Chapter Sixteen
The three bedroom apartment Calixto Cruz shared with four other people was small and cramped, but it was also homey. His roommates were girls, and though Abby was uncomfortable about that at first, she’d seen the state of some of the rentals his male friends maintained, and they were universally disgusting. The girls made sure he ate real food, did his laundry, and kept the common areas clean. Since he was the only guy, he got his own room, even if it was the size of Abby’s closet. She liked spending time here, particularly since she knew these moments together were numbered.
In the fall, she was heading to Boston to study at MIT.
It was pouring rain and humid as the jungle outside, so they were having a movie marathon. Abby chose When We Were Kings, Murderball, and Hoop Dreams, all sports documentaries. She couldn’t stop thinking about Ileana Dalca, about what she could accomplish if she somehow made a sports movie that was also maybe a murder mystery that was also a story about breaking, healing, and grief that was also a story about the purest form of friendship. It could be great, but she couldn’t do it alone. She needed access, she needed Shaye, and she couldn’t get her. She’d called the gym a few times since her ill-fated trip to New York, but thus far the sixteen-year-old gymnast refused to talk to her.
“So I was looking online, it’s only an hour and a half flight from D.C. to Boston, about a hundred and fifty bucks roundtrip. Even I can afford that a few times, so we’ll be able to see each other a lot first semester.”
“Most people who go into freshman year in a relationship are broken up by Thanksgiving,” she said quietly.
“Those are high school relationships, and we’re not everybody else.”
“Do you think I’m a coward?”
He tipped his head to the side. “Why would I think that?”
“Because I’m not trying harder to make this movie.”
“Oh, I thought you meant because you’re afraid of spiders. Then, no. I don’t think you’re a coward.”
“Well, I feel like a coward.”
“I get that learning the kind of life your father had when he was a kid messed you up a little bit,” Cruz said, taking a disc out of the DVD player and grabbing another. “But he’s not a different person than he was before you knew the truth. Just because he went through hell doesn’t mean you have to give up on your own dreams in some futile attempt to atone for the world being such a cruel place.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Of course it is,” he said, not condescending or argumentative, just certain because he’d been there. “It’s how everyone who comes from humble beginnings feels. Like somehow we don’t deserve the same opportunities and choices as other people. You think because your dad had to go through something so awful, you should choose a practical path and stop thinking about something as frivolous as doing what you love.”
“Okay, that might be true.”
He sat down beside her on the bed, his hand resting lightly on her thigh. “Abby, why do you want to make documentaries? Why do you love them so much?”
“Because the earth is filled with fascinating stories just waiting to be told. Because when people are shown the truth in the circumstances of others, they feel compassion, and compassion is the only thing that has ever caused anyone to try to change someone else’s world for the better.”
“And what’s so wrong with that?” he whispered. “Why is math a higher calling?”
“I’m going to tell you something, Cruz.”
“Go for it.”
Her heart thudded against her chest, so high it felt like it was going to leap out of her mouth. “I love you.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I love you, too.”
He kissed her, his whole body pressed against hers, gently lowering her against the bed. It wasn’t the first time they kissed, but it felt like it. All of Abby’s senses were awakened, and she realized then that Cruz was right. Maybe happiness was overrated, but living with a purpose wasn’t, and for her, that purpose wasn’t math.
* * * *
On the drive home that evening, Abby was brainstorming ways to go about making the movie about Ileana Dalca. Maybe she could use an outsider’s point of view, look at some of the famous and not-so-famous severe and fatal gymnastics injuries, make it more of a social issue, take an approach like Little Girls in Pretty Boxes, though that was a little too biased for her taste.
As she was thinking, her cell phone rang, and she answered it using the hands free feature. “Hello?”
“Abby Vicari?”
“Yes.”
“Hey, it’s Shaye Sylvester.”
“Oh. Hi. How are you?”
“I’m good. Do you have a couple minutes to talk?”
“Of course. Hold on, let me pull over.” She knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on driving while talking to her, so she veered onto the side of the road and put on her hazard lights. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about doing this documentary. Level with me. Why do you really want to do it?”
“I think Ileana Dalca might have been murdered, or at least trained neglectfully. You think so, too.”
“I don’t think that. I never said that.”
“Fine, you can’t say it, whatever. I can. I think something bad happened in that gym, something worse than an accident, and I want to expose the truth. I’m going to pursue this with or without you. Trixie’s your best friend, so I thought you would want to help.”
Abby held her breath. At least ten seconds went by, and she wondered if she lost the connection when Shaye said, “I’ll do the documentary, and I’m sure I can get Trixie to agree to it. But I need something from you.”
“Name it,” Abby said, both excited and apprehensive.
“We have to do it in Romania, and I need you to finance my trip.”
“What makes you think I have money?”
“Your car. Your private school uniform,” Shaye replied. “Even if you’re not super rich, I have zero money, so if you have any more than that, you’re doing better than me.”
“Don’t you have any endorsement deals?”
“A few in the works, but they hinge on me winning. Speedo is getting into the leotard business. I’ve been working with them on design, which pays a little, but hopefully I’ll be their spokesperson when they roll out the line after the Olympics.”
“Are leotards lucrative?”
“Millions of little girls all over the world do gymnastics, not to mention dance and ballet. At the very least, they’ll buy one per year, more often two or three. Anyone who’s serious will buy more.”
“How many more?”
“I can’t speak for anyone else, but I have about thirty leotards I wear on a regular basis and like a hundred strictly for competition. If I’m the face of the line, hopefully they’ll be supplying USA gymnastics before long.”
“You haven’t taken any endorsement money yet?”
“No.”
“Why? Do you want to compete in college?”
“I’m not sure. I might, or I might skip college until I quit gymnastics, probably when I’m twenty-four, after those Olympics.”
Abby wasn’t following. “Okay, but if that’s the case, why not load up on the endorsement deals?”
Shaye lowered her voice. “I’m going to tell you something only me, Trixie, my sister, my coach, and my coach’s wife know. I’m showing you some faith here, to let you know how serious I am about doing this for Trixie.”
“Okay.”
“My father is a gambling addict. My sister has been taking care of me since I was ten, but he’s still technically my legal guardian, which means he’s in charge of any money I make.”
“So if you take the endorsements, your father might blow through the money, and then you won’t be able to go to college on a scholarship or have personal finances to fall back on.”
“Bingo.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but if you don’t want anybody to find out this information, why are you agreeing to the documentary now?”
“Because Trixie needs me in Romania, her needs are more important than mine right now, and I need you to help me get there. If you think asking for this kind of help is easy, it’s not, so keep that in mind.”
“I would have to go to Romania anyway to do this,” Abby said, mulling it over. If she was financing the trip for Shaye and her coach, she was guaranteed a certain amount of access and cooperation.
Her father would never allow it, but she already had an idea about how to handle that problem. She was scared, nervous, and worried she was making a huge mistake, but she’d never done anything bold before, and she was ready to start participating in her own life. “We’re leaving in two days. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Just so you know, I think this is a stupid move on your part,” Shaye warned.
“Why?”
“Because you’re never going to get anywhere with the RGF, and Trixie’s family is too damaged to make for a good movie. They’re just pathetic. You’re going to blow a ton of money for nothing.”
Though a definite possibility, Abby knew she couldn’t back down now. This was her shot to live her dream. She could break a story like a journalist and make a documentary that meant something real to the world. Even if it were a mistake, she’d lived her whole life doing everything she could to avoid making the smallest of mistakes. She was due a big one. “I’ll call you.”
The person she wanted to tell immediately was Cruz, but she knew she couldn’t call him. This had to be done in secret, and now that her father knew Cruz, he had to be kept in the dark, too. Instead, she called Bryce Tucker. She hadn’t spoken to him since the last day of school, but he showed something of himself to her, a glimpse into the person he really was. Her instincts said he could help, and the worst thing he could do was say no.
“How’s the knee?” he asked.
“It’s excellent. Are we friends, Bryce?”
“We always have been.”
“Then I need to ask you a huge favor.”
“Favors are something you do for someone who has dirt on you, not for friends.”
She ignored him. “I need you to get me a passport and driver’s license with matching names. They need to be real, not fake, and I need to be able to travel internationally with them.”
“Why not ask your dad? I’m sure he does shit like that all the time.”
“The reason I’m asking is so my father won’t be able to track me where I’m going and drag me home. Otherwise I would just use my own identity. I’m asking you because I know you can get that kind of thing, I’ve heard you talk about it with your buddies, and my dad will never think to question you about where I went. He has no idea you’re a person who exists.”
“How lovely for me. When do you need it?”
“Twenty-four hours, tops. I need to book my plane ticket.”
“Jesus, Vicari, what are you planning?”
She gave him the details about her plan to investigate the death of Ileana Dalca and make a movie in the process. The list of things she needed to do over the next twenty-four hours was growing by the second, and she was starting to worry that she was making a mistake. Could she really pull this off?
Then Bryce said, “That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard,” and she knew she could. She had to. “Stop by my house tonight. I’ll have everything for you.”
True to his word, when she got to his house at ten-thirty after buying all her camera and computer equipment, which her father wouldn’t notice on the credit card bill until she was long gone, Bryce presented her with a real passport and Virginia driver’s license for twenty-two-year-old Riddhi Chatterjee. “I figured if you had to be someone else, you might as well be of legal drinking age.”
Riddhi looked a lot like her, down to the green eyes. Also in the packet were five prepaid Visa credit cards.
“What are these?”
“My guess is you haven’t been doing what I’ve been doing since I was eleven, socking away money for just such an occasion.”
“No, but I was going to get a money order, cash it out.”
“And your father will catch you before you walk out of Western Union. You can get about ten grand without setting off any alarms for your dad, and that’s not enough to finance something like this. I doubt that would even cover the plane tickets. Each of those cards has fifteen-thousand dollars on it, and none of them are traceable to you.”
“How do you know all this?” she asked in amazement.
“I’ve planned my own escape before. Never had the guts to go through with it, though. I’ve been stockpiling the prepaid cards in case I ever work up the nerve.”
She needed this money, she knew it, but she couldn’t imagine what kind of strings a gift like this came with. She might need Bryce’s help, but she was a long way from trusting him. “I’ll never be able to pay you back.”
“Name me as the executive producer on your movie and give me a cut of the profits. You can pay me whatever remains out of your trust fund when you turn twenty-five.”
“I’m already twenty-two. So close.”
Bryce grinned. “Can you think of anything else you need?”
“Why are you doing all this for me?” she asked.
She was expecting a deep, illuminating response. He said, “Why not?”
“I’m nervous.”
“Keep an eye out for vampires and communists, you’ll be fine.”
“What if I can’t do this?”
Bryce stepped forward and held her in an unexpectedly tight embrace. His whisper sent a chill down her spine. “What if you can?”
* * * *
Less than forty-eight hours later, she left two notes, one for her parents, one for Cruz. She told them she was fine, she was with people she trusted, and if anything happened to her, they would know about it. She told them not to worry, and she would be home in a few months at the latest.
Then she got on a plane, alone, to fly to the other side of the world. To investigate a possible murder in a country where she did not speak the language, in a land where secrets like this were closely guarded at the expense of many lives. She was going there, maybe as salvation for two Olympic gymnasts, trying to be grown and brave even though she was only a couple years older than they were and much less certain of her own destiny. She was going there not to spite her father but because his story inspired her to make a positive impact in her own small way. Maybe she wasn’t going to change the whole world with this movie, but she could change the world for Trixie Dalca and Shaye Sylvester, and that wasn’t a bad place to start. She was doing this. The only filmmaker or journalist—because that’s what she was now, credentialed or not—interested in what she knew to be the hidden truth of one little girl’s demise—she was seeking the truth.