nicknamed “Lightning,” with the other.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m scared,” she said, dimples playing at the edges of her strained smile.

  “You? Scared?” I asked. It was hard to imagine anything flustering Josie. She may not have full use of her legs, but Josie makes up for it with her sky-high grades, her flute-playing ability, and the way she’s always helping others. “Scared about what?” I asked.

  “Horseback riding,” she answered in a small voice.

  “Horseback riding?” I repeated. “Seriously?” I tried to picture Josie balancing on horseback, but I couldn’t.

  Josie nodded. “At a therapeutic horseback riding center,” she explained. “I asked my mom if I could try horseback riding, and she said okay. But now I’m in a panic. I mean, I want to ride, but what if I fall off?”

  I was worried about Josie falling, too, but I couldn’t tell her that. “Well,” I said, “I can’t imagine they would let you ride unless it was safe.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” said Josie, dropping her gaze to her lap.

  I didn’t know what to say next. I didn’t want to see Josie fall and get hurt, but I didn’t want her to miss out on something that might be lots of fun, either.

  “Josie,” I said, leaning closer and whispering, “in gymnastics, every time I try something new, I get scared, but I try not to let that stop me, y’know?”

  Josie’s eyes flickered with uncertainty.

  I hoisted my backpack to my shoulder and stood, pointing to my cast. “This thing comes off soon,” I said. “When I start back at full routines, I’m sure I’ll be scared—afraid I’ll fall and get hurt again. But I have to try.”

  “But you’re going back to something you used to do,” Josie said. “I’ve never been on a horse before.”

  I hesitated. She had a point there. Then I had an idea.

  “Hey,” I said, “if you’d like, I’ll come with you to the riding center.”

  “You will?” Josie asked brightly. “Really?”

  I nodded. “You’ve helped me so much,” I said. “I’d love to help you.”

  “That’d be great!” Josie said, beaming.

  “When are you going?” I asked, zipping up my jacket.

  “This Friday,” she said, “right after school.”

  Uh-oh. Josie looked so happy that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my doctor’s appointment—when this cast would finally come off—was the same afternoon. Could I find a way to do both?

  Grandma Peg picked me up from school, the way she’d been doing ever since I got my cast on in November, and we headed in her red Jeep
to Almost Home—Mom’s coffee shop.

  We stepped inside, setting off the brass bells above the door. Ting-ting, ting-ting.

  “My favorite visitors!” Mom said from behind the counter. She was wearing her red apron, as usual, with a button that read: Coffee Cures the Winter Blues!

  “Homework, McKenna?” Mom asked.

  “Nope,” I said, propping my crutches against the counter and sitting on a stool. “I finished it today with Josie.”

  Mom leaned across the counter, a dangly earring sliding out from beneath her sandy hair. She placed her hand on top of mine. “Good for you, honey!” she said. “To celebrate, how about a vanilla steamer and a peanut butter cookie?”

  “Sure,” I said. My favorites!

  Grandma Peg left us at the counter, calling over her shoulder, “I’m going in back to check on the twins.”

  Mom poured a small pitcher of milk, added a squirt of vanilla, and pushed it under the stainless steel nozzle. Hiss! The milk frothed and steamed. Then she poured it into a yellow mug, sprinkled cinnamon on its foamy cap, and set it in front of me, along with a cookie. “Voila!” Mom said with a grin.

  “Thanks!” I said, warming my hands on the mug. “Mom? Is it okay with you if I go with Josie this Friday to a horseback riding center? It’s for kids with disabilities. I think she could use a friend.”

  Mom reached for a rag to wipe down the counter. “What time?” she asked.

  “Right after school,” I said.

  “But, McKenna, what about your doctor’s appointment?” she reminded me. “It’s all you’ve been talking about lately—counting the days until you can get your cast off.”

  “I know,” I said, taking a sip of my steamer. “But I was hoping, maybe, somehow I could do both?”

  Mom shook her head. “Pretty tough,” she said. “Maybe you can go with Josie another time?”

  I hesitated, picturing Josie’s anxious face earlier in the library. “I want to get the cast off, Mom—I really do,” I said. “But Josie needs me on Friday. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do you want me to try to reschedule your doctor’s appointment for next week?” Mom asked.

  I shrugged uncertainly.

  “Think about it for a while, and we’ll figure something out,” Mom said.

  I nodded, swallowed my last bite of cookie, and then carried my steamer to the back room of the shop. I sat down beside Cooper, the world’s best dog—not because he’s such a cute golden-doodle, which he is, but because he’s mine. He stretched out on his back as I stroked his curly coat.

  Maisey and Mara, my twin five-year-old sisters, were cuddled up in the easy chair with Grandma Peg as she read aloud to them.

  Legs outstretched on the rug, I stared at my cast. I needed it off. And I needed every single day between now and team tryouts in March if I hoped to make the competitive team.

  But Josie had done so much to help me get back on track with my schoolwork. Thanks to her, I wasn’t falling behind any longer. Going to the riding center was one big thing I could do to show her I cared.

  I made a decision. I stood back up and headed out to tell Mom.

  “I said I’d go with Josie,” I said, leaning across the counter. “And I don’t want to let her down.”

  At gymnastics on Thursday, I stretched with my Level 4 group in a big circle on the mats, doing whatever moves I could with my cast on. I was easing down into the front splits. Beside me, Sierra’s legs flattened out into side splits. None of the other Level 4 girls had her flexibility! Sierra’s legs made one long pencil.

  “Sierra, you must be made of bungee cords,” I joked.

  She laughed, her hair brushing the mat. “You’ll be passing us all as soon as you get your cast off,” she said.

  Mom had rescheduled my doctor’s appointment for Monday, but now I was second-guessing my decision. I could have had the cast off tomorrow. Just thinking about it made my skin itch under my cast.

  I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Josie is worth it, I reminded myself. Just a few more days of waiting. Plus, I was curious about the riding center and looking forward to seeing it with Josie.

  “Guess what, Sierra,” I whispered. “I’m going to a horseback riding place tomorrow.”

  Toulane overheard me. “Tomorrow? I thought you were getting your cast off,” she said. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “I was, but I moved that to next week,” I said. I saw disappointment flash across Toulane’s face, so I tried to explain. “I offered to go with Josie because she was scared. She needed a friend.”

  Toulane’s face soured. “You make it sound like you and your tutor are best friends or something,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp.

  “We are friends,” I said. “So what?” I didn’t get it. Was Toulane jealous of my having a new friend?

  Toulane sat up straight and tall, still in her splits position. “You’re a gymnast, McKenna,” she said. “And you’re really good, too. You don’t have time to add other sports—and lots of new friends.”

  “I can be friends with whoever I want,” I snapped back.

  The rest of our team froze in position, as if waiting to see what would happen next.

  Just then, Coach Isabelle stopped talking with one of the other coaches and stepped back to our circle. “Girls, you’re supposed to be stretching, not arguing,” she scolded. “Everybody up. Change of pace. I want you to get a look at the rhythmic gymnastics class that’s starting at the club. It’s different from what we’ve been doing in artistic gymnastics.”

  We followed her to the gym’s east wing. I lagged behind, clunking along with my crutches and feeling anything but graceful. When I finally made it to the studio, I sat down on the last empty chair—by Toulane—and stretched out my leg in front of me.

  As the instructor demonstrated a floor routine with a gold-and-silver ribbon, she pulled me in like a magnet. Her movements were part gymnastics and part ballet, and the ribbon swirled overhead as if it had a life of its own. Then she demonstrated other rhythmic events—the rope, hoop, club, and ball.

  Toulane and I sat side by side, not speaking, but I could tell that she was interested in rhythmic gymnastics. Her eyes were glued to the instructor.

  As the instructor picked up the gold ribbon again, she paused and asked, “Now, do any of our visitors want to try?”

  I was a little stunned when Toulane leapt up. “I do!” she said.

  The instructor handed Toulane a purple ribbon. “Just follow my moves,” she said.

  As if Toulane had spent hours practicing, she gracefully followed the instructor’s moves. Toulane was a natural—and she smiled the whole time. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen her looking so relaxed and happy.

  “Wow!” I said to Toulane when she sat back down. “That was amazing!”

  “Thanks,” Toulane said, her face flushing. “I used to do rhythmic gymnastics at summer camp. I loved it! I wish I could take this class.”

  “Maybe you could,” I suggested.

  “No way,” Toulane said with a sigh. “My mom thinks I need to stay focused on making the competitive team.”

  “You should at least ask your mom, Toulane,” I said. “You’re really good—I mean that.”

  Toulane said nothing, but she gave me a quick smile. Then she chewed her lip, as if considering what I’d said.

  After about twenty minutes of watching, Coach Isabelle led us back to the bars. “It’s great for you guys to get a look at other forms of gymnastics,” she said. “But now it’s back to practice.”

  Toulane was up on bars first, still wearing her smile from rhythmic gymnastics. As she whipped around the low bar, I had to admire her speed and energy. But at the dismount, she flew from the bar much too fast. She sped forward through the air, completely missing her footing, and landed flat on her chest. She hit the mat with a groan. “Ummpph!”

  Coach Isabelle stepped forward, ready to help. But Toulane quickly pulled herself up to her knees, her e
yes flashing. She slapped the mat with one hand.

  “Want to try again?” asked Coach Isabelle.

  Toulane shook her head, avoiding Coach’s eyes. She stood and walked away from the bars.

  Before Toulane could sit back down, her mom, Mrs. Thomas, hurried over from the viewing area.

  Uh-oh, I thought. Parents aren’t supposed to come out on the mats.

  From the mat’s edge, Mrs. Thomas scolded Toulane. “If you want to be a competitive gymnast,” she said, “you can’t quit that easily, Toulane. You need to get up on that bar and try it again.”

  Coach Isabelle cleared her throat. “Mrs. Thomas—” she began.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Thomas interrupted. “I know one coach is enough. I just want her to do her best.” With one last meaningful glance at Toulane, she walked back to her seat.

  As Toulane adjusted her ponytail, she blinked back tears. Sometimes I wondered if she was a gymnast because she wanted to be or because she felt she had to be.

  I glanced at the viewing area, caught Grandma Peg’s eye, and waved. She waved back. Grandma Peg comes to every practice, just as Mrs. Thomas does. But I never feel pressure from Grandma to be the best gymnast. I know that no matter how well I do, Grandma loves me just the same.

  As I stood at my locker after practice, I saw Toulane and her mom walking toward me. A poster for the rhythmic gymnastics class hung on the wall along the edge of the gym. Toulane hesitated in front of the poster and then said a few words to her mom.

  Mrs. Thomas’s response was short and loud. I heard the words time and money. When Toulane stepped up beside me to open her locker, her face clouded over.

  “Did she say no?” I asked gently.

  Toulane nodded. “But she’s right,” she said in a strained voice. “If I really want to make the competitive team, I have to stay focused. There’s no time for things like rhythmic gymnastics—or horseback riding,” she added pointedly.

  I didn’t even have a chance to respond before Toulane pushed her locker door shut and walked away, her jaw set in a determined line.

  That night after dinner, Dad and I walked Cooper, who loved stopping by every bush, tree, and crack in the sidewalk along the way. That was fine, because I wasn’t moving that fast anyway. With my cast wrapped in a plastic bag, I clomped with my crutches around the block. It wasn’t raining or drizzling, but a faint mist hung in the air.