A gymnastics score begins as handwriting. A judge watches thirty seconds of work that took four years to build, writes a number on a card, and the card goes into a stack, a box, a bag — on its way to becoming, too often, a rumor: a number somebody typed later, from memory or from a photograph of somebody else's screen.
Ask any coach what a gymnast scored on beam at the second meet of last season and watch what happens. There will be a binder, maybe. A spreadsheet, possibly, with three versions. A text thread, definitely. The number exists — it just doesn't live anywhere with its story attached: which judge, which rotation, which deduction pattern made it what it was.
That story is the coaching. A score without its record is a grade without the test. With the record — apparatus, rotation, judge, moment — a season becomes something a coach can actually read: where the deductions gather, which routines are climbing, what to fix in the six weeks before state. Without it, everybody is working from the rumor.
Evie is being built on a simple rule: the score is entered once, at the table, and kept as a record — traceable, named, and findable when the season asks for it. Not retyped. Not remembered. Recorded.
Evie is in preparation. This notebook carries the thinking behind the product as it is built.