Gold Medal Winter

by Donna Freitas

  Quite literally.

  It’s a good lesson to learn.

  Because I reach the top of my jump like I’m used to defying the laws of gravity, rising higher than I ever have in my life, spinning so fast and so perfectly poised that I know — I am 100 percent positive — that I’m coming out of this one standing.

  And I do.

  I nail it and as I slow to a stop on the ice, the only person who makes a sound is Coach Chen. “Go Esperanza!” she is cheering. “I knew you could do it!”

  Everyone else is silent.

  Then I hear Tawny join in. “Woo-hoo, Espi!”

  The sound of clapping gets thicker now. I look around and see Oliver and Jason on the bleachers, their mouths wide with surprise as they applaud. Tawny’s partner and their coach cheer too. Coach East is standing next to Coach Chen and she’s nodding her head as she claps, the two of them talking even as their eyes are on me.

  But the best moment of all is when my eyes meet Stacie’s.

  She’s standing there, frozen, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging open, and in her stare I see shock, but also fear. It’s all over her face, really: full-on terror. She knows that if I can do that again even once at the Olympics, it’s all over. I’ll not only beat her out for gold, but I’ll beat out Mai Ling and Irina Mitslaya too. Plus, there’s that going-down-in-history thing by being the first ladies’ figure skater ever to land a quad anything at the Olympics.

  I smile sweetly in her direction, in that way that’s also openly wicked. I can’t help myself — I learned it from watching her. And, to be totally honest, it kind of feels good to give her a little dose of her own medicine.

  My smile fades when my eyes land on Meredith, though.

  Her cheeks shine in the light. They are wet with tears, but they’re obviously not tears of joy. She and I both know, without either of us having to say a word, that by landing that quad sal, I’ve just beaten her out of the alternate spot for the Team Event. We don’t need to wait for the meeting to follow after practice for confirmation.

  “Nice job, Espi,” Coach says when I come off the ice. She pulls me into a big hug. “Don’t feel bad about taking that spot,” she whispers. “You’re here to win.”

  “I know,” I whisper back. Then I look down at my costume, the one that Coach once wore, and can’t help wondering if I’d worn the Wang today whether I would have landed on my butt instead.

  Sometimes I hate being superstitious.

  “Congratulations,” Coach East says, a smile so genuine on her face that I find myself hugging her too, in gratitude, and before I can think better of whether or not this is appropriate. She just laughs, though.

  “Thanks,” I tell her.

  A few minutes later, we all gather for the final Team USA meeting before we leave for the Games tomorrow — ice dancers, pairs, men and ladies too. Just before we start, Coach Danson pulls Meredith into a corner, and whatever he says to her is not good. People try to ignore the yelling that cuts into our more casual conversation — but it’s difficult. After what seems like an hour, even though it probably is only a few minutes, the yelling stops and the door to the rink opens and slams shut as Coach Danson storms out. Meredith, wiping tears from her eyes, follows after him.

  Everyone grows silent.

  Tawny pats the space next to her and I go sit with her, grateful to have at least one ally. After all Hunter’s phone calls and overtures to be a friend I can count on, he’s acting like I don’t exist.

  Whatever, I think, even as I wince a little at this rejection.

  But as the coaches confirm what we all knew without them having to say it — that it will be Stacie skating in the Team Event for the ladies and that I’ve won the alternate spot — I can’t help but wonder: If I’d landed on my butt today, would Hunter be sitting next to me right now?

  Maybe there’s only room for one gold medalist in Hunter’s heart.

  And that would be him.

  “Esperanza?”

  The back door slams. My mother’s home. She made it through all the press still surrounding our house, which is no easy feat.

  “Mamá?” I put the party dress I spent the last ten minutes folding carefully on top of the other clothing already in my suitcase. “I’m in my room. Packing!” I’m nowhere near done, but I’m determined to finish before the going-away party this evening. I considered packing a spare costume of Coach’s just in case my superstition gets the best of me, but in the end, I only pack the Wang so I can’t chicken out of wearing it. One of my skating mugs, the one with IF FIGURE SKATING WAS EASY, IT WOULD BE CALLED HOCKEY, stares up at me from its place on my bureau. I’ve been debating about bringing it for luck, but I’ve already got too much stuff.

  Every time I see the word hockey, I think of Danny.

  And I wonder if he’d be more true to his word than Hunter Wills.

  I hear footsteps coming down the hall. My mother pokes her head into the room. She still has her Luciano’s uniform on. “I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” she says, followed by a sniffle.

  The clock has run out, and no matter how much Coach Chen and my mother have begged and pleaded and USFS has called in favors, apparently there is no rushing her visa, even when the person needing it has a daughter representing the United States in the Olympic Games.

  “You’re not allowed to make me cry again, Mamá.”

  “Oh, mi cielo. I don’t mean to. I’m just so proud of you. And I’m going to miss you.”

  I turn around to face my closet, my throat too tight to talk. Maybe if I don’t look at my mother for a minute, the tears will stop pushing their way into my eyes. I want to have fun tonight. It hasn’t been the easiest few days. Plus, it’s my last chance to see Libby and Joya and everyone else I care about.

  Like Mamá, for example.

  There go the tears again. I may as well give in to them.

  I turn back to see her standing there, wiping her eyes. “Mamá,” I say, and go to her. She puts her arms around me in a big hug and we stay like that for a while and just cry.

  “Luca’s making hummus. And tabbouleh,” she says in the middle of all the tears.

  “What?” I ask, pulling back with a laugh. The two of us go to my bed and sit down on the edge. “I didn’t think Luca had ever seen a chickpea in his life.”

  My mother laughs too. “He wants to make sure the figure skaters have options, as he calls them. I think he’s nervous they’re not going to like Italian. He asked me whether vegetarians really would eat eggplant parm or if they’d be horrified if it was the only veggie-friendly option.”

  “A few of them might be,” I say. “I’m sure it will all be fine.”

  “I’m sure it will too. He’s just nervous.”

  I study my mother’s expression. “That’s sweet.”

  She narrows her eyes. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” I say innocently. “So, I have news today. It looks like I’ll be the alternate for the Team Event medal. It’s not that big a deal in the sense that I won’t actually be skating, but it means that I’m considered number two, just behind Stacie, which is pretty important.”

  My mother puts her arm around my back and gives me a squeeze. “Esperanza, that’s wonderful!”

  “I hope so,” I sigh.

  She pulls back to look at me like I must be crazy. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because it will be me and Stacie Grant somehow having to be there for each other.”

  “You’ll both rise to the occasion. It’s the Olympics!”

  “I know. You’d think that. But this morning she was talking about how she doesn’t want a gold if it’s a shared one. She doesn’t even want to compete for the trophy. Then, on top of Stacie not caring, the alternate spot is something Meredith really wanted, and now I’ve taken her place. And I feel really bad about it.”

  “Espi, had someone given her the spot before?”

  “No,” I admit.

  “Well then, you did
n’t take it.”

  My shoulders slump. “I guess.”

  “You should be excited!”

  “I mean, I am.”

  “That doesn’t sound excited, mija. But I’m going to be excited for you regardless.” She gets up and goes to my suitcase. “You’re bringing all of this?”

  I nod. “Do you think it’s too much?”

  “It’s the Olympics, mi amor. I think you should bring as much as you want.”

  I laugh. “I wish you’d be this laid back when we go on other trips.”

  “Finish up and get ready. We have a party to go to and we don’t want to be late.” She turns. “Cheer up, Spiñorita! No more tears tonight. Only celebrating.”

  “Okay, Mamá.”

  “Now put on a pretty dress.”

  “Yes, Mamá.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you too,” I say. Then I mark the final X on my Olympics countdown calendar before doing as I’m told.

  “Esperanza!” the press is shouting when we arrive at Luciano’s. “How does it feel to be dating Hunter Wills?”

  I do my best not to roll my eyes, since I don’t want them to get that particular photo op. You’d think they’d ask me about the Olympics and skating, but instead all they want to know is what it’s like to be attached to a famous boy. I allow myself to be grateful for a moment that the press has not yet figured out how to combine our names. Esperanza and Hunter are pretty hard to mash together. Esperanter? Hunteranza? Hespi? None of these are good options.

  “Esperanza! Is it true you’ve broken Danny Morrison’s heart?”

  My jaw drops a little hearing this, but I quickly recover.

  “Come on, mija,” my mother says, and we both smile as we push our way through the throng of reporters, just like Coach Chen showed us.

  Luca is waiting outside the door in the cold. He’s set up a velvet rope at the edge of the parking lot to keep the press away. A big banner outside the restaurant says, GO TEAM USA FIGURE SKATERS! He seems excited, from the smile on his face, but he seems nervous too, given that he’s wringing his hands. His breath makes little white puffy clouds in the cold air.

  “So good to see you, Espi,” he says, giving me a big hug.

  “Hi, Luca. Thanks for doing this. That’s twice in just a few weeks. You are too good to me.”

  “You are like family,” he says. “Come on inside so you can get away from these people.”

  “One second,” I say, and turn back to the press. “There is one thing I’d love to comment about,” I tell them, and a shocking thing happens.

  They get quiet.

  “I’m so honored to represent the United States at the Olympics,” I go on. “I just wish someone would help my mother and me get her a visa so she could come see me skate. Without her, I wouldn’t be leaving for the Games tomorrow, and the thought of her missing this breaks my heart. Thank you for listening,” I finish, and turn around again, ignoring the rest of their shouts.

  My mother’s eyes are glistening. Luca gets between the two of us, taking one arm each, and ushers us inside. The door shuts, blissfully muffling the sounds of the reporters.

  The restaurant is already full of skaters and coaches mingling and eating. Marco, Betty, Anthony, Gino, and Marcela are crowded together by the buffet table, oohing and aahing. Marcela has powdered cocoa all over her apron, which means there will be tiramisu tonight, and Gino’s chef pants have a light dusting of flour, so I know there will be homemade pasta too. Likely ravioli. Marco is bounding up and down on his toes, wine glass in hand; Anthony is nodding; and Betty’s cheeks are flushed. Her hair is as Proud Southern Lady style as ever, pouffed and styled to perfection.

  It’s not the food that has everyone impressed, however.

  Hunter Wills is holding court.

  Betty primps the bottom of her curls, her eyes steady on his gorgeous face. “So is it true that you and Esperanza were having a romantic moonlit night out on the pond?”

  “Betty!” I protest.

  Betty sees us and covers her mouth guiltily, trying to hide her laugh.

  Hunter Wills turns his megawatt smile around, straight onto me, and I am nearly blinded. “Hi, Esperanza.”

  “Espi!” the waitstaff and the cooking staff all say more or less at once, since I’ve caught them red-handed trying to gossip about me. There are hugs and extra-big forgive us smiles exchanged before they slink away, leaving Hunter and me by the buffet table.

  It’s our first time alone since our paparazzi debacle, which was followed by the completely confusing cheek kiss. I don’t know what to think of him now. Especially after he maybe — or maybe not — shared my secret with my archenemy, Stacie.

  “Hello, stranger,” I say, like we are in some stupid movie.

  He laughs, but doesn’t say anything.

  “Still not talking to me?” I go on.

  “I never stopped,” Hunter says, a big grin on his face.

  “Yes, you did.” Nothing like being direct.

  “No,” he says, going for a plate and some silverware. He hands it to me before getting some for himself. “You are the one who stopped talking to me.”

  “Not true.”

  “Absolutely true.”

  I ponder this. Was it me? While I consider, I pile my plate full of chicken parmesan on one half, eggplant parm on the other, not a green vegetable in sight.

  Hunter stares at the Italian food mountain I’ve constructed. “So you’re a girl athlete who actually eats real food and not only raw garden materials.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, watching as he builds his own mountain with pesto raviolis on one side and steak pizzaola on the other. Neither one of us goes near the healthy part of the buffet. “We burn, like, gazillions of calories.”

  “Exactly,” he says.

  For a moment I think this is going well, and Hunter and I are starting to have another moment like we did last Thursday, but then he grabs a napkin and says, “I’ve got to go talk to Miff a second.” Miff is short for Jason Mifflin. “We’ll talk again in a bit, yeah?”

  “Sure.” I’m nodding.

  But will we? Luckily, before my brain can become overly addled with boy confusion, Libby and Joya arrive. I am awash with relief and gratitude. I’m practically floating on it.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Libby says. Tonight she’s wearing a blue sweater that brings out the color of her eyes.

  “Me neither.”

  Libby twirls a blond lock around her finger while her eyes drift to Hunter and Jason talking in the corner. “I hear Vienna is nice.”

  “I’m kind of excited to see it,” I say. “For the entire five minutes we’ll be there.”

  That’s right: The entire figure skating team has to go to Vienna for “processing.” Like we’re all slices of Kraft American cheese. USFS keeps what they call a “safehouse” there, as though we are in witness protection and about to testify against hardened killer mafiosos. After processing is over, we go on to the Games for the Opening Ceremonies.

  “Make sure you eat some schnitzel for me,” Libby says.

  “I think that’s like the Austrian version of chicken parm,” I say. “Speaking of chicken parm.” I wave my hand in front of Joya’s eyes, which have been fixated on the long table of buffet food this entire time. “Hey, how’s the show going?”

  She tears her eyes away and sighs. “They miscast Tony, I think.”

  I smile. “That’s great to hear.”

  Now she looks at me funny. “Why?”

  “Because before you were worried that you were miscast for Maria, which you totally weren’t, so I think it’s a step in the right direction that you’re worried about someone else being miscast now.”

  She shrugs. “I guess. It’s still not a great situation.”

  “You’ll find a way to fix it. Or at least fix him.”

  But Joya is distracted again by the food. She reaches for a plate and utensils and begins moving down the line. Libby and
I chat while I eat. “You’re not hungry?”

  Libby nods. “I am. I’m just biding my time.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know, really. But I am.”

  “I’m really going to miss you guys.” I look around the restaurant. In between all the skaters and their various coaches and trainers are the people in my life who actually matter. “I’m not cut out for the figure skater crowd.”

  “You never have been, though,” Libby says. “Which is why you have us.”

  I smile. “I know. But it would help my chances of medalling if I understood better how to relate to the high-level figure skater species.”

  “How do you think I’d relate to that Jason Mifflin species?”

  “Libby,” I say. “Don’t you think he’s a little old for you?”

  “I like older men.”

  “Since when?”

  “I like all boy types.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Besides, he’s only twenty-one.”

  “Like I said before, way too old for you.”

  Joya rejoins us and we stuff our faces while Libby catches me up on the gossip from school. My mother and Luca are deep in conversation in the corner, just the two of them. Coach Chen and Mr. Chen arrive fashionably late, along with the skaters and their coaches previously unaccounted for. I crane my neck, trying to see everyone who’s here. I spot Stacie and Coach East, but Meredith and Coach Danson are nowhere in sight.

  As the night continues, I realize they’re not coming. Even though I’ve basically gotten zero sign from Meredith that she and I could be friends, and even though my mother was right when she said that I didn’t technically take anything away from her, I still feel pretty awful that she wasn’t chosen as alternate for the Team Event competition.

  Something else becomes clear as well: Hunter is avoiding me. Or ignoring me. Or he just wasn’t that into me and our phone calls and magical night skating and the cheek kiss were all a misunderstanding on my part. No matter where I go in the restaurant, he always seems to be on the opposite side.

  Then, to make matters more confusing, Hunter suddenly heads toward me. Joya and Libby see this happening and mumble something I can’t understand before conspicuously heading off to the dessert table.