Gold Medal Winter

by Donna Freitas

  Oh no. What if it’s Stacie?

  I take the bed farthest from the window, so whoever else is staying in the room will have the best one. The fluffy pillows and the warm room finally start making me woozy, so I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and change into my pajamas.

  Today is a day of rest for us. Probably the last one I’ll have before everything gets crazy.

  I crawl into bed and look at the clock, which says 3:00 p.m. here, so it’s 9:00 a.m. in Rhode Island. I call my mother, hoping to catch her before work. She picks up on the first ring.

  “Mamá?”

  “¡Mija!” She shouts into the phone so loudly I have to hold it away from my ear.

  “I just wanted you to know that we got here safe and I’m in Vienna and everything is beautiful.”

  “Oh! I’m so glad. I miss you already.”

  “I miss you too, Mamá. Are you headed to work?” I ask just as I hear Betty’s voice yelling “Hi, sugar pea!” in the background. “Tell Betty hi.”

  “I will. I love you, mi cielo.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  “Are you tired?”

  “Exhausted. I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Okay, mi amor. Sleep well. We’re all thinking of you at home and sending you gold medal thoughts.”

  This makes me laugh and tear up all at once. “Thanks, Mamá. Have a good morning.”

  “You have a good rest,” she says, and we hang up.

  I look around at the plush chairs and the thick rug on the old wooden floor. No one else has shown up to claim the other half of the room. Suddenly everything feels a little lonely, so I turn down the bed and get inside to get some sleep.

  When I wake up later on, it’s dark.

  I grab for my phone.

  Two a.m.!

  Dios mío. I’ve slept for eleven hours.

  On the coffee table by the couch is a covered plate and a note sitting on top from Coach Chen. “Get sleep while you can! Tomorrow is a busy day. Here are some leftovers in case you need a midnight snack.”

  I peek underneath the lid and see something that resembles macaroni and cheese but isn’t. I don’t eat anything unless I know what it is. In this darkness, everything is mostly a bunch of shadows, so I get up and turn on the light.

  “Hey!” someone yells from by the window.

  It’s Meredith. She’s sleeping in the other bed.

  “Sorry,” I whisper and flick the light off again.

  “Whatever,” she mumbles into a pillow.

  Then she tosses and turns a little and doesn’t say anything else.

  I think to myself: I hope she falls back asleep.

  And also: This is not the best make-up scenario.

  Though then again: We have nothing to make up since we were never friends in the first place.

  After a while, when I’m pretty sure Meredith is sleeping again, I sit back down by the food and break my rule of not eating what I can’t really see.

  It’s tasty, whatever it is. There’s some sort of cheese. And bacon.

  Then I get back into bed and stare at the ceiling until I get sleepy again, my mind on repeat the whole time, going Esperanza! You are at the Olympics! Stop it with the drama!, hoping that my head and my heart get in sync with each other sometime in the near future.

  Like by tomorrow.

  At the US processing plant for Olympic athletes, which is what I’m calling it, Coach Chen and I are each given a giant shopping cart when we walk in the door.

  “Is there food shopping involved in this experience?” I ask, looking at the athletes and coaches and trainers milling about all around us. I wonder where Meredith is. She was already gone this morning when I got up.

  “Not exactly,” Coach Chen says, unfazed and already maneuvering toward our first stop in the various lines.

  I push my cart after her. It has a squeaky wheel and seems to want to ram into people of its own volition. This place is like a giant warehouse of Olympic madness, and I soon learn why we need shopping carts for the experience.

  It’s because of all the free stuff.

  There’s more Team USA paraphernalia here than I’ve ever dreamed of. They have warm-ups and jackets and pants and hats and gloves and socks and even hair ties for the girls — all of it some combination of red, white, and blue so everyone looks patriotic. We can wear whatever we want when we’re just walking around Olympic Village, but for anything official, the US Olympic Committee wants us in its attire. There is Nike gear galore and Polo clothing and tons of cool shoes, all for the taking. There are Olympic mementos everywhere too, like pins and bracelets and key chains. To top this off and help us carry our swag home to the United States, we get free Nike duffel bags and backpacks and giant Polo suitcases. I pick up one of each of these and start fitting all my goodies inside as I push everything around in the shopping cart.

  Coach eyes me as I reach for yet another mug. “Control yourself, Espi!”

  Reluctantly, I pull my my arm back. I’ve already picked up two mugs to add to my collection at home. One is just a basic Team USA mug, and the other has the Olympic rings on one side and a figure skater on the other. I end up passing on the patriotic underwear too, but only because my cart is so full and so out of control with all the extra weight that I fear it could knock someone over. Plus, who wants to be maneuvering a shopping cart through large crowds of one’s fellow Olympians with red, white, and blue bikini underwear sitting on top? Or underwear with the Olympic rings on the butt?

  Not me, I can tell you.

  There are even free tickets we can pick up for other events. I grab tickets to the first US hockey game.

  Coach Chen’s eyebrows go up. “Hockey? Why the sudden interest in hockey?”

  “What? What do you mean? I grew up in Rhode Island. Everyone loves hockey in Rhode Island.”

  “Hmm,” is all she responds.

  On top of the free stuff there is also the stuff we need: credentials for getting into the Olympic Village, plus the ones for the Ice Palace, which is where the figure skating events are to be held, plus our official schedules. And there’s lots and lots and lots of paperwork to fill out. Finally, we get in line for our costumes for both the Opening and Closing Ceremonies.

  Coach gets a faraway smile as we stand in line for our turn. “I remember all of this.”

  “Were you nervous too?” I ask.

  We move a couple of steps closer. “Yes,” she says. “And excited and thrilled and scared and in awe.”

  When we reach the front, the woman at the booth hands me a box with my name on a paper taped to the outside. I open it up to find a white velour tracksuit with bright blue lines running down the sides of the pants and the seams of the jacket. There is a matching blue scarf and white hat with a red, white, and blue pom-pom on top. Even though the outfit is completely hideous, I still feel a thrill at the thought of walking into the Olympic Arena for the first time, wearing my official Opening Ceremonies costume with all the other US athletes, behind a giant American flag.

  I actually get chills thinking about it.

  Underneath this is the Closing Ceremonies outfit. It’s a blue down jacket with a matching white wool turtleneck underneath, blue fleece pants, and a matching blue hat with cool red boots. This one is only half hideous, especially since I’m totally going to wear the boots again to school when I get home.

  “Over here, Espi,” Coach beckons, and I follow her into the dressing room area, where the tailors will adjust everything so that all we US Olympians look the same when we wear them.

  Coach Chen inspects each item while I get fitted. “You’d think they would pick a more attractive material. In my year they were ugly too. We had to wear orange down parkas and matching pants, and we all looked like poufy Michelin men and women, shivering in the freezing cold. At least you’ll get to be inside.”

  “Probably sweating. These look really warm,” I say as the tailor finishes up. I change out of the Closing Ceremonies outfit, and Coach and
I leave the dressing room area to get into the next set of lines. My cart gets heavier and heavier by the minute.

  Our next stop is the one I’m most excited about.

  Medal ceremony outfits!

  That’s right. The clothing I will wear if I medal at the Olympics. I hold my breath when we reach the front of the line and I get the box.

  “Please don’t faint on me, Espi,” Coach says, but she is smiling. She’s excited as I am.

  Inside are a gorgeous blue and gray jacket, navy waterproof pants, a navy shirt, and matching shoes. Unlike the Opening and Closing Ceremonies outfits, these are sleek and stylish. We go back to the dressing room to have these fitted too.

  Once I have them on, I model everything for Coach. “I can’t believe that the next chance I’ll get to wear this is if I medal,” I say, my voice filled with awe.

  “When you medal,” she corrects.

  I study Coach’s face. She is tearing up. That almost never happens.

  It makes me tear up too.

  Soon we are both sniffling and laughing as the tailor tries valiantly to do her job.

  When we’re done with all the fittings, Coach and I head for our last stop before we’re done for the day — my official Olympic commemorative ring. You can choose regular gold, white gold, or platinum, and with each one, there is an option to get them with diamonds, believe it or not. The design changes every Olympics, and this year it has a round face with the words OLYMPIC and TEAM along the top and bottom curves, with the Olympic torch in the middle. They look like big class rings.

  I ask for mine in white gold, no diamonds. Diamonds are a little flashy for me.

  After we’re done putting in my order, my eyes land on Stacie and Coach East a ways off in the corner. They are too far away to say hello, which is a relief. Several of the hockey players are congregating to my right by the table with the free drink cozies, but Danny isn’t among them. Most of them are much older than he is. Early to mid-twenties, maybe. I wonder if it’s weird to be the youngest person by a lot on an entire team. At least in figure skating there are people close to my age.

  Coach Chen is taking stock of our carts. “This is crazy. What are we going to do with all of this?”

  But sheer joy shoots through me when I look at all our booty. “We’re going to wear it to school after the Olympics and feel really cool. Or at least, that’s my plan.”

  This makes Coach Chen laugh. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Just before we are about to leave, my shopping cart somehow wills itself into the left leg of a very cute boy. Hunter Wills. His face lights up when he sees it is me who has rammed him.

  “Hey, Esperanza,” he says.

  There must be romantic interest here if he looks happy after I’ve hit him with a large, metallic object on wheels. “Hi, Hunter,” I say while Coach Chen pretends to be interested in a display of Team USA baseball hats. “I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning.”

  He grins. “I didn’t see you either. But here we are now.”

  “Yes. Um.” I glance at Coach.

  “And you said you’d let me walk you around Vienna.”

  I eye Coach again. She’s studying a hat with the Olympic mascot on it — a girly bunny rabbit wearing a blue scarf. “I did,” I say. I remind myself that I’ve also made plans to go by the hockey safehouse and meet with Mr. Morrison and possibly Danny too.

  “Well, let’s go, then,” Hunter says.

  “But we have all this stuff.”

  “I’ll have my assistants take it all back.”

  “Your assistants?”

  Hunter shrugs. “Yeah.” He turns and points at three men hovering nearby. “They come with the endorsements.” He laughs, but I can’t decide if he’s kidding. “Just you wait until you get them too.”

  “They look like bodyguards.”

  “They’re a little like bodyguards. But they’ll get our stuff back to the house if I ask them to, which is what I’m going to do right now,” he says, and heads their way.

  “Coach Chen?”

  She sighs and returns the baseball hat to its table. “You can go with Hunter. But don’t stay out late. We have the Olympic Games to get ready for.”

  “Like I could forget,” I say with a nervous laugh. “Are you sure you want to let me go with him?”

  She looks at me funny. “Are you looking for a way out of this?”

  “No. Um. I just. No.”

  “If you don’t want to go, just tell him you don’t.”

  “I do want to go.”

  “Well, go, then. I’m saying you can. And I already heard about his minions, so don’t worry about your stuff.” She rolls her eyes.

  “You don’t like him,” I state.

  She shrugs. “I think Hunter Wills is one of the greatest male skaters to ever be on the US Olympic team.”

  “But you don’t like him.”

  “What I think doesn’t matter. You obviously do like him, so don’t worry about anyone else. What I don’t like is drama. You need to focus on your programs and medaling, and not on the rumors going around about you and some hot teen skater. Just don’t cause another scandal in the press, please. And don’t tell him anything else he doesn’t need to know.”

  But I’m laughing. “You think Hunter’s hot?”

  “Espi! I could be his mother. I’m repeating what I read in People magazine.” She glances behind me. “No, go have fun. Here he comes. Bye,” she sings with a little wave, and takes off, leaving Hunter and me alone.

  On our maybe-date in Vienna.

  Hunter and I walk around the center of the city. It’s cold and snowy and dark even though it’s afternoon, but I don’t care and I don’t think Hunter does either. We go in and out of shops, and in one of the famous Viennese cafés, we share a Sacher torte, which is basically a really dense chocolate cake. We talk about our families and our friends and where we grew up and not once do we mention figure skating or the Olympics. We don’t see any press, which means we can relax and have fun and talk without worrying. It’s like I’m suddenly in a movie and this is the part where the girl and the guy get to know each other and you see flashes of them laughing and walking around some beautiful city and sharing a dessert, after which they realize they are in love.

  Though, I’ve never been in love and I’m not now. At least not yet.

  And here is the other thing: We are both on our way to the Olympics.

  We need to focus on things like our routines and landing quads.

  The Winter Games is priority number one.

  “Hunter?” I whisper.

  We’ve just walked inside an enormous Gothic cathedral. It’s in the center of Vienna and it’s the kind of church we don’t have in the United States. It’s gloomy and quiet but in the coolest way, and, like everything else here, jaw-droppingly beautiful.

  “Espi?” he whispers back, smiling.

  We sit down in one of the pews toward the back. The ceilings soar high above. There are stained glass windows two stories tall along the walls. I feel tiny and insignificant, but not in a bad way. Tourists are in groups here and there, talking about the history and the artwork, so it doesn’t seem like a bad place for a conversation.

  “You haven’t said anything about the quad sal I nailed at practice before we left for Vienna,” I say.

  His face is blank. “I haven’t? Well, it was great. Incredibly impressive.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but his ambivalence has me uneasy. Shouldn’t he be really happy for me? Shouldn’t he be more excited and encouraging?

  “So you’re going to go for it at the Games?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “It might be too big a risk. I still haven’t mastered it yet.”

  Hunter is looking everywhere but at me, his blue eyes an ocean of avoidance. “No?”

  “Is something the matter?” I say.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you won’t look directly at me.”

  “
It’s a nice church.”

  “You’re being evasive.”

  “Why would I be evasive?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  Hunter sighs. “Maybe you should just forget about the quad sal.”

  “I can’t just forget about it. It could win me gold! Don’t you want me to land my quad?”

  “Of course,” he says, running a hand through his wavy dark hair.

  But he doesn’t sound convincing. “Then why aren’t you helping me anymore?”

  “I gave you all the advice I have already.” He finally looks me in the eye with all the arrogance I’ve read about in the past on the gossip blogs, before Coach Chen forbade me from going on them.

  “You told Stacie, didn’t you?” I say, anger growing in my voice.

  “I told Stacie what?”

  “You know what? Don’t even answer, because I already know what you’re going to say.” I stand up. “You might be the Quad King, Hunter, but as a friend, you couldn’t even qualify for the top ten.” Tourists are starting to turn around. I shake my head and make my way out of the pew. “I need to go. I’m supposed to be somewhere else.”

  “Esperanza, wait!” Hunter yells after me. “Don’t go! I didn’t mean to upset you!”

  But I’m already walking away.

  The hockey safehouse isn’t at all like the figure skating one. It’s sleek and modern and boxy, on the outskirts of the old part of town. There are guys congregating out front, talking and laughing. I remember one of them from processing earlier today. All at once they look at me.

  No, they ogle me.

  And I want to yell, “Hey, cradle robbers, mind your own business!”

  Inside, the house looks like what I imagine a frat house would look like, with guys lounging around everywhere. Joya and Libby would love this, especially Libby, since she adores hockey players. There are soda cans and sandwich wrappers on every surface, and the staff looks frazzled as they try to figure out which things they can throw away to maintain some semblance of order.

  “Oooh, a high school girl,” says a meaty guy who stops to check me out. “How can I help you?” he asks in a tone he must think is seductive.