OHIO (Summer), 1992
Ohio (Summer), 1992
Natalia knew she was lucky. She’d been given a huge mission, one that many others in her line of work would have killed for. Literally. The opportunity to blend into normal life in America, to pretend to be a part of a family, was a golden chance. But even as she acknowledged this, waking up in a strange house, in a room all her own, felt strange. Her whole life had been one of rigid discipline, where every minute of the day was planned out and accounted for. She’d gotten used to the constant surveillance and the harsh regimen of the Red Room. It had been comforting in its predictability. But here, in this quiet suburban house, there was no structure. No one telling her when to wake up, when to eat, or when to move.
Her body still clung to the schedule she had been trained to follow. It was still a struggle for her to sleep past the early hours when her mind told her that she should already be up, ready to train or perform some other task. Even now, in the early light of morning, she lay in the bed, the sheets cool against her skin, struggling to adjust. What made it worse was that, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t handcuffed to the bed. She was used to the weight of metal cuffs around her wrists, keeping her tethered even when she slept. The lack of them felt almost wrong. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t experienced before. She remembered a girl, Daria Sokolov, who had managed to slip out of them one night .
Daria had tried to run once. In the dead of winter, in the cold, she had made an attempt to flee. Nat had been there when it happened—had seen it all from the window of their shared room. She watched Daria take a few steps before the sharp crack of a rifle echoed in the snow. Daria didn’t make it far. She had crumpled to the ground, a small movement before she fell still, her body left out in the snow to be collected later. The memory of that shot still haunted Nat. She remembered the emptiness in Daria’s eyes when she had been taken away, a life extinguished in an instant.
Eventually, Natalia had managed to drift back to sleep, though the nightmares lingered at the edges of her consciousness. When she woke, the first rays of sunlight were beginning to creep through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. She sat up and looked around. The room was bare, like a blank canvas waiting for something to be added to it. The walls were a neutral beige, unmarked by any personal touches or decorations. A built-in closet lined one side, and across from her, the window let in the gentle light of early morning. It was a simple room, with nothing in it that could tell the story of her life, or of the person she was pretending to be.
She stood up slowly, the floorboards creaking underfoot as she made her way downstairs. She didn’t want to wake anyone yet, not when everything still felt so strange. But as she crept toward the kitchen, she saw that Melina was already there, sitting at the table, absorbed in something she was reading. The soft rustling of paper seemed to fill the otherwise silent space.
“Hello, my dear,” Melina greeted her, her voice smooth and warm, like she’d been expecting her. “Did you sleep well?”
Nat nodded, unsure how to respond. It felt odd to be talking to Melina when they weren’t out in public, when they didn’t have to put on a show for the outside world. Here, in the quiet of their home, everything felt raw and unfamiliar.
“I made some breakfast,” Melina continued, her voice steady, as if everything was completely normal. “There’s eggs, bacon, and pancakes.”
“Thanks,” Natalia mumbled, her gaze falling to the food. Her stomach twisted with uncertainty. In the Red Room, meals had been decided for them. There was no choice, no freedom. They were given exactly what they needed to fuel their bodies, and that was it. She opened one of the cabinets and grabbed a plate, hesitating for a moment. What was she supposed to take? Should she grab a small portion, as she had always done, or take more, like a normal person would?
She glanced over at Melina, who seemed completely absorbed in whatever she was writing. Nat’s decision felt like a test—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. So, she took a small serving of pancakes and eggs, just enough to feel like she wasn’t refusing the offer, but not too much to risk doing something “wrong.”
The two sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the clink of silverware against plates. Nat felt no need to speak. What was there to say? She wasn’t here to form connections or build relationships. She was here to observe, to play a role. That was all.
After a while, Melina put down her pen and looked up at Natalia. “I was thinking that for today, we could go to Hills Department Store. After that, we can stop by a dance studio and a gymnastics gym. I think it’ll be good for you to train at one of them.”
Natalia only responded with a brief, “Okay.”
Before Melina could say more, there was the sound of running footsteps and the high-pitched giggles of Yelena as she barreled down the stairs, with Alexei’s much heavier steps following behind. They burst into the kitchen, Yelena leaping into Alexei’s arms, laughing uncontrollably as he spun her around.
“What’s for breakfast, Mama?” Yelena asked eagerly, climbing onto Melina’s lap.
“Well, we have eggs, bacon, and pancakes,” Melina replied with a smile. “Get Daddy to help make you a plate.”
Yelena jumped down from her lap, darting over to Alexei to drag him to the table. As Natalia began to stand and carry her plate to the sink, Melina added, “Get ready soon, Nat. We’ll leave for the store in a bit.”
Nat nodded silently, carrying her plate to the sink and washing it. As the warm water ran over her hands, she couldn’t help but wonder again why she had been chosen for this mission. What was her purpose here? She wasn’t supposed to steal intel or engage in some covert operation. She was just supposed to pretend to be Melina and Alexei’s daughter. It was strange, and yet, here she was—watching a family, learning how to pretend to be a part of it. Yelena seemed to be doing it effortlessly, so why her? Why had they chosen Nat, who didn’t know how to be a “daughter” or a “sister”? Sure, she had skills, deadly skills. She could kill anyone in an instant if it came to that. But those weren’t the skills they needed for this mission.
She finished in the kitchen, dried her hands, and made her way upstairs to get dressed. The summer heat in Ohio was already starting to settle in, so she chose a pair of jean shorts and a simple ringer t-shirt, something comfortable but still fitting in with the family’s image. She dressed quickly, then went into the bathroom to brush her hair, braiding it into the tight style she had worn for years. She didn’t like to feel exposed, so keeping her hair controlled was always a small comfort.
Just as she was finishing, Yelena appeared, her small face beaming up at her. “Can you do my hair?” she asked, her voice full of hope.
Nat raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Do you want it like mine?”
Yelena nodded enthusiastically, and Nat lifted her onto the bathroom counter so she could braid her hair. As she worked, Yelena chattered away. “I want a big bed, and a bunch of clothes and toys, too!” she said excitedly.
“And Mama says I can do ballet and gymnastics like you!”
Nat smiled faintly. “That’s great, Yelena. Now, it’s time to get dressed so we can go do all those things.”
Once Nat finished Yelena’s braid, the younger girl jumped off the counter and immediately wrapped her arms around Nat. “Thank you for doing my hair, you’re the best sister ever!” she said with a huge grin.
For a moment, Nat froze, feeling an unfamiliar weight settle in her chest. She wasn’t used to this kind of affection. But after a beat, she responded. “I’m your only sister, silly.”
Yelena laughed and darted off to change, and Nat followed her downstairs to grab her shoes.
They were nearly ready when a knock at the door startled them both. Melina went to check the peephole before opening the door to reveal a woman standing on the porch with a little girl at her side.
“Hi, I’m Julie, your neighbor. I live three houses down,” the woman said with a smile. She gestured to the girl beside her. “This is Charlotte. She’s around your daughter’s age, in case you ever want to have her come by and play.”
Nat stepped forward, standing beside Melina, and appraised the woman and her daughter. Julie had bright blonde hair and wore a floral dress, and her daughter smiled shyly up at Nat.
“Hi, I’m Charlotte,” the girl said with a wave.
Melina smiled. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Melina, and this is my daughter, Nicole, but we all call her Nat,” she said smoothly. “And this is my youngest, Yelena. We’d love to chat longer, but we actually have plans. But we’ll definitely plan something sometime.”
Julie nodded, and as they turned to leave, Nat caught the soft whisper from Melina to Alexei. “We’ll need to do a background check on them first.”
They loaded into the car, and within ten minutes, they arrived at Hills Department Store. As they stepped inside, Nat was immediately overwhelmed by the size of the place. Bright lights, endless aisles of products, and the hum of activity filled the space. It felt... too normal. Too ordinary.
“Let’s look at the beds first,” Melina said, snapping Nat back to reality.
Yelena quickly picked a full-sized bed with a pink upholstered headboard. She jumped on it with a huge grin. Natalia followed her, selecting a more neutral beige-colored set, though she couldn't help but admire how easily Yelena settled into this new world of normalcy. There was no sense of danger here, no mission to complete. Just a family, going about their day.
After the bed shopping, they moved on to clothes. Yelena picked out anything pink or with Disney characters, while Nat methodically selected a few summer dresses and other essentials. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this was all a test—some part of her still didn’t believe it was real. As they moved to shoes, Nat picked up a pair of Converse, but stopped when she saw a pair of Doc Martens. She debated for a moment but then chose something simpler. She added cheap flip-flops to the cart, wanting to seem more like the family she was pretending to be.
With the cart piled high with items, they checked out at Hills Department Store, the sound of the cashier's voice blending with the soft hum of the store. Natalia stood by the counter, her eyes scanning the brightly colored merchandise around her—products that were so different from the sleek, efficient tools she had been used to in her previous life. Here, she was surrounded by normality—everyday items, things that people used to fill their homes, to care for their families, to live simple lives. She wasn’t sure if she could ever get used to it.
The bags of new clothes, sheets, and toys were heavy in her hands as they made their way back to the car, the full trunk a testament to the purchases they’d made to transform their lives into something resembling the American dream. As the family climbed into the car, Melina, ever the picture of calm and poise, suggested their next stop.
“Let’s head to Ohio Dance,” Melina said, her tone bright, the excitement in her voice a stark contrast to Natalia’s quiet discomfort.
Yelena was already squirming in her seat, excited for the ballet class she would begin soon. “Can we get ice cream afterward?” she asked, her voice full of hope, looking up at Melina with wide, eager eyes.
“We’ll see,” Melina replied with a smile, ruffling Yelena’s hair. The younger girl giggled, bouncing in her seat.
The drive to the dance studio felt long to Natalia, though she didn’t say anything. The whole idea of ballet felt... odd to her. She had never danced in the traditional sense. Her training in the Red Room had been rigid, focused on agility and balance, but not in a graceful way. She was a fighter, a weapon, not a ballerina.
When they finally pulled up to Ohio Dance, the studio was tucked in a small strip mall, its windows showcasing pictures of elegantly poised dancers in mid-air, their movements poised and fluid. The lights from inside the studio spilled out onto the sidewalk, and the soft thud of music from inside seemed to pulse with energy. The place was busy—other children were coming and going, some with their parents, others alone, all chatting excitedly.
As they entered, the familiar scent of wood and polished floors met Natalia’s nose, but it wasn’t the comforting smell of the Red Room’s sterile walls. It was different here, less harsh, more welcoming. Melina, as usual, was a picture of calm and grace as she approached the receptionist, exchanging pleasantries and discussing class schedules. Natalia, by contrast, felt like a fish out of water. She hadn’t expected to be signed up for ballet, much less placed in a trial class. Her thoughts were a tangle of confusion—she was here to pretend, to fit in, but the idea of performing in front of others... of being judged on her beauty and grace instead of her skill and strength—was unsettling.
Yelena was already tugging at her, eager to get started. As she followed Melina to the office to finalize the registration, the receptionist—a cheerful woman with a soft smile—explained the classes available. Yelena’s face lit up when she was signed up for a beginner’s class, and Natalia was handed a schedule for her own trial class. It was a special trial ballet class, the kind designed to assess skill and placement.
“I’m sure you’ll make a beautiful ballerina one day,” Melina said warmly as she placed a hand on Natalia’s shoulder, her voice filled with reassurance.
The words were kind, but they didn’t feel right to Natalia. Beautiful? She was no ballerina. She didn’t have the luxury of elegance and charm like the other girls who floated across the floor with soft, gentle movements. She could kill a man with a single movement, but to be a ballerina? To move gracefully, to be beautiful—these things felt alien. But Melina’s words were a gentle pressure, and so she nodded, a tight smile pulling at her lips, even though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Yelena, however, beamed up at her. She loved the idea of her sister being a ballerina, and the thought of dancing together seemed to bring her a joy Natalia couldn’t quite understand.
After a few more minutes, they left Ohio Dance and headed to their next stop: Mount Vernon Gymnastics. The transition from the quiet elegance of the dance studio to the loud, energetic atmosphere of the gym felt like a rush of energy. The building was large and buzzing with activity, kids tumbling, flipping, and practicing their routines. The sharp smell of chalk in the air and the sounds of bodies hitting mats were all too familiar to Natalia. This, at least, was a place where strength and skill were valued. She could handle this.
Inside, they were greeted by a cheerful receptionist who quickly led them into the gym. The floor was covered with tumbling mats, balance beams lined one side, and uneven bars glimmered under the overhead lights. The gymnasts in training were in motion, flipping, twirling, twisting through the air. It reminded Natalia of her own training—of the flexibility, agility, and power she’d learned to harness in combat. But this wasn’t combat. This was... gymnastics.
Natalia didn’t pay much attention to the details of the class sign-ups. She was too busy watching the gymnasts move—every flip, every twist, every flawless dismount. Her mind briefly flashed to memories of being trained in ways that weren’t supposed to be graceful but were meant to be fast, brutal, and efficient.
Her mind wandered as she stood in the corner, her body instinctively tensing and relaxing as she observed. She could already see the rhythm of the movements—the placement of the hands, the arch of the back, the force needed to land softly after a jump. She wasn’t here to stand out, to show off. She was here to blend in, to act like a normal child—one who could do things like a regular person. But it was hard to turn off the training, to simply observe and not analyze.
They left Mount Vernon Gymnastics and headed back toward the car. The warm summer air filled the car as they drove back, and Natalia’s exhaustion began to creep in. She had been running on a different kind of energy all day—performing, pretending, adjusting to a life that wasn’t her own. The normal life of a nine-year-old girl.
As they drove home, the soft hum of the car’s engine seemed to soothe her. The windows were down, and the breeze brushed against her face, cooling the heat that had been building in her chest. She had been through so much in such a short time. So many new things. So many new faces. The world outside felt... alien to her. The simple interactions, the expectations, the normalcy—it all seemed so far removed from the reality she had known.
And then, without realizing it, her eyes fluttered shut. The world outside the car faded as sleep claimed her.
When she woke, she was being gently lifted from the car. Her body was heavy with exhaustion, her limbs sluggish, but Alexei’s voice brought her back to awareness.
“It’s okay,” Alexei’s deep voice said, soft and reassuring, as he cradled her in his arms. “Go back to sleep, Natalia. We’re home.”
The comforting sound of his voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket, and without another thought, she allowed herself to drift off once again. The day had been full of surprises, full of moments that made her feel more like a normal child, but deep down, she still didn’t know what to make of it all. For now, sleep was the only refuge she had. Tomorrow would be a new day—one full of more pretending, more adjusting—but for tonight, she was allowed to rest. And rest she did, her mind blank, unsure of what the next day would bring.
—---
The next few days passed in a blur of new experiences and awkward adjustments. The days felt long, yet strangely empty. Natalia had spent her early years in a world of constant motion—training, missions, and survival. Now, everything was slower, quieter, and more mundane than she had ever imagined life could be.
The morning after the shopping trip, Natalia found herself standing in front of the full-length mirror in her room. She didn’t recognize the girl staring back at her. The clothes she had picked out at the store hung loosely on her frame—casual, colorful dresses and soft t-shirts that screamed normalcy. They felt alien on her body, like costumes. The girl in the mirror was supposed to be Nicole Rowley , the eldest daughter of the Rowleys’. But Natalia knew she wasn’t that girl—not really. She wasn’t a daughter, or a sister, or a part of a family. She was an operative, a tool, a weapon.
She spent a few minutes adjusting the braid in her hair, the tight, controlled style that was her one comfort. It felt like a constant, like something she could hold onto in a life that otherwise felt uncertain.
When she made her way downstairs, Yelena was already up, her bright energy filling the kitchen as she bounced around excitedly, talking about her plans for the day. She was barely three years old, but her enthusiasm was infectious. It made Natalia feel something—a strange knot in her chest, a sense of longing that she couldn't quite understand.
“Morning, Nat! Look at what I did!” Yelena’s words were a blur as she held up a drawing that was mostly scribbles, but Natalia could see her sister's pride shining through. She smiled, taking the paper with a gentle hand.
“That’s beautiful, Lena,” she said, her voice soft. It was the first real acknowledgment she had made of their shared connection, even if it was just a simple exchange.
The family ate in a sort of synchronized silence, each absorbed in their thoughts. Melina, ever the composed matriarch, moved with practiced grace, her presence calm and reassuring. Yelena, already bouncing with energy, was the only one who seemed eager to start the day, her excitement barely contained. She kept asking questions about ballet, her bright eyes wide with anticipation. Natalia, on the other hand, wasn’t thinking about ballet. She wasn’t thinking about the soft melodies that would fill the dance studio or the graceful, fluid movements that would soon unfold before her. She wasn’t thinking about pirouettes or pliés. She was thinking about her mission.
Her mind was clouded with the thoughts of who she was supposed to be—the child of two former spies trying to lead a normal life, her every move a balance between blending in and staying true to the skills she had been trained to wield. She was thinking about the weight of that responsibility and the impossible expectations that had been placed on her shoulders from a young age. She was thinking about what it meant to be “normal,” and what it meant to pretend. She wasn’t just a girl going to ballet class. She was a weapon—a survivor of the Red Room, the harsh institution that had molded her into something that was both more and less than a child.
But today, she was expected to be a normal nine-year-old girl, and for some reason, that felt more unnatural than anything else.
Once breakfast was over, the family piled into the car again. The atmosphere was different now—lively, filled with anticipation as Melina drove them to Ohio Dance. The air outside was crisp, and sunlight filtered through the trees lining the streets. But inside the car, Natalia’s mind was elsewhere. She stared out the window, watching the scenery blur by, lost in her thoughts.
When they arrived at Ohio Dance, she could hear the soft hum of classical music drifting out of the studio’s open windows before they even reached the door. The music was light, airy, and elegant—completely different from the thumping beats of combat drills she had once known. The air inside the studio was filled with an almost tangible sense of anticipation. It was different here—calm, light, the scent of polished wood floors and the distant sound of ballet shoes softly tapping against the floor.
Melina, always so poised, appeared entirely at ease in this world, chatting effortlessly with the receptionist and signing Yelena up for classes. But when it came time for Natalia’s trial class, the unease crept back into her chest. She wasn’t prepared for this.
The instructor, a woman named Mrs. Thompson, was warm and kind, smiling at Natalia as if she had no idea who she truly was. She welcomed her to the class, gently guiding her toward the group of girls already lined up in the middle of the floor. Their eyes all turned toward Natalia as she walked toward them, their faces full of curiosity.
Natalia’s stomach churned. She couldn’t just act like a normal child; she had to pretend to be one. Her steps faltered slightly as she reached the back of the line, her body tense, unsure of how to fit into the group. The other girls were younger than her, dressed in soft pink leotards and tights, their hair pulled back into neat buns. Their movements were tentative and unsure, their bodies awkwardly adjusting to the unfamiliar discipline of ballet. Natalia, on the other hand, stood at the back, doing her best to mimic their movements, to blend in without standing out. But it wasn’t easy.
Mrs. Thompson demonstrated a series of simple steps, showing the class how to position their feet and arms, how to bend their knees and rise with grace. To the other girls, it was all new—a delicate dance of balance and control that they struggled to master. But to Natalia, it was second nature. Her body moved instinctively, trained for precision and control from years in the Red Room.
She shifted seamlessly from one position to another, her movements fluid and sharp, each one executed with perfect form. She was already ahead of the other girls, her body responding to the music, to the rhythm of the steps, as if she had been practicing these movements her entire life. The other girls were still stumbling, their legs too wobbly, their arms too stiff. Natalia, however, moved with an effortless grace that surprised even her. She was performing pirouettes and grand jetés with a natural power that left the other girls struggling to keep up.
Mrs. Thompson stopped mid-demonstration, her eyes widening as she watched Natalia perform a series of jumps. Each one was higher and more graceful than the last, a beautiful blend of strength and elegance. The instructor’s mouth hung slightly open, her gaze fixed on Natalia as the other girls, too, began to stare in awe. They whispered among themselves, their eyes filled with wonder and surprise. Natalia’s face remained impassive, her body still as she executed each movement, but inside, there was a flicker of something unfamiliar—pride, perhaps.
But along with the pride, there was also a strange, unsettling sense of being different. She wasn’t like the other girls. They were just learning these moves, but she was performing them flawlessly, without even trying. She felt both accomplished and isolated, proud of her abilities but uncertain of what it meant.
By the end of the class, Mrs. Thompson couldn’t hide her astonishment. “Nat, that was... incredible,” she said, her voice a mixture of awe and admiration. “You’re a natural. I think we may need to consider putting you in a more advanced class with the older girls.”
The praise was both flattering and unnerving. Melina smiled, clearly pleased by the instructor’s words. But to Natalia, the attention felt like a weight. She wasn’t used to this kind of praise—this kind of recognition. Praise for something so... normal. Ballet. Beauty. Elegance. These were things she had never needed to worry about before, things that didn’t matter when survival was the only goal.
She nodded, trying to act as though it was no big deal, but deep down, she felt a small sense of accomplishment—a sense of having done something right, something that she had never imagined herself doing.
After a brief discussion, Mrs. Thompson mentioned that, though Natalia was clearly advanced for her age, she was still too young to begin pointe work. “You’re just a little too young for that, Nat,” she explained gently. “But we can sign you up for the next level of ballet—just before pointe. You’ll be learning all the necessary techniques to get you there when you're ready.”
Melina agreed with a smile, and they signed Natalia up for the advanced ballet class, just one step away from pointe. As they left the studio, Natalia’s heart felt lighter.
The next day dawned with a different kind of excitement in the air. After Natalia’s successful trial ballet class, today was the day she would step into a new challenge: gymnastics. The family had been eagerly preparing for this, as Yelena’s enthusiasm had already reached a fever pitch. The moment they arrived at Mount Vernon Gymnastics, it was clear that this was a different world from ballet.
As soon as they walked through the door, Natalia could immediately sense the difference. The air in the gym was heavy with the smell of chalk, sweat, and rubber mats. The sounds were more chaotic, punctuated by the rhythmic thuds of feet hitting the floor and the swift whoosh of bodies tumbling through the air. The floor was lined with an assortment of equipment: uneven bars, balance beams, mats, and the trampoline that Yelena was already eyeing with excitement. Her high-pitched giggles rang through the gym as she bounced enthusiastically on the trampoline, her body flying up and down in wild, happy motions.
Natalia, however, wasn’t distracted by the playful energy of her younger sister. Her attention was drawn to the coach who had greeted them at the door. The woman was middle-aged with graying hair tied into a tight bun, and her face held the kind of knowing expression that came with years of experience. She carried a clipboard in one hand and had the posture of someone who had seen it all—from young gymnasts struggling to get through the basics to prodigies who could perform gravity-defying routines. The moment the coach’s eyes locked onto Natalia, she appraised her with a practiced, professional gaze. She took in every detail—Natalia’s athletic build, her poised demeanor, the way she carried herself with the same confidence that had once been trained into her back in the Red Room.
"Ready to give it a try?" the coach asked, her tone warm but laced with an expectation that made Natalia’s pulse quicken.
Natalia didn’t hesitate. She nodded, stepping forward with determination. She had trained for combat, agility, and stealth—strength and speed had always been her domain. Now, those same qualities would help her excel in something that felt, in comparison, much more like a game.
The coach led her through a series of basic movements, starting with cartwheels, handstands, and back handsprings. But as Natalia moved through each exercise, she found herself far beyond the basic level. Her body responded instinctively to each challenge. The cartwheels were effortless, her legs perfectly aligned as they cut through the air. Her handstands were steady, as though her body had been made for balance and precision. The back handsprings, which were supposed to require careful timing and coordination, were executed so smoothly that they seemed to defy the limits of human ability. Her form was impeccable, each move sharp and controlled, leaving the coach nodding approvingly as she watched Natalia’s performance.
There was something fluid about Natalia’s movements, something almost unnatural in their perfection. She wasn’t just going through the motions; she was flying. It was as if the skills had been programmed into her, ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. While the other girls were still trying to perfect their cartwheels and handstands, Natalia was already moving on to more difficult stunts, effortlessly flipping and tumbling with the kind of grace and power that came from years of training—not in gymnastics, but in the cold, calculated world of espionage and survival.
The coach watched her intently, her eyes narrowing slightly as Natalia executed a particularly impressive back handspring followed by a flawless landing. For a moment, the gym seemed to fall silent, and the coach allowed herself to take in the magnitude of what she was seeing. It was clear that this wasn’t just a girl trying gymnastics for the first time—this was someone who had a natural gift for the sport, someone with raw talent that went beyond the basics.
By the end of the session, the coach was practically beaming, unable to hide her excitement. “You’re a natural,” she said, her voice full of awe. “I think you have the potential to join our competitive team.”
Natalia’s heart skipped a beat. Competitive gymnastics? She hadn’t expected that. For a brief moment, she found herself speechless. She hadn’t anticipated being so good at something that had never crossed her mind before. But as she nodded in acknowledgment, a thought quickly formed in the back of her mind. This wasn’t just a chance to do something new; it was another way to blend in, another layer of the persona she was building for herself. This was the role she had been assigned—to be the talented, athletic daughter who could do everything effortlessly.
She wasn’t just pretending to be a normal girl; now she was the kind of girl people would envy—the one who could pick up any skill and excel at it without breaking a sweat. The notion both pleased and unsettled her. She had been trained for a lifetime of survival, for a life of constant danger and deception, and yet, here she was—being praised for something as simple and mundane as gymnastics.
As the coach went over the next steps with her—how to prepare for the competitive team tryouts, what skills she needed to work on—Natalia’s mind wandered. She felt a strange sense of pride, but also a strange disconnect. It was all part of the same game: blending in, playing the role. But was she becoming what she pretended to be, or was she still only pretending to be who they thought she was?
Either way, she knew one thing: she would excel in this too. Just like ballet, just like everything else. And that realization settled into her bones, both comforting and hollowing at the same time.
When they left the gym, Yelena was still bouncing around excitedly, eager to show off her trampoline skills, while Natalia followed behind
The rest of the week unfolded with a flurry of new experiences and unexpected surprises. In ballet, Natalia was placed in the advanced group after her impressive trial class. Her movements—graceful, sharp, and calculated—were a perfect fit for the older dancers. They watched her with awe as she effortlessly nailed pirouettes and leaps, while others struggled to keep up. Despite her natural talent, Natalia knew she still had a lot to learn. Ballet wasn’t just about strength and precision; it required a fluidity and emotion she hadn’t yet fully embraced. Still, the compliments from the other girls and Mrs. Thompson made her feel a small sense of pride.
At Mount Vernon Gymnastics, Natalia’s first class went as expected—she was good, but she was also very aware of the room for improvement. When the coach, a woman with graying hair and a sharp gaze, watched her perform, she immediately recognized Natalia’s potential. Her movements—back handsprings, cartwheels, and even a few challenging tumbling passes—were strong and sharp, but they weren’t perfect. There was room for growth, particularly in her transitions and her overall form. Still, the coach placed her in the competitive team, seeing her raw strength and flexibility as something that could be molded into greatness with more work.
“You’ve got the basics down, but there’s some polishing to do,” the coach, Ms. Carter, said, as she jotted notes on her clipboard. “We’ll work on your landings, your timing, and especially your technique in the air. But I think I’ll have you in Level 6.”
Natalia nodded, her expression impassive, though inside, she felt a small thrill. Level 6 was a big deal, but she knew she had to work harder to live up to it. She wasn’t as flawless as some of the other girls, but she knew that with enough practice, she could get there.
Her training sessions were intense, and at first, the other girls were curious about her skills. They would often come up to her after practice, asking how she could do back handsprings so easily or wondering how she achieved such perfect splits. Despite their admiration, Natalia found herself focused more on her mistakes than on their praise. Every tumble, every landing that wasn’t quite right gnawed at her, pushing her to improve even more.
At the same time, a quieter friendship began to form with Charlotte, her shy but determined neighbor who also happened to be a gymnast. Charlotte, who also trained at Mount Vernon Gymnastics, had always been reserved, but her shyness seemed to fade when she was in the gym. Though she wasn’t as naturally strong as Natalia, Charlotte had a quiet determination that Natalia found herself respecting.
“Hey, do you want to practice your handstands after class?” Charlotte asked one day, her voice soft but clear, as she tapped Natalia on the shoulder. “I’ve been trying to perfect them, but I keep wobbling when I kick up.”
Natalia glanced over at Charlotte, surprised. She wasn’t used to being asked for help, but she nodded.
“Sure. I could use a little practice, too,” Natalia replied, trying to keep her voice casual. The truth was, she was a little nervous herself, especially when it came to some of the more intricate balance moves.
Charlotte smiled shyly. “Thanks. Maybe you can show me a few tips on back handsprings, too? You’re really good at those.”
Natalia nodded, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie. They spent the next half hour helping each other with their handstands and back handsprings. Charlotte struggled to get the timing right, but Natalia offered her tips, adjusting her form and giving small pointers on how to kick into the air more smoothly. Charlotte wasn’t as quick as Natalia, but she was persistent, and there was something about her quiet determination that made Natalia admire her even more.
“You’re getting better,” Natalia said after Charlotte finally managed to hold a handstand for a few seconds. “You just need to focus more on keeping your body straight. Try not to lean too far forward.”
Charlotte beamed at the compliment, her shyness momentarily forgotten. “Thanks! You make it look so easy,” she said, laughing.
“I still mess up a lot, though,” Natalia admitted. “Like my vault. I keep messing up the landing.”
Charlotte nodded sympathetically. “I think all of us have stuff to work on. Even the older girls.”
The two of them exchanged a knowing look, and for the first time, Natalia felt like she wasn’t alone in the gym. Sure, she was good, but she still had weaknesses to work through, just like everyone else. And it was nice to have someone to share that with.
In the following weeks, Natalia’s skill level continued to improve, but she was still far from perfect. She struggled with the timing on some of her vaults, and she was working hard to improve her balance on the beam. It wasn’t just about strength—it was about finesse, something Natalia had to train herself to develop. Her coach often pushed her to refine her techniques, her landings, and her form, noting that although she was strong, she still had the potential to be even better.
“You’re really strong, Natalia,” Coach Carter said one day, after watching her flawless vault. “But remember, gymnastics isn’t just about power. It’s about control and grace, too. Work on your landings—soften them, and make sure everything flows into the next move.”
Natalia nodded, determined to follow her coach’s advice. She knew she could handle the physical demands, but the mental aspect of gymnastics was new for her—learning how to control not just her body, but her thoughts, too.
Meanwhile, Charlotte had become one of Natalia’s closest friends. Although she was still shy, she had opened up more and more around Natalia, and their conversations after practice were becoming more frequent. They started to meet at each other’s houses to practice, to talk about their routines, and to joke about the funny moments from class.
One day, after a particularly tough training session, Charlotte invited Natalia over to her house. They sat in the living room, each with a glass of lemonade, talking about the upcoming school year and what they’d do once the gymnastics season ended.
“I’m just glad we’re getting better,” Charlotte said, her fingers tapping nervously on her glass. “I know I still have a lot of work to do, but I can see the progress. And you’re amazing. I’m glad you’re in Level 6 with me.”
Natalia smiled softly. “You’re getting better too. We both are.”
Charlotte’s face lit up at the compliment, and Natalia realized she meant it. Despite all the intense training, the routines that still weren’t perfect, and the pressure to constantly improve, there was something comforting in knowing that she had someone to share the journey with.
When school finally began, Natalia found herself walking through the crowded halls of her new school, side by side with Charlotte. The two of them had been lucky enough to land in the same fourth-grade class, which made the transition a little less daunting. Charlotte, quiet and shy as always, kept close to her side, glancing around with wide eyes, taking in the new environment. Even though she wasn’t used to the chaos of the hallway traffic, Charlotte seemed more at ease with Natalia nearby.
The school day began with the usual buzz of excitement that came with the first day of school: kids reconnecting with friends, teachers welcoming everyone with warm smiles, and the promise of a fresh start. Natalia’s classmates greeted her with shy smiles, some hesitant but curious, others just nodding politely. There were a few girls who’d been in dance with her, and when they spotted her, they waved enthusiastically, calling out her name.
"Hey, Nat! We’ll save you a seat at lunch!" one of them said, her voice cheerful.
Natalia couldn’t help but smile, her nerves easing slightly as she nodded back. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention—being invited into a social circle like this. It felt strange, but it was also a small victory. It was proof that she was starting to blend in, just a little, into this world of normalcy. It was a world that seemed so foreign to her, yet at the same time, she was beginning to feel like she could find her place here. A small place, maybe, but hers nonetheless.
As she and Charlotte walked to their classroom, the noise of the bustling hallway faded behind them. The door to Room 204 was just ahead, and Charlotte gave a quiet, nervous laugh. "I can’t believe we’re here. I mean, it feels like we were just at gymnastics practice, and now it’s, like... real school," she said, looking down at her shoes, her voice barely above a whisper.
Natalia chuckled softly, feeling a small sense of relief in knowing that Charlotte felt the same way. "Yeah, real school," she said, trying to sound casual. "But it’ll be okay. We’ve got this."
They stepped inside the classroom, where their new teacher, Mrs. Henderson, greeted them with a warm smile. Mrs. Henderson was tall with dark hair and glasses, her voice calm and welcoming. She handed out the class schedules, and the day officially began.
As the class settled into the routine of introductions and getting familiar with the layout of the classroom, Natalia found herself observing everything around her more intently than she ever had before. Her classmates, with their quiet conversations and jokes, seemed so different from the life she had led before—one filled with secrets, hidden agendas, and constant vigilance. Here, the concerns of the children around her were about recess, new friendships, and what the weekend would bring. It was almost strange to her, how simple everything seemed, but also... comforting.
Natalia had been trained to always be alert, to anticipate danger, to never let her guard down. But now, in this school, in this world of normal children, everything seemed less about survival and more about... existing. It felt safer, in a way. No one here was planning to hurt her, no one was forcing her to be anything other than what she was—just another fourth grader. At least, that’s what it seemed like.
The day unfolded in a blur of new faces, a series of lessons, and moments of mild discomfort as Natalia adjusted to the rhythm of things. There was something about the normalcy of school that felt both foreign and oddly liberating. She found herself paying more attention to the world around her—her classmates, their lives, their concerns—than she had ever done before. It was all so different from her life of discipline, danger, and unending missions. Here, everything seemed... simpler. Maybe even safe. The constant, undercurrent of tension she had once lived with was absent, and though she didn’t yet know how to fully embrace it, she couldn’t deny the strange comfort that came with it.
Lunchtime came quickly, and as promised, a few of the girls from dance waved her over to their table. Charlotte, still a bit shy, sat beside her, giving her a small smile when the girls greeted them both. They started talking about what they had done over the summer—gymnastics training, ballet recitals, vacations. The conversation was light, unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but for Natalia, it was something new. And, for the first time in a long time, something she didn’t feel forced to participate in.
Yet, as she listened to the girls laughing and sharing stories, a quiet voice in the back of her mind reminded her that this was all part of the act. She wasn’t just a girl at this table—she was Nat , the gymnast, the dancer, the perfect student, the one who could do everything and never fail. She wasn’t sure yet whether she was acting or whether she was actually becoming this person. The thought nagged at her as she chewed her sandwich, watching Charlotte dip her carrot sticks into ranch dressing, absorbed in the conversation about their favorite snacks.
The rest of the day passed by in a similar haze, the hours stretching into a blur of lessons, new classmates, and awkward interactions. By the time the final bell rang and the students rushed out of the classroom to their lockers, Natalia felt both exhausted and exhilarated. She was still trying to wrap her mind around everything she had experienced in the past few hours.
On the walk home, with Yelena skipping along beside them, still as cheerful as ever, Natalia found herself reflecting on the day. There were moments when she had felt completely normal, like she was finally starting to fit in. And then there were moments when she felt like an outsider, like she was playing a role rather than living it. The feeling of being an imposter lingered in the back of her mind, but at the same time, she couldn’t ignore the small sliver of hope that this new life—this seemingly simple life—could be something real.