Gold Medal Winter

by Donna Freitas

  I look at her guiltily. “I remember that.”

  She sighs. “You and everybody else.”

  “It did seem really romantic, the two of you going to the Olympics together.”

  “Yes, well. It was, and then it wasn’t. But I survived.”

  We munch on our sandwiches for a while in silence, Tawny pondering her past press debacle, I suppose, and me my current one.

  Then I turn to her. “You not only survived it, but you came back and now you’re on top. You’ve got a great new partner, and you two are favorites to at least medal and maybe even win gold.”

  She smiles wide. “That part does feel good.”

  “It should. I’ve always been a huge fan.”

  “Thanks, Esperanza.”

  “It’s true. And I appreciate the advice, and you coming here to make sure I eat.”

  She laughs. “No problem. I’m glad we got to chat. But can I give you one last bit of unsolicited advice before I head to ballet?”

  I nod.

  Tawny glances in Hunter’s direction again. “One of the biggest lessons I learned during the last Olympics and with my last partner was not to mix business with pleasure. Or business with romance.”

  I open my mouth. Close it again. My cheeks start to burn.

  “I’m not judging you, Esperanza. There are plenty of people who will do that all over the world during the next few weeks. I’m just giving you some food for thought. Be careful. Make this Olympics about your skating and your skating only, not some drama with Hunter Wills. You’re new to this, and when you’re new, it’s easy to get swept up in situations that distract you from what really matters.”

  I nod. “I hear you.” I sigh again. “And I appreciate the advice.”

  “I’m here if you want to talk, and not just this weekend. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other all the way until the Closing Ceremonies. Don’t hesitate to come find me. At this point, I’m a veteran of all things Olympic figure skating, including scandal.”

  Tawny says this with such a friendly smile that a huge wave of gratitude washes over me. I could use a friend on this team, a friend other than Hunter Wills.

  And I think maybe I just made one.

  “I think we should have everyone to Luciano’s tomorrow evening like you wanted,” I tell my mother that evening. She is in the kitchen, having some tea before bed. “If that’s still an option,” I add quickly.

  My mother brightens at this. “I thought you weren’t into the idea.”

  I sit down at the table next to her. “I wasn’t sure about it at first. But now I am.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  Well, I think to myself, my afternoon included several under-the-breath remarks from Stacie and Meredith calling me a “Media Hog,” which made me feel awful and want to run away, and all Hunter said to me today was, “Way to steal my spotlight, Espi.” He said it with a laugh, but I wasn’t sure I bought it. People think I am trying to hog the spotlight, and I want to prove that I’m not. Maybe with a party, the other skaters will see I’m generous and not at all hoglike.

  What I say is the following:

  “I just think you were right and it would be a nice thing to do.”

  “I’m glad,” she says.

  I nod. Then I stare off into space while my mother finishes her tea. It’s late, and I’m tired and sore, and it’s been a long and not-so-easy day. “Full of right angles,” as Mr. Chen would say. Then again, it’s been a long and not-so-easy couple of days. It’s difficult not to wonder if they will only get harder going forward until the Olympics are over. Maybe I’m not cut out for the Olympics. Maybe this is all too much for me. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.

  Notice this big pile of self-doubt?

  I realize this is what Libby would call a Shame Spiral, which she defines as a downward descent into a black hole of negativity. Shame Spirals are really bad for you. I need to stop this one before it’s too late and I’m so spiral-y I can’t find my way out again.

  “Espi?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure,” I say. Nothing to see here. “Why?”

  “You have a look of abject horror on your face.”

  I smile. English may be my mother’s second language, but boy, can she knock it out of the park with the vocabulary sometimes. “‘Abject horror,’ Mamá?”

  “Yes. Just like the girls in those horror movies who aren’t one of the leads, and suddenly the villain is coming to get them in some awful way, like with a chain saw, and they know it’s their time to go.”

  “Wow. That is a vivid explanation of my facial expression.”

  “Well, mi amor, it was pretty vivid. And worrisome. There isn’t some bad man coming for you. You’re one of the stars, mija. You just need to get used to it.”

  “I guess so. It’s strange. It’s different. Maybe it’s not what I’m meant to do.”

  My mother gets up and places her empty teacup in the sink. “I don’t think anyone is meant to withstand the kind of onslaught you did today,” she says.

  Onslaught! My mother is racking up the SAT words.

  “But with figure skating,” she goes on, “I can’t imagine anyone more meant for this opportunity to be in the Winter Olympics in the entire world, mija. And I mean that.”

  I get up too. “I know you do, Mamá.” My voice is tight. I am trying not to cry, something I’ve been doing a lot of lately.

  “I love you, Esperanza. But I’m not just saying all these things because I love you!”

  This makes me laugh. “I know that, too.” I get up and give her a big hug. She’s soft and round and familiar.

  “Now go get some sleep. You need to be wide awake to fight through those cameras like Coach Chen showed you today. That woman can be a warrior sometimes. It’s amazing to watch.”

  “That she can.”

  “Espi,” my mother says when I’m about to go down the hall to bed.

  I turn back. “What?”

  “You can be a warrior too. You already are one. I see it in you. You’re so strong and tough.”

  I nod. I can’t get any more words out.

  “Good night,” she says, and I watch her disappear into her room.

  Sunday morning, I wake up sneaky.

  It’s one day before we all leave for the Olympics. It’s also the day of the team’s visit to Coach Chen’s rink and the going-away party at Luciano’s, so I need to make the most of it.

  Therefore: sneakiness necessary.

  I shower and change and get together my skating gear. I’m about to grab the Wang, then I think better of it and put on my favorite old costume of Coach’s instead. I finish packing my things and am out of the house at 4:30 a.m., which is crazy early, but I’m hoping to avoid the press and I want alone time on the ice. It will re-center me around the things that matter, I think.

  I hope.

  Blissful quiet.

  That’s what this morning is made of so far. My walk out of the house and through the snow to Coach Chen’s was uninterrupted. The rink is dark and cold and empty, but in a way that brings me joy. The prospect of being out on the ice by myself for at least an hour and a half with only my music is a thrill. I unlock the building and flip on the lights. At the sound system, I plug in my iPod and scroll to my favorite salsa playlist. Then I take off my winter gear, trade my boots for my figure skates, and get out on the ice to warm up.

  Maybe it’s Tawny’s influence, but for a while, all I do is dance. I salsa with the help of my toe picks, my hips moving as though separate from the rest of my body — my feet, my rib cage, my shoulders. I was born with salsa in my blood, since my mother loves to dance and she is as good as, if not better than, any of the celebrities on those competition dance shows. I swivel and sway until I’m thoroughly inspired. In the cheesiest way, it’s like I’ve just walked out of a feel-good movie that made me believe I can do anything.

  Cheesy-inspiring can be the best, in fact, wh
en you need energy or you need to get yourself psyched up, or when some of life’s doubts have been getting to you.

  Like now, for example.

  The song shifts to one of my favorites.

  After the opening bars, right when the rhythm picks up, I decide it’s time for some jumps. First a few triple axels. I pick up speed and take off for the first triple axel, landing it and holding the back outside edge with a perfect position. Then I do it again. Once. Twice. Three times.

  What has gotten into me?

  Is it the salsa beat?

  The press-free, drama-free morning?

  The non-Wang dress?

  Maybe I should stop asking stupid questions and just skate.

  So I do.

  Two hours later, just after 7:00 a.m., people start showing up.

  Coach East smiles at me, her long pretty hair hidden away in a bun. Coach Danson stares at me while pretending not to. The ice dancers, including Tawny, who gives me a wave, head into the studio for their morning ballet class. The pairs are nowhere in sight. Oliver Mason is stretching on the rubbery floor at the far end of the rink.

  I don’t see Hunter anywhere.

  We still haven’t really talked since our paparazzi debacle. And the cheek kiss. He hasn’t indicated whether it has any grander meaning. Which I take to mean that it doesn’t.

  Stacie and Meredith strut out onto the ice. They whisper and laugh and generally ignore my presence as usual. Stacie is in blue, surely to match her big eyes. Meredith wears black, which is striking with her red hair. The fact that I notice this makes me wish, once again, that somehow I could become friends with her, because then I’d be able to say things like, Hey, Meredith, you look great in that color! as though she were Libby or Joya.

  Maybe now is my chance.

  “Good morning, Esperanza,” Stacie says, in this way that I can’t tell if she’s being genuine or fake.

  “Hi, Stacie, hi, Meredith,” I say.

  Stacie makes a point of looking around the rink — up into the rafters, around at the bleachers, and at the other end of the ice. “So this is Lucy Chen’s famous private compound?”

  “Um. Yes,” I answer, feeling awkward.

  Her expression changes to something approaching sincerity and I wonder if she might actually say something nice. Maybe whatever comes out of her mouth next might alter the course of our relationship.

  “Lucky for you she was willing to take on a charity case,” she says.

  I open my mouth in shock, but before anything can come out, Meredith changes the subject.

  “So you got here early,” she says.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” This sounds like an honest enough explanation.

  “Yeah, the Olympics will do that to you,” Meredith goes on, and she actually sounds almost sympathetic. “I’m in the same boat.”

  Stacie looks at her, eyelashes fluttering. “Yeah, stress about losing at the US Championships can really mess with a girl.” She turns on me again. “We should discuss who among the two of you is going to be the alternate for the Team event. Or more accurately, which one of you will not.” She rolls her eyes. They are made up with eye shadow, thick liquid liner, and mascara. “It’s so stupid they’re doing this event this year. I don’t want to use up all my mojo on some shared gold.”

  Who ever says mojo for real?

  “It’s not our decision who the alternate will be,” I say, since this is, like, obvious. “And regardless of whether it’s shared, it’s another chance to medal.”

  “That may be, but it’s a group win, so it’s worth less than if it’s just on your own,” she says, ignoring the part about how she doesn’t have control of who participates and who doesn’t.

  Meredith shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind getting a gold that way.”

  “That’s because it’s probably your only shot.”

  Meredith’s fair skin flushes all over. Even her neck gets blotchy with shame. “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Stacie snaps back. “And you know it too, so stop pretending like you don’t. We’re both fully aware that Esperanza almost has a quad.” She nods in my direction, like what she’s just said is old news, a flash of triumph in her eyes.

  Oh my gosh. Did Hunter tell?

  When he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was a huge secret?

  “But —” I start, unsure whether to deny it or give in and confirm that the quad is a potential reality.

  Yet Stacie rattles on like what she’s said is no big deal. “Plus there’s that triple lutz–triple toe loop combination Esperanza has already been nailing forever now.” She turns to me, hand on her hip. She tries to smile innocently but it only makes the evil triumph in her eyes seem more wicked. “What else have you got up your sleeve, Espi?”

  I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly freezing. I almost don’t know what to respond to first: Stacie’s mean comments to Meredith, her mention of the jumps in my programs, or the way she’s talking to me — first like I’m not even here, and now, like she deserves a full and honest answer. “How did you even know I was trying for a quad?” I finally manage.

  Stacie smirks, her pink lip gloss shining in the overhead lights. “A little birdie told me.”

  The only “birdie” that could blab such information is Hunter, of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl! This is why I do not need any boys in my life right now. Boys mess with your head, which then messes up everything else.

  “I don’t have it yet,” I croak, thinking Coach is going to kill me. “Not even close. Definitely not good enough to risk it at the Games.”

  Stacie’s eyes get wide. “So it’s true you are trying for a quad!”

  “You didn’t actually know?” I ask, flustered.

  “I had my suspicions,” she says.

  It’s my turn to flush. Meredith shakes her head slightly, and I wonder for a second if she might be coming over to my side. I’d be thinking about switching alliances if Stacie treated me like she treats Meredith on a regular basis.

  “And now I know for sure,” Stacie goes on. “Thanks for the heads-up, Esperanza.” She grabs Meredith by the elbow and tugs her away. “Let’s go tell our coaches. You’ve got a lot of work to do to have any hope of medaling now. Or a lot of praying.” She giggles like this is all a game. “Come on,” she urges Meredith when she doesn’t budge. Stacie is halfway across the rink before Meredith shows signs of life again.

  “Don’t let her bully you,” I say mostly under my breath as Meredith starts to take off, but just loud enough that she might be able to hear.

  She doesn’t turn around, but slows a little. For a moment I think she might be about to stop and talk.

  But then Meredith skates away after Stacie.

  “I’m going to go for the quad sal, okay?” I say to Coach nonchalantly. It’s my last run-through of the day, just before the meeting when we’ll be told who is going to be the alternate for the Team Event.

  Coach Chen looks at me in alarm. “What? You can’t!”

  I stare down at the nude-colored tights that stretch down over my boots. I can never decide if they look better than just wearing traditional tights that show my skates. Coach likes them because I don’t run the risk of my laces coming undone with them, but they are a definite fashion statement too. Some people hate them. I could go either way.

  “Espi? I’m waiting.” Coach has her right hand on her hip. I can feel her dark eyes focused on me. She is in white again today — her favorite — her long black hair shining like silk down the back of her warm-up jacket. We’re the same height and body type, but Coach manages to seem intimidating nonetheless.

  “Stacie and Meredith know about the quad,” I finally blurt.

  Coach is shaking her head. “I’m going to have a word with that Hunter Wills. And then afterward, I am going to have some more words with you. This was supposed to be our secret! Our secret weapon!”

  I nod. “I’m not even sure it was Hunter that told, though. Stacie didn’t seem
to know for sure — she acted like she did at first, and I assumed Hunter must have said something, but then she tricked me into confirming that whatever she’d heard was true.”

  “But who else could it be?”

  I shrug. “I have no idea. I haven’t told anyone else in skating.”

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t Bax.”

  I laugh at the thought. “So I thought, since everybody knows or is going to know if they don’t already, shouldn’t I just go for it? I mean, won’t it help me at least get some respect among the other skaters on the team?”

  “By ‘other skaters on the team,’ you mean Stacie and Meredith,” Coach says.

  I shrug. “Maybe. But is that so bad?”

  Coach gets a faraway look, which means she’s thinking. Debating, really. “Go do it,” she says after a moment. “And nail it. It will put you ahead of Meredith. And it will be good practice at making history, Espi. You’ll join the ranks of the very few women who’ve landed quads in public.”

  The thought of knocking Meredith out of the running stabs me with guilt. But the possibility of making history — even just a little bit — is incredible even to contemplate.

  “Okay,” I say, and before I can turn all Esperanza Pollo on myself, I skate out onto the ice, skirting the edges of the rink as I take the far curve, adrenaline pumping through my body, warming me even as the chill of the ice rushes along my cheeks and my arms as I pick up speed. Out of the corner of my eye I see Stacie and Meredith chatting in the corner, their attention trained on me.

  Then I block them out.

  I block everything out.

  And I go into the second curve, faster still. When I come out of it, I race down the center of the ice, every stroke sure and strong and ready.

  I’m ready.

  And I go for my quad sal like never before, realizing that there’s nothing about being watched — no, being watched by my competition — that has to psych me out. That instead I can use the attention to drive myself to reach new heights.