“I know, Coach,” I say, wishing I had as much faith as she does about whether I can get back that blissful confidence I had when no one knew who I was and I wasn’t an Olympic hopeful.
Most of the others are heading to a hotel just down the road. Coach suggested that we might like to stay there too so I could bond with the rest of the team, but I told her I didn’t want to, because this is the last chance I have to spend time with my mother, whose visa is still MIA.
All that is true. Though it’s not the whole truth. This whole Team USA thing is intimidating.
When we get home, just before I get out of the car, Coach stops me. “Espi,” she says. “It’s all going to be okay.”
I nod.
“It is.”
I nod again.
“Say something.”
“Good night?”
This makes her laugh. “All right. Good night to you too.”
I hope it’s a good one. I’m going to need all the good nights I can get to survive the next several days of dirty looks from Meredith and Stacie and the weird boy signals from Hunter. Not to mention nudging either Stacie or Meredith out for the Team Event alternate spot.
Yeah, that too.
No big deal.
Not at all.
“Luca would like to throw a going-away party on Sunday afternoon,” my mother says when I walk into the kitchen the next morning. “For the whole team,” she adds.
“Hi, Betty,” I say to Betty, who is sitting at the table, curlers and all. To my mother, I say, “That’s nice of him, but not very practical. We’re an hour’s drive from Boston.”
Betty raises her SKATING FOREVER mug like she’s toasting me. “Good morning, sugar.”
“Yes, but they’ll already be here,” my mother says. “Coach Chen says she’s having the team down to her rink for your final practice before you leave Monday.”
“She is? That’s news to me. And I still don’t know,” I say.
My mother looks hurt. “Why not? You’re not ashamed of us, are you?”
“No!” I protest loudly, and both Betty and my mother jump. “No way,” I add more softly this time. “I’m just not sure eggplant parm is this group’s style. You should have seen all the raw vegetables last night at the team get-together.” Even though I think most of the Team USA crowd would have fun at Luciano’s and find it a nice change of pace, Meredith and Stacie are intimidating. And for some reason, they make me feel embarrassed about the things that make me, well, me. I’m afraid to share my home life and places like Luciano’s with two girls who seem so judgey and unfriendly.
“I bet they would like Luciano’s,” my mother says, the hurt in her voice still clear.
Betty finishes a sip of her tea, eyeing me. “You’ve got no reason to be ashamed about who you are, hon.”
“I know. I’m not! Can we just think about it?” I ask, turning to my mother.
“Don’t think too long. Luca and I will need at least twenty-four hours’ notice to plan.”
“You and Luca are doing a lot of recreational activities lately,” I say.
My mother grabs her keys off the counter, suddenly in a rush. “Esperanza, what are you talking about?” she asks, then takes Betty’s teacup right out from under her nose and puts it in the sink.
“Nothing really, I guess,” I say innocently, and Betty and I share a conspiratorial look.
“Apparently your mother and I are leaving,” Betty says. “Even though if we go now, we’ll get there with fifteen minutes to spare.” She pulls on her coat and gives me a hug. “See you, sweet pea.”
“Bye, Betty.”
My mother is waiting for me to give her a hug before she leaves. I go to her. “Betty was right, and you have nothing to be ashamed of, mi amor. You go knock ’em dead today.”
This makes me laugh, even as my throat tightens and tears push at the back of my eyes. “Okay, Mamá, I will,” I tell her, and watch as she trudges through the snow and gets in the car to go to work.
The men are already out on the ice warming up when Coach and I arrive at the practice rink in Boston. We’re just in time to catch Hunter nailing the highest quad I think I’ve ever seen. Meredith and Stacie are sitting off to the side on one of the bleachers, watching him. The ice dancers and the pairs are nowhere to be found, but I bet they’re at ballet class. Coach Chen immediately huddles together with the two other ladies’ figure skating coaches. They whisper conspiratorially and nod my way and toward Stacie and Meredith.
If I was truly courageous, I would go over to Stacie and Meredith, sit down, and say hello, like the three of us having to be on the same team isn’t a big deal. Like we’re all going to be great friends any minute now.
But I don’t do this, of course. Because we’re not.
And I’m too chicken. I’m practically made of chicken right now. I’d be better named Esperanza Pollo than Esperanza Flores.
“Espi!” Coach Chen calls to me. She points to a spot on the bench next to Meredith and Stacie, who both roll their eyes at each other as I approach.
I go over and sit down, but leave a good two feet of space between us. “Hello,” I say, all formal-sounding and ridiculous, because everything feels so awkward.
“Good morning, Es-pee,” Stacie says, all extra sweet-sounding, except for the part where she emphasizes the pee syllable. What are we, ten-year-old boys? “How’s it feel to be Cind-er-el-la?” she goes on, pronouncing this title like it’s the worst insult someone could possibly bestow on me.
Before anyone can say anything else so stimulating and friendly, our three coaches are on us. Angela East, Stacie’s coach, seems truly nice, and the smile she gives me is genuine. Mark Danson, Meredith’s coach, stands between Coach Chen and Coach East. He not only towers over his two female colleagues, it’s obvious he believes himself the boss among them, even though, technically, nobody is the head coach of the figure skating team at the Olympics.
As I look up at Coach Danson and his unsmiling face, and the way he’s got his big muscled arms crossed over his chest, his legs shoulder-width apart, all I can think is: This is a man who is afraid of being emasculated!
I have to stifle a giggle.
“The purpose of this time is for you ladies to get used to working alongside one another,” Coach Danson begins, as though someone has put him in charge.
Seriously? You ladies? Who talks like that?
“And to learn not to get in each other’s way,” he goes on, staring directly at me.
Coach Chen gives him a sideways glance. “What Coach Danson is trying to say,” she cuts in, “is that these practice sessions are an opportunity for the three of you to work together and, most of all, to support one another. You are each here as individuals, but you are also a team — and this year, a team that could bring home gold.”
Coach East is nodding. “Here in the US, you are the stars. The cream of the crop. But when we get to the Games, you’ll have the Russians to contend with, not to mention China and Japan, and we all know how good those girls are.” She sounds genuinely sympathetic about us having to face our world-famous competition. “We can’t emphasize enough that the three of you are going to need to lean on each other and psych each other up, not out.”
Is it me, or is she actually staring directly at Stacie when she says this? Like she knows exactly what kind of girl she coaches and how she acts around other skaters. Or, to be more specific, how she acts around one particular skater — me — since Stacie and Meredith are obviously besties.
Stacie stares hard right back at her coach. “Good thing at least two of us have gone head-to-head with all those skaters before, and at least one of us has come out on top on a number of occasions. Right, Meredith?” She turns to her friend for confirmation.
“Stacie,” Coach East scolds.
Meredith is nodding, her long red waves swinging and swaying with the movement. She has the prettiest hair, and if she would actually be nice to me at some point, I would tell her this. But then she h
as the nerve to say, “Stacie and I have the Team Event medal all sewn up, so no worries there. I’m sure I won’t have to skate, of course, but I’ll be ready as alternate if there needs to be a sub.”
Perhaps taking some scissors to that hair would make me feel better.
Coach East says in a very sweet but very firm voice, “No one has decided who will be the sub yet. There’s still plenty of time for seeing who is best.”
Which causes Coach Danson to turn to Coach East and look at her like she just sprouted antlers.
Which causes Meredith to huff and puff and run away to the bathroom, even though I’m not sure she actually knows where it is.
“I’ll go get her,” Stacie says with a sigh, and takes off after her.
Coach Chen is visibly shaking her head now, and I wonder if she regrets that we are stuck practicing together for our last days in the US before the Olympics.
I certainly do.
Later, I watch Stacie out on the ice as she does triple jump after triple jump after triple jump. It’s kind of insane how consistent she is. I mean, I do triple axels, which are about as good as it gets, but watching Stacie nail triple flips and triple lutzes like they’re a walk in the park is pretty intimidating. I’ve seen her skate a million times in competitions, but to see her this good at practice, a time when you’re allowed to experiment and try new things and even fall — or at the very least stumble a few times — is daunting.
No wonder she’s America’s Darling.
Meredith stands down by the ice. She actually looks away as Stacie flies through the most difficult elements of her free skate. I can’t decide if this is because Meredith is afraid her friend Stacie might mess up, so it’s easier not to watch, or if it makes her feel bad that she doesn’t have that level of difficulty in her program. Meredith does a double axel–double toe–double loop combination pretty amazingly — but it’s still not the same as having all those triples.
“Stacie!” Coach East is calling out.
But Stacie ignores her and goes right into her combination spin. It’s fast and basically flawless — well, until she bobbles and almost falls, having to come out of it too early to even make it a level-two spin.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Meredith smile. It’s a little one, almost a secret smile, but I definitely see it.
Interesting!
It almost makes me like her more. At the very least, it gives me hope that maybe she and I could bond a little.
“Hey,” I hear behind me and almost jump.
“Hi, Coach,” I say as she joins me. We watch Coach East and Stacie deep in conversation out on the ice.
“Are you feeling better now that we’re here?” she asks.
I look at her like she’s crazy. “Do you actually think that the way Stacie and Meredith are acting makes me feel better?”
“Espi, they’re just nervous around you,” she says in a low voice. “They know you’re a real threat, and they’re trying to psych you out.”
“A threat? I doubt that’s how they see me. And what about that whole speech you coaches gave us earlier today about working together and supporting each other?”
Coach nods in Angela East’s direction. “She meant it. She’s been trying to rein in Stacie’s attitude for ages, but Mark Danson could care less about anyone other than Meredith. If he had his way, we wouldn’t all be here together now.”
“He seems better suited to coaching Stacie rather than Meredith.”
Coach laughs. “Seems like it, doesn’t it?”
Meredith skates out onto the ice, her red hair a bright shock against so much white. She starts her short program without the music. At first I wonder why, but then I realize it’s so she can hear her coach’s insane screaming about everything she’s doing wrong.
“Did you wake up stupid this morning? Is that why you’re tripping over yourself?” Coach Danson yells at one point.
“You know why you don’t have a triple axel like those other girls, don’t you? It’s because you eat too much to get their speed and height!” he shouts later.
It’s shocking. And horrible.
Coach Chen’s face is red with anger. “That man should not be allowed to even be in the same room as Meredith.”
“But before, he was so defensive of her.”
Coach scoffs. “More like he’s defensive of his ability to coach her.”
“Look at that footwork, though,” I say, nodding in Meredith’s direction on the other end of the ice. “She’s the only one among the three of us that gets a level four, so she definitely wins on that front. I bet the judges give her a plus-three on it.”
“You’re going to get a plus-three on your quad sal,” Coach Chen sings in a whisper, a big smile on her face.
“More like a minus-three when I fall on my butt,” I respond.
“Don’t be negative, Espi! You need this to win.”
This time, I don’t say anything. I just glue my eyes to Meredith, even though I’m not really paying attention to her program.
In figure skating, judges assign a Grade of Execution (GOE) for each element in a program, ranging from -3, if there’s a big mishap like a fall, to +3, which is very rarely awarded because it means the element was done perfectly. Most people will stay between base, which is 0 if they just perform average, and +2 if they do well, like bronze-medal well. Getting assigned a +3 is very rare, but it’s exactly the kind of grade whatever lady who wins gold at the Olympics will be getting — that’s what will put her over the top.
The components score is important too, of course. It basically has to do with how “pretty” you skate. The judges score you in interpretation, performance and execution, skating skills, choreography, and transitions. Mai Ling, who’s a powerhouse, suffers in this category because she skates like a machine, while Irina Mitslaya always scores high because she’s so graceful. I usually do fairly well here, though not as well as Irina.
“You’re up, Espi,” Coach says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Keep your focus. Let’s do your free skate first.”
“I’m not going for the quad sal, right?”
“Right. We’re saving that for the Games.”
I nod, relieved.
Much to my surprise and joy, I skate a flawless program. Coach Chen whistles and claps when I’m done.
“Nice job, Espi,” Coach East calls out, which makes me like her even more.
But when I come off the ice, Stacie is scowling like she’s bitten into something rotten and Coach Danson looks angry. I can’t tell what Meredith is thinking. She just has a blank look on her face.
The tension makes me suddenly tired. Figure skating might be pretty to watch, but the drama that goes on behind the scenes is as ugly as ugly gets. When we’re finally done for the day, I feel like I’ve been through a war.
The frozen pond in my backyard entices me when I get home.
Despite the long day.
Despite the bickering, the snide remarks, the drama.
Despite the fact that I need to start packing to leave for the Games on Monday.
Despite the fact that it is a cold, dark winter’s evening.
Despite all of the above, I turn on the floodlight. The trees closest to the house are bright and the ones farthest away are silver and ghostly. Everything is silent. I head down to the pond, drop my bag on a stump, put on my skates, take the ponytail holder from my hair and shake it loose, and then get out on the ice to enjoy the peace and quiet. First I simply skate in circles, enjoying the sound of my blades scratching the ice and the wind rustling the trees above. Then I move into the center for some spins and a few jumps, before resuming my trips around the edge of the pond, as though I’m a little girl again, just out here for the fun of it, and not on my way to the Olympics in a few short days.
It’s moments like these when I can remember my figure skating roots, which I really need to do right now. Not to mention have some alone time.
The alone time gets cut short, though.
“Esperanza?”
I know that voice. I didn’t before, but oh boy, now I do.
“Hunter?” I call out, turning around.
He is standing at the edge of the pond, watching me, a golden halo shining around him from the light at his back. I am all the way at the other end, in the shadowy part, which is good since he can’t see the shock on my face and my inability to wipe a sudden, giant smile away. Every time I saw him today, it was either from a distance or when he was surrounded by other people. To say I’m surprised he’s here is not enough to describe my state right now.
“Do you want some company?” he asks, like his presence in my backyard a whole hour away from Boston is a totally normal event.
“What are you doing here?”
He shifts from one foot to the other. “I thought I’d say hello?”
“Hello.”
“Hi. So, can I join you? Or do I need to wait for the formal invitation?”
“Oh,” I say, feeling like an idiot. “Do you want to join me?”
He grins ear to ear. “Definitely.”
I head toward him and watch as he trades his boots for his skates, then steps onto the ice. A part of me wonders whether this is really happening, whether Hunter Wills is actually on the homemade rink at my house, which, I have to say, is a pretty romantic place during the daytime, never mind at night.
“I’m not actually stalking you, I promise,” he says when he reaches me on the ice. “It’s just that Jason has a friend nearby he wanted to see, and when I realized how close he’d be to your house, I hitched a ride.”
“But how —”
“I found a listing for Flores in the phone book. You’re the only one in this town.”
My eyes get big. “Did you ring our doorbell?”
He nods. “I thought it would be better than breaking in.”
“Yeah, I think that’s probably true.” I laugh.
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