Riley's car rolled to a stop before a run-down building, the concrete facade etched and pockmarked by years of experience. A cracked and faded sign hung above the entrance. If she hadn't known what to look for, she would have missed the word 'gymnasium' written in pale letters nearly lost to the fog of time.
"This is the address." The driver glanced in the rear view mirror, an unspoken question in his eyes as to whether she wanted out in such a... colourful part of town.
She was a few minutes late, and two cars were already out front. Monica's white Mercedes confirmed she was in the right place. The adjacent parking space held a beat-up chevy that could easily belong to Sasha. She nodded to the driver, who let her out.
Timid steps carried her to the entrance, whispering through red and golden leaves strewn across the sidewalk. A note was taped in place above the knob, written in Monica's precise and flowing hand. Her initials. Just the sort of thing she had come to expect from Monica, and it stood out amongst the surroundings like a beacon.
She passed through the door. After leaving the autumn chill it seemed warm, almost like a sauna. Were all gymnastics halls kept so hot? Did they even call them 'halls'? Riley wrinkled her nose. It smelled like an old gym bag.
The foyer was dim, lit by the feeble red glow of the exit sign behind her and indirect white light that spilled from a doorway far to the right. Even in the gloom Riley could tell that the building's interior was equally run-down as the outside. What was Monica thinking, bringing her here? The place made her skin crawl.
A babble of voices mumbled through the open door. Riley tip-toed across the hard floor in silence, drawing near.
"... It's been thirty minutes. I have other things to do, I'm outta here."
Riley faltered at Sasha's harsh tone. How bizarre to hear her voice again, after being apart for so long. And disappointing that things turned out like they did.
She wanted to get along with her sister. Well... that was a colossal understatement. Seeing her again for the first time at the house kindled memories of shared sleeping arrangements made awkward and a shyness dressing around Sasha exacerbated by the approach of puberty.
The memories had nudged something loose in her mind - a thing glimpsed in dreams, but never acknowledged. She'd suddenly wanted more than to just 'get along'. And then Sasha had opened her mouth and ruined everything.
Monica sounded frustrated. "We've already put this meeting off twice. There are stipulations related to this delay you should be aware of, so I'd recommend you stay to hear them."
"What does that mean?"
"I'll tell you both once Riley arrives."
Riley used the pause in conversation to enter the illuminated room, a cavernous box filled with gymnastics equipment.
She knocked on the door frame to announce her presence and smiled at Monica. "Hi guys, sorry I'm late. The gate's been acting up at the house, and I had to let the driver in myself."
Sasha's silent glare made her want to turn and leave the room. Was it something she'd said?
Even Monica looked annoyed... as she could. She'd known her for nearly half her life, but most of the time she was impossible to read. "Riley, punctuality is important. I trust this won't happen again?"
Riley's vow to do better lacked conviction, but was enough to earn a sharp, almost military nod from Monica. "In that case, let's get started. There are two main points of business to address today," she said, and held up a finger. "One. Eight days have passed since our first... proctoring session at the house."
Riley recalled the culmination of that 'session' and an icy warmth crept up her neck. Sasha glared at Monica but seemed otherwise unaffected by the mention of their shared experience.
Monica, unfazed by the heat of Sasha's gaze, continued. "Per your mother's will, any delay longer than seven days between sessions necessitates the implementation of a time limit to achieve your respective goals."
Sasha looked furious. "How. Much. Time?" she asked, each syllable truncated and hostile.
"From tonight, you have six weeks to complete your challenges."
A jolt of surprise caught Riley in the solar plexus. "Six weeks?"
Sasha's scowl deepened. "Any other surprises we should know about?"
"Quite possibly, yes. Your mother wrote the will as a smart contract, with some clauses revealed only as certain conditions are met. In this case, I assume she was concerned that long delays between sessions would allow independent study, thereby subverting her intent to have you achieve your goals co-operatively."
Riley wore a grimace but smiled inwardly. Mom had known her so well - she had planned to do just that once she found out what her challenge was. This was a bit like playing chess with her from beyond the grave.
It was her turn to make a move, to test her mother's foresight. "Couldn't we still hire someone to teach us, instead of working together?"
Monica scanned through text on her phone. "That would be allowable, but you're unlikely to find someone else on such short notice with the availability and motivation you two share."
Dammit, Mom might be right. Riley would have to make some calls later to see if it was a bluff, but for now she'd play along.
"What about me?" Sasha's voice rose. "I can't afford to take the next six weeks off work to play Mom's game."
Monica had an answer ready. "Your mother's estate has set aside a stipend to pay for your living expenses should this clause come into play."
"There's no way they'll give me the time off..."
"If you complete your challenge, you'll never need to work again."
That got Sasha's attention. The anger bled from her face and she nodded absently, as though to herself.
"And you, Riley?" Monica asked.
Riley considered her situation, not for the first time since Mom died. She had her high school diploma, but no marketable skills or experience doing anything useful. The time limit wasn't a deal breaker by itself, but what exactly was she signing up to?
"Can we talk about what my challenge is, first?"
"We can." Monica gestured broadly at the equipment, "I'm sure you've noticed your surroundings. You may not be aware, but your sister is an accomplished gymnast and qualified instructor. She will be training you to complete a Level 2 USAG floor routine. To my satisfaction."
Riley looked to Sasha. "Is this good news, or bad news?"
Sasha's head wagged and she shrugged. "Depends on your flexibility. I can teach anyone to cartwheel, but it takes time to limber them up."
Riley sighed, relieved to bring something to the table. "I used to do yoga. That helps, right?"
"Doesn't hurt. But I think Proctor Monica is still holding back."
At the mention of her name she looked up from her phone, apparently ready to reveal the next source of awkwardness. "Indeed. I should mention that any training you do here, and the routine Riley will eventually perform, must be done without clothing."
A pregnant pause allowed the girls time to digest this turn of events. Sasha was the first to protest. "You can't be serious..."
"Why would that be necessary?" Riley asked, confused.
"It's like the plot of a porno..." Sasha fumed. "A bad one."
"Is there any other way?"
Monica weathered the storm of disapproval. "I have no leeway to deviate from the instructions in the will. Your options are unchanged from our last meeting. You may accept the terms, or walk away."
A silent battle raged inside of Riley. Her shyness and poor body image fought with the memory of Sasha riding the vibrating chair at the end of their last 'proctoring' session. She recalled Sasha's closed eyes and slightly open mouth, face tilted toward the ceiling. The liquid ease of her hips rocking back and forth. Riley felt a tingle between her legs, an itch that begged to be scratched.
"I'll do it," she said, then added, "for the money," to curtail any suspicions that Sasha or Monica might have about her motives.
Sasha's eyes widened, and then narrowed. Riley's pulse quickened, a part of her terrified that Sasha had made a connection between Riley's swift capitulation to the terms of Sasha's challenge, her lingering glances that night, and her sudden acceptance of this latest condition.
Riley braced for the accusation that had plagued her since puberty. 'Lesbian!'. But Sasha just sighed, a long elaborate exhalation.
"Fine. I'll do it, too." She caught Riley's eye. "For the money."
They would need to get serious, now. As they locked eyes the distance between them evaporated, and for just a second, Riley imagined what it would be like to share this look while laying next to her in bed. Reaching across the mattress to run her fingers through the short hairs at the back of her neck and then burying them deep in her blond pixie cut.
The fantasy evaporated and Riley kicked off one boot, then the other onto the cushioned mat. Her nimble fingers released the buttons on her oversized woolen sweater, starting at the top, and working her way down one by one until the garment slid from her shoulders and puddled at her feet. The fallen sweater revealed a peach-coloured t-shirt. And no bra. Dammit, of all the days to be lazy when dressing.
Riley pushed her embarrassment to the side and looked up with a defiant stare. Now, what?, She asked without a word.
Monica cleared her throat and stepped in between them. "This gym may be used at your convenience. As Proctor, I will oversee these sessions, checking in occasionally to ensure that the rules are being followed, and otherwise nearby." She nodded at them and then left without another word.
