by Gail Nall
Typical Dad. Nothing ever fazes him. He doesn’t get that I have to do well in this competition or my chances at Regionals are pretty much shot. Gossip spreads like crazy in skating—every judge in the country probably knows about my meltdown by now. And I want to get to Nationals so badly. Last year—my first in the qualifying juvenile division—I was so close I could almost touch the shiny white ice and TV cameras.
Mom gets me registered and sends me off to the locker room while she tracks down Greg. Dad retreats to the concession stand for coffee. I find my assigned locker room and push the door open to the usual competition commotion. I slowly weave my way through girls in rhinestones and crystals, coaches giving last-minute instructions, and moms spritzing even more hair spray onto buns and ponytails. I duck around someone’s extended spiral stretch and find a tiny empty space at the end of the room.
I’ve just put my skates on when I feel someone standing over me.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Ellery says. She’s wearing a blue practice dress and matching ribbon around her dark brown ponytail, and she’s with Peyton.
“Really?” I say while pulling my own hair back. “Hey, Peyton.”
Peyton glares at me. What did I ever do to her?
“I mean, with your new program and all,” Ellery says.
“Oh. No, I’m skating.” I gesture at the hand-me-down red dress hanging in the locker.
“It’s really close to Regionals to get a new program,” Ellery says. Peyton sniffs like she smells something really stinky.
“I know. I’m super nervous about it.”
“I would be,” Ellery says. She twirls her ponytail.
Something about the way she says that—and the way Peyton keeps glaring at me—makes my stomach twist even more. I stuff my skate bag into the locker and grab my water bottle. The sparkly one that matches the ones I made for Ellery and Peyton and all the other Ridgeline girls before Praterville.
“So, you’re doing the triple salchow, right?” Peyton asks. “I mean in warm-up, just to show the judges you can do one.”
Great. I forgot about all those lies I told Ellery at Pizza Supreme. “Um . . . not here. My coach wants me to play it safe.”
Ellery smiles just a little, but her eyes are cold.
“Are you guys on this practice session?” I ask as I tug on the sleeves of my club jacket.
Ellery doesn’t answer. She’s looking at my jacket.
“So you really joined that club?” Peyton asks. She crosses her arms and raises her copper-colored eyebrows.
I glance down at my jacket. “Yeah. It’s not so bad.”
“Fall Down Club? Not so bad?” Ellery says with a laugh. “It’s okay, Kaitlin, you can admit how awful it is.”
“You’ve really tanked your chances now,” Peyton says. “You yell at the judges and then you go join the worst club in the state.”
I bite my lip. Part of me wants to tell Ellery and Peyton off the way I did the judges at Praterville. But another part of me wonders if maybe, just maybe, they’re a little bit right.
“You know, it’s kind of warm here.” I pull off the jacket. The second I stuff it into my locker, I feel a little sick, like I’m betraying Miyu and Braedon and everyone else at Fallton. But at least I’ll be able to practice in peace, without people staring at me and whispering.
I flick the lock shut. Then I take a deep breath and follow Ellery and Peyton to the ice for practice.
I run my program over and over and try to do tango faces while still hitting all the jumps and spins. I fly across the ice, not paying attention to Ellery, and my jumps are so high I could probably do quads instead of doubles. By the end of the short practice session, I’m drenched in sweat.
“How’d it go? Ready for tomorrow?” Miyu asks as we step off the ice.
“Good. I nailed that double axel at the end every time. Maybe it will make up for how awful I am at tangoing.”
Miyu gives me a smile. “You’re not that bad at it!”
“I wish Greg felt that way,” I say.
Mrs. Murakami hands Miyu her Fallton jacket.
“Where’s your jacket?” Miyu asks.
I busy myself with wiping the ice from my blades and pulling on my sparkling pink-and-white guards. “I was hot.”
“Really? I think this rink is way colder than Fallton. Although I’m definitely not cold now.” Miyu slings her jacket over her shoulder.
“How did your practice go?” I ask her, hoping to avoid any more talk about the stupid jacket.
“Okay. The ice is weird.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Braedon appears next to us, skates on and ready for the next practice session.
“Just wait till you get out there,” Miyu tells him.
“If it wasn’t the ice, it’d be your skates or the temperature or how many people are watching,” Braedon says with a grin.
“Please, that sounds more like you. I don’t complain that much. See you guys later. I have to go talk to Karilee.”
“Hey, you doing anything later?” Braedon asks after Miyu and her mom disappear into the lobby. When the doors swing open, I spot Mom and Greg just on the other side, dissecting every move I made in the thirty-minute practice session. Dad’s probably still at the concession stand, downing his sixth or seventh cup of coffee. If he was in charge of taking me to the rink for practice, he’d turn into coffee.
I look back to Braedon. “Not really. Dinner with my parents. Listening to my mom tell me everything I need to do to skate perfectly tomorrow.” For some reason, my hands are all sweaty even though I’m not wearing gloves. I clasp them behind my back. Braedon’s just a friend, that’s all.
“Tom and Samantha are competing in an hour or so. Want to hang out and watch them?”
“Sure,” I say, as calmly as I can. This isn’t a date or anything. We’re just going to sit in the freezing stands and watch people we skate with. Like friends. “Just let me run it by my parents.”
“Here.” He shoves his dirty black skate guards into my hands. “Hang on to these for me.”
“Can’t you just set them on the boards like everyone else?” Wait, why did I say that? Now it sounds like I don’t want to help him out.
“Not here. Someone will steal them.”
“That’s crazy. I put mine on the boards and they’re just fine.”
“You were lucky,” he says as he hops onto the ice. “It’s only half an hour. Stay and watch my greatness.” Then he takes off around the rink.
I don’t know what else to do, so I grab the nearest seat in the third row of the bleachers, right behind a group of moms huddled under blankets and sipping coffee. After a few minutes, I begin to wish for blankets and coffee. Or maybe hot chocolate instead. Coffee kind of tastes like dirt.
The sweat on my dress has turned cold, and I’m starting to shiver. I put Braedon’s guards on the seat next to me and rub my hands up and down my arms.
Braedon zips around the rink, warming up jumps and spins. Everything looks perfect. The ice monitor plays everyone’s music, one at a time. When it’s Braedon’s turn, the music starts, exciting and loud. He lands his first jump, but then everything sort of crumbles apart. Everything except the jumps. He nearly falls out of a camel spin and trips on a footwork sequence. It hurts to even watch him. I hope he’s getting the bad skate out of the way so he can do well in the actual competition.
“Is there anyone who can actually skate at that club?” A voice from the front row drifts up to me.
“He used to be a good skater. I don’t know what happened,” another one says.
I’m breathing as quietly as possible, as if they’ll look up and notice me there. I’m pretty sure they’re talking about Braedon and Fallton. I want to jump in and tell them that Braedon’s a really good skater; it’s just the soft ice and maybe the nerves of compe
tition that are making him mess up.
“It’s the coaches. They’re just washed-up has-beens,” a third mom says.
Greg is not a washed-up has-been, even if he is making me do this stupid tango program. My hands are shaking, as if they’re talking about me. I sit on them, pushing my palms against the cool metal of the bleachers.
“You know that girl who was so rude to the judges at Praterville?” the first mom says. “I heard she’s skating with Fallton now.”
Great, now they are talking about me. I want to leave, but someone’s already sitting between me and the end of the bleachers. I’d have to crawl over her to get out, and they’d definitely see me then. Instead I keep sitting on my hands and stay put. And pray they stop talking about me.
“They take in all the strays, don’t they? Jessa Hernandez and all.”
“I’d rather Hadley and Jason quit skating before they joined that club,” the first mom says. “It’s just a waste of time and money. They never win anything. They never even place.”
You’re wrong, I want to yell at them. Just you wait and see!
“Kaitlin!” Mom’s voice sounds to my left, loud enough for the skaters on this side of the rink to look up. My face heats up as the chatty moms turn around.
“That’s her,” one of them whispers.
“Kaitlin, what are you doing? You need to stretch out before your muscles get cold.”
I grab Braedon’s guards, slink around the person next to me with a mumbled, “Sorry,” and hop down from the bleachers.
“I’ll stretch over there,” I say to Mom, and point across the aisle to an empty area past the next set of bleachers. “I’m watching Braedon’s guards for him.”
“Why does Braedon need you to watch his guards?” Mom asks. A line appears across her forehead. “Besides, it’s too cold in here. You have to get warm or you’ll pull something.”
I look at the clock. Ten more minutes left in the session. Plenty of time for me to stretch and run back before Braedon gets off the ice.
Mom and I find an empty corner in the hallway housing the locker rooms and offices. All down the corridor, skaters are stretching and walking through their programs. I pull my skates off and race through my stretching routine.
“Mom,” I say as I hold my right foot over my head in a Biellmann position. “Can I stay to watch the dance competition? It should be done in plenty of time for dinner.”
Mom beams. “Of course you can. Maybe I should stay too.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to.” I try to cross my fingers, but that’s kind of hard when you’re holding your foot over your head.
“Well . . .” Mom studies me for a couple of seconds. Something flickers across her face, but before I have time to figure it out, she smiles again. “That’s fine. Now, be sure you study those high-level dance teams closely. You can learn a lot from their edging and how they hold themselves. Just wear some warm clothes. And take this blanket.” She hands me the patchwork quilt she usually sits on to watch me skate. “Dad and I will check into the hotel and be back to get you around five thirty.”
“Thanks, Mom! See you later.” I do one last stretch, find my shoes in the locker room, and take off back to the ice.
Chapter Nineteen
“How did you get a whole locker room to yourself?” Miyu asks. The place is practically deserted. I spot a couple of girls off to the left, but that’s it.
“I swear it wasn’t like this before.” I twirl the combination to my locker and pull out my jeans and sweater.
“Are you staying to watch Samantha and Tom?” Miyu leans against the wall and twists her silver necklace.
“Yeah,” I say, kind of surprised. “Are you?”
“Of course,” she says.
“I didn’t think you liked dance.” I toss my cold, damp practice dress onto the bench in the middle of the aisle and pull on my warm clothes.
“I don’t, but I like to cheer for my friends.”
“That’s really nice.”
Miyu shrugs. “We all do it. It’s a club camaraderie thing.”
I think back to competitions, but I can’t remember hearing loud cheers for Fallton skaters. I was probably too wrapped up in my own skating. I barely even hear my own parents rooting for me when I skate, never mind who’s cheering for anyone else. “That’s kind of cool.”
“It is. We never did that at my old club,” Miyu says.
“Mine either.” I reach into my locker and pull out a plastic grocery store bag.
“What’s that?” Miyu asks.
“I like to make things for people before big competitions. I used to make something for every girl at Ridgeline, but I’m not there, so . . .” My face goes warm. Am I being silly, making beaded bracelets for girls I’ve only known a few weeks?
Miyu peers into the bag. “You made those?”
“Um . . . yeah.” I hand her a red-and-yellow one with a little gold M charm dangling from it. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it.”
“Are you kidding? This is awesome. And you made it in my favorite colors!” Miyu slides the bracelet over her hand and holds it up in the light. “Thank you.”
I grin. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Knock-knock! Everyone decent?” Braedon’s voice sounds through the crack in the locker room door. He doesn’t really wait for an answer but shoves the door open and walks right on in.
“You can’t be in here!” one of the girls across the room yells at him.
“Relax,” Braedon says with a grin.
“Oh my God, he is seriously crazy,” Miyu says to me. She points at the door and glares at Braedon. “Out! Now.”
“Who died and made you boss of the skating rink?” he says. “Kaitlin, c’mon. Junior short dance is starting.”
“Let’s go. It’s the only way to make him get out of here,” Miyu says as she picks up the bag of bracelets for me.
I glance at the wrinkled Fallton jacket stuffed under my skate bag at the bottom of the locker. Miyu and Braedon are wearing theirs. I grab the shiny blue sleeve, stuff Mom’s quilt into its place, and slam the door shut. Then I scurry after Miyu, who’s grabbed Braedon’s arm and is hauling him toward the door.
“Nice to meet you!” he shouts at the girls across the room. They just give him dirty looks.
“What is wrong with you?” Miyu demands as soon as we’re out the door.
“What’s wrong with you, Miss Uptight?” he says.
“You don’t see anything wrong with barging into a girls’ locker room?”
“Not really. Hey, you guys want something to drink?” Braedon detours toward the concession stand.
Miyu shakes her head. “I’m going out to the rink.”
“Kaitlin?” Braedon asks.
I look back and forth between them. Miyu rolls her eyes at me. I kind of wish she’d be a tiny bit nicer to Braedon. “I’ll see you out there,” she says.
“What’s your poison? Coke? Diet Coke? Hot chocolate?” Braedon asks when we reach the counter.
“Hot chocolate.” I pull a five-dollar bill out of my jeans pocket, but Braedon’s already passed money to the cashier.
“I’ll pay,” he says. “Since I’m so embarrassing and all, it’s the least I can do.”
“You’re not embarrassing. Nothing happened.” I’m really glad he didn’t walk in five minutes before, when I was in the middle of changing, though. I seriously would’ve died of embarrassment.
“You’re much cooler than Miyu,” Braedon says as he hands me a cup.
“Thank you for the drink.” I wrap my hands around the warm Styrofoam and walk with him out to the ice.
Braedon points to the top of the bleachers. “There they are,” he says.
I follow his finger and do a double take at how many Fallton people are up there. It’s practical
ly everyone who isn’t skating in the next hour and doesn’t have practice scheduled on the other ice surface. Even Addison’s sitting at the very top with her legs crossed, looking as bored as can be. I can’t believe they’re all here to cheer on two other skaters when they could be resting for their own performances. Miyu was right—this is really cool.
I ignore the voice in the back of my head that says I’m a little disappointed that it’s not just me and Braedon. At least I get to sit next to him. Miyu’s behind me, showing off her bracelet.
“Kaitlin made one for everybody.” She hands me the bag as Jessa examines the little M on Miyu’s bracelet.
“You did? That is so nice,” Jessa says when I hand her a bracelet. “You’re really good at this.”
“Thanks.” No one at Ridgeline ever got this excited about anything I made them. Even those personalized water bottles, which took forever to get just right. I give a bracelet to all the girls—except Samantha, who’s competing.
Addison holds hers like it’s a rotten egg.
“Um, I made it with black-and-white beads to match your dress,” I tell her.
“Hmm.” She rolls it onto her wrist, but doesn’t say anything else.
“So where’s mine?” Braedon asks.
“I only made them for the girls. I’m sorry.”
He punches me lightly on the shoulder. “I’m just kidding.”
The first group of dancers end their warm-up and the competition starts. I’m admiring the first girl’s gorgeous dress when Addison leans forward from the end of the row above, the little silver A on her bracelet catching the light.
“Hey, pay attention, Kaitlin. They’re doing a tango. A good tango,” she says with a smirk.
I pretend I don’t hear her, and watch the couple on the ice. She’s right, though. These dancers could tango me into oblivion. The girl is giving her partner smoldering looks, ones that could melt the ice right beneath her feet. How does she do that? I grip my hot chocolate and study her face.
“Are you cold?” Braedon asks, looking at my hands clenched around the warm cup. “Here, take my jacket.” Before I can say anything, he’s draped his club jacket around my shoulders.