Life on the Edge

by Jennifer Comeaux

  Sergei watched us practice our star lift and then asked us to repeat it. Above Chris’s head, I sailed in a vertical split position, his hand on my hip and my hand on the back of his shoulder.

  “More stretch, Em,” Sergei called. “Chris, smoother on the dismount.”

  I

  pointed my toes, not easy to do in skates, and extended my free arm as far as I could. Chris set me down, and we transitioned into the next movement, where he touched my face and we looked into each other’s eyes. We held the pose a few seconds before Sergei sprinted over.

  “You’re not feeling it. You have to maintain the emotion throughout the program and especially in these moments between the elements. Chris, as soon as Em comes down from the lift, you need to lock your eyes on hers and pull her close. Em, you have to look at him like he’s your whole world. I’ll put on the music and show you.”

  He glided to the ice door and popped our CD into the sound system queue. Trevor and Leigh were almost finished with a section of their short program, so Chris and I idled near the boards to wait.

  Sergei pushed up the sleeves of his fleece jacket. “I’ll run through it with Em so you can see what I’m looking for.”

  I followed Sergei through the mine field of skaters jumping, falling, and dancing to the music in their heads. He grasped my hand, and we did long, powerful crossovers in tandem, building up speed for the lift. Since Sergei had been a Junior World Champion with his former partner Elena, he owned all the skills to demonstrate his teaching points.

  With one arm he lifted me, and we flew across the rink. A brisk wind cooled my skin. On the dismount, my right blade carved into the ice, and Sergei swept me up to his side. His fingers stroked my cheek, while his eyes stroked my heart. The sparkling blue pools held an intensity I’d never seen before.

  My

  breaths came out in shallow puffs. The dreamy notes of “Meditation” floated around us as we glided together, bonded by our unblinking gazes. I didn’t know if I was looking at Sergei as if he was my whole world, but he certainly was making me feel like I was his entire universe.

  We skidded to a stop near Chris, kicking up a light spray of ice. Sergei’s eyes broke from mine as he backed away and rubbed the nape of his neck. I grabbed my water bottle from the boards and gulped down the liquid. I’d lost all the moisture in my mouth.

  “That’s, uh . . . that’s how it should look,” Sergei said, still avoiding eye contact with me.

  Chris stared at us and waited a second to speak. “Sure, I can do that.”

  He and I skated to the opposite end of the rink and came around in the lift. Chris copied Sergei’s movements, but my body didn’t sing like it had under Sergei’s touch. I looked up at Chris with the most convincing adoration I could muster.

  Sergei clapped and finally threw a glance in my direction. “That was better.”

  We finished our lesson with back-to-back run-throughs of our short and long programs, and Sergei met us at the ice door on our way out.

  “Let’s talk a minute.”

  Chris and I sat on the first row of bleachers while Sergei stood with his hands in his jacket pockets.

  “Last year you made people notice you with your athletic ability. No other teams are doing side-by-side triple Lutzes or the triple Lutz throw. You have that advantage over everyone else. And you’re getting closer on the twist every day. Once you have that down, the technical content in your programs will be unmatched.

  “This season you need to show the judges you have the full package. You both have a great feel for the music and know how to present to the audience. Now you have to work on relating to each other. Have you heard the phrase ‘Two shall skate as one’?”

  We nodded, and Sergei continued, “That’s what I need from you every second of every program.”

  We nodded again with more gusto, and Sergei told us, “Good job today,” before leaving to prepare for his next lesson. I was going to make a comment to Chris, but his attention had shifted to the ice, where Marley and her partner, Zach, were practicing the Westminster Waltz compulsory dance. Marley’s balletic arms highlighted the nuances of the regal music, while Zach stood tall with strong ballroom posture.

  I

  went ahead to the locker room to change and then to the gym for two hours of off-ice conditioning. The cramped room included a couple of exercise bikes, two treadmills, and an area with weights and mats for strength and balance training. My legs were already pumping the bike pedals when Chris settled onto the bicycle next to mine.

  “So, I have an idea how we can be more connected when we skate. You should pretend I’m Marley.” I gave him a toothy grin.

  He pedaled faster. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You were hanging on everything she said at my house the other night.”

  His rosy cheeks deepened in color, possibly from the workout, but more likely from my teasing.

  “She’s a nice girl,” he mumbled over the whirr of the spinning cycles.

  “I could put in a good word for you.”

  He jerked his head to face me. “No, don’t say anything to her.”

  “I don’t get you. You’re Mr. Confidence on the ice, but you’re scared to ask a girl out?”

  “I’m not scared. She just broke up with her boyfriend back home. I don’t wanna be the rebound guy.”

  I

  tapped his arm. “You want to be her serious guy.”

  “Why don’t we get back to the original subject . . . this whole emotional connection thing. You could pretend I’m Sergei.” He stuck out his tongue.

  My

  legs stopped moving. “Why would you say that?”

  “It’s obvious you worship the ground he walks on. You were all googly-eyed when you were skating with him earlier.”

  “I don’t worship him. I was doing what he told us to do.” I resumed cycling with a fury.

  “Hey, I’m not judging. All the girls swoon over him.” He touched the back of his hand to his forehead and laughed. “Some of the guys, too.”

  I snickered, but on the inside alarm bells rang. My feelings for Sergei had shown on the ice–a dangerous development. Whatever spark existed between us needed to be doused because we couldn’t act on it. The federation would never approve, and Sergei’s position as our coach could be in jeopardy. If Chris and I were going to be the first American pair to win Olympic gold, I must stay focused on skating.

  Starting today, I had to stop hanging out with Sergei at Starbucks. If I just saw him at the rink, then my feelings would eventually fade. Wouldn’t they?

  ****

  Instead of going to the coffee shop that afternoon, I decided to take a walk from my house to Main Street to window shop in the galleries and gift stores. Strolling past the harbor, I inhaled the nippy autumn air. The summer crowds were gone, so there were no lines of people waiting to dine at the waterfront restaurants. The Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket ferry docks were also quiet.

  I

  walked through the little park along the harbor and passed Sergei’s apartment building. My parents had recommended the place when his old apartment had been sold a few months back. I noticed his black SUV in the parking lot, which meant he hadn’t gone to Starbucks either. A weight heavier than I wanted to admit settled on my chest. Maybe Sergei was avoiding me, too.

  On Main Street, many store windows featured Halloween displays of oversized jack-o-lanterns and tangled cobwebs. I wandered from shop to shop, making note of some items I thought Mom and Dad might like for Christmas. With my busy competition and training schedule coming up, it was never too early to think about the holidays.

  I

  stopped in front of a gift shop and peered through the window at a display of handmade jewelry. Further into the store, a familiar blue sweater caught my eye. Sergei was standing beside a shelf of silk scarves, examining one with a black and white striped design.

  Who

  is he buying a scarf for?

&
nbsp; I

  watched him refold the scarf and pick up another one. Curiosity encouraged me to go inside, but I’d be violating my new rule of not socializing with him. While I played an internal tug-of-war, Sergei spotted me.

  A smile spread across his face as he lifted one hand in a wave. I stuck my hand up in reply, and he motioned for me to join him. I couldn’t walk away now.

  Inside the store, the strong cinnamon potpourri scent choked me. I moved through aisles of wind chimes and crystal figurines and met Sergei next to the scarves.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I need a woman’s opinion.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m looking for a birthday present for my mother, and I could use some ideas.”

  I

  tried not to smile too big when he said ‘mother.’ “What do you usually get her?”

  “I usually send flowers, but it’s her fiftieth birthday, so I wanted to get something special.”

  “Hmm . . .” I touched my finger to my chin. “Does she like jewelry?”

  “She doesn’t wear much. She has pretty simple taste.”

  I

  scanned the cluttered shelves around us. “What about something Cape Cod-inspired? Something that will give her a piece of your life here?”

  “She does love all the photos I’ve sent her.”

  “How about a framed print?”

  I led him over to the rows of colorful prints. “They have some beautiful ones of different scenic spots on the island. My mom bought two here for our living room.”

  We shuffled through the selection, and I gaped at one in particular. “This is gorgeous.” I stared at the portrait of the quaint rain-slicked city street shining from the gaslight lamps. “It’s Beacon Hill, one of my favorite areas in Boston. I would love to have this hanging over my desk at home.”

  “You should get it.”

  “No, I don’t need to spend this much.” I returned the print to the bin. “By the way, thank you again for talking to Courtney and Mark’s moms and making me one of their official coaches. The money helps a lot. My parents spend so much on my skating that I don’t like to ask them for anything extra.”

  “You earned it. You’re doing a great job with them. I think Courtney, especially, is learning a lot from you.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled. “I’ve learned a lot from them and from working with you.”

  Sergei’s eyes regarded me with deep thought. He looked like he was going to say something, but instead he pulled the next print from the bin. “This one is nice.”

  A blue sky filled with white wispy clouds hovered above a lighthouse surrounded by marshy grass and the sunlit ocean. I imagined Sergei and I picnicking along the water, snuggling on a red and white checked blanket as seagulls serenaded us with their soft cries.

  “Em?”

  Sergei’s voice broke me from my daydream. “Do you like it?”

  “Yeah.

  It’s the perfect Cape Cod scenery.”

  He smiled and started for the checkout desk. “Thanks for your help. I owe you a latte.”

  When he was out of sight, I banged my forehead against the nearest shelf. Putting Sergei out of my mind was going to be much more difficult than I’d thought.

  Chapter Four

  I

  shrugged on my blue Team USA jacket and rolled my small bag through the concourse of Colorado Springs’ World Arena. The souvenir stands were bustling to life with stacks of Skate America programs, T-shirts, and hoodies. Ducking into the section of seats facing center ice, I carried my bag down the steps and approached my parents.

  “Hi, sweetie!”

  Mom’s exuberant greeting could likely be heard ten rows away, even with the noisy hum of the Zamboni. She hugged me, and I smiled at Dad over her shoulder. His kind, blue-gray eyes shone behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

  “You looked great at practice,” Mom said. “I was so worried we weren’t going to make it in time when our connecting flight from Denver took off a little late and then the cabbie from the airport drove like an old lady . . .”

  I

  slid past her and kissed my father on the cheek. “Hey, Dad.”

  His quiet hug showed his and Mom’s differing personalities. Both were professors at Boston University, but the similarities ended there. My mom spoke first, usually emotionally, and thought later, while my dad personified “easy-going” and viewed the world logically. They’d balanced each other for twenty-five years.

  “Aubrey and Nick’s group is practicing after the ice cut,” I said, sitting in the empty purple seat beside Mom’s. “I want to stay and watch.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “We can do lunch after.”

  I

  jiggled my knees up and down. “I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to eat, thinking about tonight.”

  Dad reached across Mom and squeezed my hand. “Try not to get too worked up. It’s the first event of the season.”

  “But this is a really important season. We’re only sixteen months away from the Olympics. We have to show we can compete with the top teams. Starting now.”

  “The Canadians were sharp at practice,” Mom said.

  I’d

  watched a few minutes of Madeline Hyatt and Damien Wakefield’s session before ours, and the Canadian champions hadn’t missed an element. As World silver medalists, they were the heavy favorite in the competition.

  “How did Claire and Brandon do?”

  “Brandon was having trouble with the triple toe.” Mom smoothed one stray lock of her short, chestnut-colored hair. “I still think you and Chris had them beat at Nationals. Brandon fell in the free skate! The judges held them up on reputation and didn’t want a new team to win.”

  I

  massaged my right temple, the one nearest to Mom. “Let’s not rehash that again.” Anyone who knew my mother knew where I’d gotten my competitiveness.

  “I’m just saying, the judges better be fair here. If you skate clean, you should be rewarded.”

  My

  stomach clenched. I had a bad habit of focusing on the possible results instead of my performance, and listening to Mom’s tirade wasn’t helping my mindset.

  I

  felt a tug on my ponytail, and a voice behind me said, “Hey, stranger.”

  Spinning around, I found Drew Henry, National men’s bronze medalist, grinning at me. He had one of those faces that always seemed to be smiling.

  “Hey, how are you?” I stood and hugged him then turned to Mom and Dad. “I don’t think you met Drew at Nationals?”

  The three of them exchanged handshakes, and Drew poked my arm. “So, what have you been up to lately? You’ve been slacking on email.”

  “Sorry, it’s been crazy, getting ready for the season and everything.”

  “We’ll have to catch up this weekend.” He brushed his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes and leaned toward me. “And I can school you some more on the dance floor at the closing party.”

  I

  laughed. “I think you have a short memory. At Nationals, I was the one teaching you the moves.”

  Drew stepped into the aisle and pointed at me. “You keep thinking that, Butler. But you’ll see who the real master is.” He waved to my parents. “It was nice meeting you.”

  Mom’s big brown eyes widened as she watched Drew bound up the concrete steps. “He seemed very friendly . . . especially towards you.”

  “We’re just friends, Mom. We’ve kept in touch through email.”

  “Doesn’t he live in California?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.”

  Mom’s brow wrinkled before she shifted her gaze to the ice.

  And people wonder why my dating life is practically nonexistent.

  I’d been constantly reminded that boys would serve as a troublesome distraction. But what happens when the distraction is someone I can’t escape?

  ****

  “Would the following skaters please take the ice for th
e warm-up. From the United States, Emily Butler and Christopher Grayden. From Russia–”

  Chris and I took off across the ice, and I tuned out the public address announcer. The six minute warm-up didn’t give us much time to practice our short program elements, so every second required concentration.

  Having met Sergei’s triple twist challenge at practice, we ramped up speed for the element. Chris tossed me up, and I wound myself into a tight coil, but without enough air I couldn’t finish the third rotation. I came down with my back to Chris instead of facing him, and he stumbled to keep his footing as he locked his arms around me.

  “Get the bad one out of the way now, right?” he said.

  I

  attempted a laugh to cover up my concern, but the sound came out like a wheeze. Dodging the traffic of the other three couples, we completed the side-by-side triple jumps and rushed into practicing the throw triple Lutz. My mind was two elements back on the twist, and I landed the jump on two scratchy blades instead of one smooth edge.

  Chris placed his hand on the small of my back, and I wiggled my arms and legs, as if I could shake out the anxiety. We motored by Sergei, who was leaning forward with his palms pressed against the boards. I recognized it as his I’m-not-pleased-with-what-I’m-seeing stance.

  With less than a minute remaining

  , we transitioned into easy stroking around the ice. Our red and black costumes sparkled like gemstones under the bright lights of the arena. Chris held my hand and hummed along to the blaring pop tune, immune as always to any worry. I fidgeted with my halter neckline and played “Capriccio Espagnol,” our program music, in my head.

  Time expired, and we followed Sergei backstage to await our turn to skate. On cue, the muscles in my legs twitched more violently, and my stomach did a gymnastics routine.

  I

  paced the narrow, gray corridor while Chris relaxed in a folding metal chair. The click-clack of my plastic skate guards on the cement floor echoed off the stone walls. Sergei watched me walk in circles before putting his arm around me. At the touch of his hand on my bare shoulder, my insides went from doing back flips to slowly melting like the last snow of winter.