“Judges like to watch for drooping arms,” Coach McDonald reminded them, “especially toward the final seconds of a program.”
Heather knew this to be true. Coach pounded away at certain things during each session. Practicing four days a week—every other weekend was spent training in Colorado Springs, at the Olympic Training Center—helped strengthen their late jumps and lessen the chance of fatigue happening in the upper body.
“Let’s work on your lifts,” Coach said, skating close to them. He followed them around the rink, spotting them, especially on the armpit lifts. Though they were the easiest group of overhead lifts, Coach liked to play it safe.
Today, Heather was going to practice something for the first time. She would spring off the ice, into the armpit lift. Once Kevin’s arms were completely extended and she was fully off the ice, he would lower her back to the ice, very gently, turning around while supporting her in midair.
Coach insisted on spotting her, even though she had done the less-advanced move with her hands resting on Kevin’s shoulders. “You’re absolutely ready for this,” Coach said, guiding them through as he skated backward, facing them. “Think through each step, every move and turn.”
They skated another half length down the ice. On cue, Heather sprang up and off the ice. Up . . . up she flew, resisting the urge to touch her brother’s shoulders. Yes! She could do this without assurance of a prop. No crutches needed.
Easy.
Then it happened. While she was being lifted, scary as it already was, Kevin caught an edge and fell backward. Head forward, Heather saw the ice rushing to meet her. She reached out her hands to catch her fall, and when she did, her knee hit the ice. She cried out as searing pain shot through her knee.
Instantly, Coach was there. Kevin got up and brushed himself off, seemingly not hurt, only stunned by the sudden fall.
Heather sat on the ice, holding her knee, trying to rub the pain away. She’d trusted her brother. Yet, in spite of their long history, knowing each other’s rhythm—in spite of that—she felt he’d let her down. Literally.
“I can’t believe you dropped me, Kevin.”
“It was an accident, and you know it.”
She was crying now. “You . . . hurt me!”
Kevin muttered, “Well, if you weren’t so heavy . . .”
“What did you say?” she shot back.
“Uh . . . forget it.”
But she’d heard him. “You think I’m fat?” she spouted. “Is that it?”
Coach intervened. “Nobody’s fat here. Things like this happen, even to the most experienced skaters.” He inspected Heather’s bruised knee. “I guess we’ll have to call it a day. Have your doctor take a look, and stay off the leg for a couple of days.”
“We won’t be trying that lift anytime soon,” Kevin said as Coach helped Heather off the rink.
“We’ll see how she’s doing next Monday,” Coach said.
Mom was worried, as usual, assisting Heather with her skates, getting her safely to the car. “Don’t worry, honey,” Mom said. “You’ll be as good as new.”
Yeah, right, thought Heather, still upset.
What bothered her even more were Kevin’s words on the ice: “If you weren’t so heavy.” “Maybe it’s my partner who’s got the problem,” she whispered in the backseat.
Mom held her cell phone, waiting for the doctor’s office. “What’s that, dear?”
“Oh, nothing,” Heather replied.
But it was something. She felt absolutely rotten. Being accused falsely like that was . . . well, she knew she wasn’t too. heavy for her brother to lift. Not when they had the right momentum. Not when she helped him by bouriding off the ice, getting herself up in the air. Besides, he had done the move hundreds of times before. She refused to accept Kevin’s heartless comment. There was no truth in it. None.
Stopping by the doctor’s office took less than thirty minutes. “One of the benefits of living in a small town,” Mom pointed out on the drive home.
Heather nursed her knee on the living-room sofa, keeping it iced and elevated. Two days out of training is disaster, she thought. Especially with the July skate event coming up in the near future. Kevin, of course, could carry on without her, keeping in shape and toned. Knowing him, he would, too. When it came to skating, nothing kept her brother down. Not even minor injuries.
Meanwhile, she read and wrote her homeschool assignments while lying down, following both the doctor’s and Coach’s orders. At midmorning break, Joanne and Tommy came to check on her. Typically, she would have been pleased with their thoughtful attention. But today, after what happened at the rink, she felt annoyed by their kindness and concern. “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Don’t baby me.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re fine,” Joanne said.
“Nope.” Tommy stuck out his lower lip. “Your knee’s real messed up.”
She shooed them out of the living room. “Doesn’t Mom need you in the kitchen?”
Tommy shook his head. “She wants us here, with you.”
Thrilling. What she preferred was to be alone, sulking about the dreadful morning—Kevin’s fall, his dropping her. The accident had spoiled everything.
Photo Perfect
Chapter Three
The members of the Girls Only Club met that afternoon. Jenna Song, team captain and award-winning gymnast, was their club president. Livvy Hudson, skater extraordinaire, was vice president. And Miranda Garcia, known as Manda, a first-class Alpine skier, was their newest member.
All three girls showed up at Heather’s house after school. In the past, they’d met at Jenna’s because her enormous bedroom was set up with a barre and a wall of mirrors on one side. The girls liked to do stretches, centerwork, and pointe technique together.
When the others had heard of Heather’s bruised knee, though, they quickly changed the location.
Heather’s mom was all for it. “We’ll have fun serving frozen yogurt with fresh strawberries,” she said, making a place for the girls at the kitchen table.
Joanne and Tommy pushed an extra chair up close to Heather, so she could prop up her leg. Then they scooted off, leaving the foursome snug in the large country kitchen. Mom closed the door behind her as she left.
“Wow,” whispered Livvy, “this is really great of your mom.”
“No kidding,” Jenna said. “Be sure to thank her for us.”
Miranda nodded. “Maybe we ought to rotate our club meeting locations.”
Heather wondered what everyone thought of that. But nothing more was said, and no one moved to put it to a vote. The truth was, Jenna’s remodeled attic bedroom was the ideal place for their meetings.
Livvy launched the touchy subject first. “How’d Kevin drop you?”
Momentarily, Heather relived the startling instant. “He caught an edge and went down backward. No fun.”
“And you came crashing onto the ice?” Livvy asked, the one club member who could relate most.
“Let’s put it this way: If I hadn’t caught myself, my head might be in traction right now . . . or worse.”
“Worse?” Jenna asked, her beautiful Korean eyes squinting nearly shut.
“Well, you know. . . .”
“No, tell us,” Jenna prodded, and Miranda leaned on her elbows, scooting forward.
“Ever hear of a concussion?” she asked. “Not a good thing for a skater.”
“Or anyone” said Manda, pulling on her dark hair. “Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
“You had a concussion?” asked Heather.
Manda nodded. “Yes, and it’s unbearable. Your head throbs, and you’re totally out of it.” She sighed. “The worst thing is everyone babies you because your skull and your brain collided.”
“Thank goodness Heather doesn’t have that.” Jenna reached over and patted Heather’s arm.
“Yeah,” said Livvy softly.
Heather did not reveal the first thing out of Kevin’s mouth after they’d
fallen. She would say nothing about it—she could just hear her girl friends laugh. They were always telling her how thin she was, and she didn’t want them thinking less of Kevin because of his comment about her weight.
Jenna called the meeting to order, then Heather read the minutes from last week’s meeting. “Any corrections or additions?” she asked.
“Sounds fine to me,” Manda said, sitting across the table.
“Me too,” said Livvy.
“What new business do we have to discuss?” Jenna asked.
“I propose a craft project,” Livvy said, her face growing a bit pink as soon as she spoke up.
“You mean like making something . . . with our hands?” Manda asked. She looked horrified.
“Sure.” Livvy nodded. “To raise money for our club.”
Jenna jumped on the idea. “We could use some extra cash, you know, for costumes and things . . . when we put on ballet presentations for our families.”
“I like the idea,” Heather said. “But what’ll we make?”
“My mom’s a little over the edge about birdhouses,” Manda said. “Maybe we could get some old wood somewhere and make some, then paint them real cute.”
“Yeah, that’s a possibility,” Livvy agreed. But Heather could tell she wasn’t overly wild about the idea. No one else seemed to be, either. “What about collecting recipes . . . healthy ones, for the athletically inclined?” suggested Livvy.
“Hey, great idea,” Heather said.
Manda, too, was swayed by either their enthusiasm or the fact that she truly enjoyed creating healthy foods and drinks.
“So should we vote on doing a cookbook?” Jenna asked, with a flick of her dark brown hair.
The girls agreed. The vote was unanimous.
Jenna asked Livvy to coordinate the recipes, since the project had been her idea. “How much for our club cookbook?” asked Heather.
“Is five bucks too much?” asked Manda.
“I could run them off on my dad’s computer printer,” Livvy volunteered, “so it shouldn’t cost us too much for production.”
“Five dollars seems just right to me,” Jenna said.
They voted. Five bucks it was. They also discussed sectioning off the book by recipes for specific times: After Training, Before Training, and High-Energy Snacks.
“This is a cool idea,” Jenna said.
“Sure is,” Heather said, wishing she’d thought of it.
Livvy smiled, quiet as usual. But Heather could see that her auburn-haired friend was very pleased.
“When do we start?” asked Manda.
“Tonight,” Heather said. “That’ll give me something to do while I’m waiting for my bum knee to mend.”
The meeting was adjourned. Heather’s mom emerged from the living room when they called to her. Serving up frozen vanilla yogurt with juicy red strawberries, Mom hummed as she worked.
“Thanks for letting us have our meeting here,” Heather told her.
Mom glanced up, smiling. “Any time.”
Manda whispered, “Let’s tell your mom about our cookbook idea.”
“Yeah, see what she says,” Jenna said.
Heather filled her mother in on the fund-raising idea. “We’ll take our finished product around to neighbors, family, and friends. So . . . what do you think?”
Mom was all for it. “I have a bunch of recipes to donate, if you’d like.”
“Thanks!” Livvy said, bursting with delight.
The girls giggled at Livvy’s enthusiasm. “Looks like all of us are on board with this,” Jenna said.
Heather could see that it was true.
* * *
After the girls left, Heather helped her mom clean up the kitchen as best as she could with her hurt knee. “You have some terrific friends,” Mom said as they wiped the table clean.
Heather thought how glad she was to have solid Christian girl friends. “And we’re all on track for the Olympics. Isn’t that the coolest thing?”
Mom nodded. “First, we’ve got to get your knee back to normal.”
“Don’t I know it.” Heather sat down again, rubbing her kneecap. “I still can’t believe Kevin and I fell like that.”
Mom said no more, but busied herself with preparing supper. Heather hobbled upstairs to her room. She had intended to begin gathering a few recipes for the Girls Only cookbook, but weariness overtook her. She fell onto her bed, thinking she’d rest for a few minutes.
Soon, she was dreaming, flying in the air while Kevin sped on the ice. Heather felt so free, so limber . . . so high above the rink. But then Kevin dropped her flat on the ice, awakening her.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Joanne standing over her. “Uh . . . what’s going on?” she asked, sitting up.
“Supper’s ready, sleepyhead,” came the little-girl reply.
“So soon?”
“Mom says you’ve been out for almost an hour.”
An hour?
“Better come to the table,” Joanne said, “so the food won’t get cold.”
She massaged her knee, feeling slightly dizzy as she moved toward the edge of the bed. “I’ll be right down.”
“Don’t fall on the stairs,” Joanne warned.
“Don’t worry.” Then she remembered something. “Oh, Joanne . . . have you been, uh, in my room?”
“Nope.”
“Reading my devotional book, maybe?”
“Nope.”
“You’re sure?”
“I don’t tell lies,” Joanne insisted, wide-eyed.
“I didn’t say you did,” she replied, even though her sister had already dashed out of the room.
At supper, Dad prayed exceptionally long, blessing the food and asking the Lord “to bring strength and healing to my daughter’s knee.” There was some talk about the club recipe book, and Dad promised to purchase several copies. “I’ll take them to the office and sell them there when they’re finished.”
“Really? You’d do that for the club?” Heather said, surprised her father was so interested.
Dad chuckled. “We have two secretaries who could use some trimming down. So sure. It’ll help the cause.”
Mom nodded. “Might just help someone feel healthier, too.”
Kevin glared at Heather just then. His intense glower made her wonder. What was he trying to say? Surely not that he thought she needed to go on a diet!
Photo Perfect
Chapter Four
After supper, Heather got busy at the computer, going online to check through various sites featuring recipes. She decided the High-Energy Snacks section of the Girls Only cookbook might be her biggest interest.
Maybe if Kevin had eaten something like that, I wouldn’t have fallen. . . .
But she knew better. Anyone can fall on the ice. Energy or no energy. She’d have to forgive him, sooner or later.
Meanwhile, she printed off three different copyright-free on-line recipes: Bars of Iron with raisins, dark molasses, oats, and ginger; Powdered Milk Energy Bars; and Oat Bars with sesame seeds, dried apricots, and chopped almonds. Power food for sure. Livvy would be pleased.
* * *
By Monday, Heather’s knee was much improved. Enough for her to skate freely around the rink. Coach McDonald was obviously pleased, but he didn’t push for any lifts or jumps. And Kevin kept his mouth shut about further insults. He better, she thought.
After practice, when they’d arrived home, Heather noticed a mailer lying on the coffee table in the living room. “What’s this?” she asked Kevin as he hung up his jacket.
“Looks like overnight mail.” He came close and looked over her shoulder.
Mom had gone to the kitchen, so Heather called to her, asking if they could open the envelope. “Go ahead,” Mom said. “It’s probably the new pictures.”
Heather felt her pulse quicken. Recently, Mom and Dad had hired a professional photographer from Denver. He’d met them several weeks ago, taking numerous rolls of film “to get a few good on
es,” the photographer had said.
“How do you think they turned out?” she asked her brother.
“Open it and see,” Kevin said.
Tearing the envelope open, she discovered the proofs of her and Kevin. Dressed in ivory with dazzling Austrian sequins, they posed happily, taking bows. The shots had been taken at the finale of their two-minute original dance in Colorado Springs, at the World Arena. Every other weekend, they practiced there when they could get ice time.
One after another, Heather studied the pictures. “What do you think of them?” she asked Kevin.
“Cool,” was all he said.
“But do you like them?”
“Yep. Don’t you?”
She wasn’t sure. Not exactly. In fact, the more she looked at them, scrutinizing every inch of each photo, the more she second-guessed the poses—the way the photographer had captured their “look.”
“We don’t look enough alike,” she said softly.
Kevin squinted at the proofs. “I don’t get it,” he replied. “What’s wrong?”
Their coach had trained them to move, breathe, and nearly think alike. On the ice, at least. When they skated in competition, or any event, for that matter, they always wore matching costumes, just like other ice-dancing partners. But these glitzy white costumes in the photos didn’t offer the mirror image Heather had imagined. No, the long pants and double-breasted coat made Kevin look taller . . . thinner. Her outfit had been fashioned out of the same fabric, but the skirt, she decided as she inspected the picture, was too short. Showed too much of her leg.
She heard Kevin mutter something about being hungry. He headed off to the kitchen, probably to grab a quick snack before school started. Meanwhile, she took the pictures over to the bay window and sat in the overstuffed chair. Holding them up to the window, she stared at the poses. Slowly, she sifted through the pictures.
I hate these, she thought. But it wasn’t the pictures she despised. It was the reflection of herself in the camera that bugged her.
* * *
Girls Only! Page 14