1 Chapter 1
1
July 27, 2012
London, UK
Opening Ceremonies
Thousands of people crowded London’s vast Olympic Stadium for the start of the Games of the XXX Olympiad, and five-foot-four gymnast Ben Thornton had the best seat in the house. He bopped and swayed, captured by the music, awed by the spectacle of the lightshow, the acrobatics, the costumes, and dancers, right out in the middle of it all, up on his teammate’s shoulders.
“Benjamin Evan Thornton! You get down from there!”
He recalled his mother yelling those words almost daily from the time he was five, though she recently claimed to have started much earlier.
“Before you could even walk, you climbed banisters, flung yourself over the railing on your crib, and swung from cabinet doors. That’s why we enrolled you in Tumble Tots at age three.”
It was there Ben met his bestie for life, future fellow gymnast Ekaterina Mischen.
“Someone’s checking you out.” She was still at his side, eighteen years later, both of them proudly representing Team USA at the 2012 Summer Olympics.
“What?” Ben was fairly sure he hadn’t heard what he thought he’d heard.
“Look.” Kat stretched to bring her flip cam closer to his face. “See?”
“What?”
“Someone’s looking at you.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell ya later.”
“What?”
The din of the massive celebration thwarted conversation.
By age ten, Ben caught the eye of someone who could do big things for his future.
“He’s got skill.” The Tumble Tot grandma was also a coach at the collegiate level. “Would you mind if I took some video of him for a friend of mine to see how much?”
“As in actual gymnastics talent?” Ben’s father had asked.
“The real deal.”
Within another couple of weeks, Ben was on track to become an Olympian. Over the next several years, he worked hard, never complained, got excellent grades in school, and medaled at every small-time competition he entered.
“And the gold goes to…Benjamin Thornton!”
Before even hitting puberty, Ben was ready for the big time.
“I think we should get Brian Strong in on this kid.”
“Who’s Brian Strong?” Ben’s mother asked, still cringing every time her son flew through the air and landed in the pit of multicolored foam.
“To you,” the young coach currently working with Ben said, “that’s scary as hell. To me…to Brian Strong, it’s the future of USA Men’s Gymnastics.”
Brian Strong called the Thorntons the second time he watched the video. “I was too stunned to do anything after the first,” he claimed. “I want to work with your son.”
Money was no object. The Thorntons had plenty of it. They had for generations. Now, according to some in the know, their son would have the potential to bring in a whole lot more. The most difficult part of the plan would be sending their twelve-year-old all the way across the country
“Why does he have to go to California?”
“That’s where my boys train,” Strong told Mrs. Thornton.
Summer vacation at the end of seventh grade seemed a good time to put it all to the test.
“Dad will stay for two weeks. I’ll be there for three,” Corrine Demers-Thornton told her son. “And we can fly out any time after.” Some things weren’t about money. “To visit or to come bring you home.”
Ben ended up staying with the Stoker family, a single mother with twin sons also primed for Olympic glory.
“You believe we’re here, Rich?” Ben asked from up on Richie’s shoulders. “It’s the fucking Olympics, dude!”
Only one of the twins had made the 2012 team.
The Stoker brothers were slightly older, fifteen to Ben’s twelve-and-a-half when they first met. Maybe because those three years were the prime ones for puberty, at first, the difference in age seemed so much more.
Richie Stoker was quiet, shy, maybe a little dorky. He was a people pleaser, always “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir.” Except he never said no. Adam was quiet, too, but in a different way. More aloof. More brooding. A bit of a bad boy, he was always shirtless, sneaking the occasional cigarette, showing up late to practice, nailing every move once, then announcing he was done for the day. Junior high Adam liked to point out to his brother any new hair that came in, whether his brother wanted to see it or not.
“Look at my hairy balls, Bro.” That was said with Richie in a headlock, leaving him no choice but to look.
The Stoker twins were tall for gymnastics. They were tall for humans. Six-three at fifteen, both now stood a few inches taller than that. From first introductions, they hurled much smaller Ben around like they were pairs skaters, instead of gymnasts. Ben loved every minute of it.
