Life on the Edge

by Jennifer Comeaux

  “I have very strong beliefs, which Sergei has respected because he loves me. Is that enough information for you?”

  “Emily, I’m sorry we have to ask these questions, but we’re only looking out for you and Sergei’s other students,” Maria said. “We have to be thorough and find out everything we can.”

  “I know you’re doing your job, but Sergei is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve to be put through this. He would never hurt me or any of his students.”

  David fiddled with the cap on his pen, making a repeated clicking noise that didn’t help my agitation. “Sometimes good people make poor decisions. Sergei’s judgment regarding your relationship has brought up serious questions about his credibility.”

  I set down my water with a clang on the glass end table. “If you speak to his students, you’ll find out all you need to know about his credibility. They trust him because he respects them and genuinely cares about them. He gives his heart and soul to his job. You have to see that.”

  David and Maria both looked down at their papers, avoiding the desperation I knew must show in my eyes. David coughed and cleared his throat again.

  “We just have a few more questions.”

  ****

  Despite the confidentiality of Viktor’s hearing, everyone at the rink knew something was up. Viktor remained on staff while the panel spent a few days deliberating, but Aubrey and Nick stopped taking lessons from him. And after learning of Viktor’s behavior from Aubrey, Marley and Zach also cut ties with him. The rumor mill churned among the skaters in our club, spitting out a variety of theories on why Viktor’s top team would leave him on the eve of the Olympics. None of the rumors included my name, however; no one had any idea I was smack in the middle of the drama.

  Aubrey and I checked our cell phones after our morning training sessions, and we both had voicemails from the chairman of the panel requesting us to call him. A ruling had been issued. Because of the expedited nature of the hearing, the chairman said he could deliver the ruling verbally as opposed to the standard written decision.

  We scrambled from the locker room to look for an area of privacy. On the way to our rink manager Alex’s office, we ran into Viktor in the lobby. His phone was pressed to his ear, and a furious storm raged in his eyes.

  He ended the call and glared at us, nostrils flaring. Aubrey and I folded our arms and stood tall, sensing we had won.

  Viktor focused his contained anger on Aubrey first. “You know I’m the best coach you could ever have. You set your career back years by doing this.”

  Aubrey raised her chin. “Nick and I will be fine.”

  Viktor swung his sneer over to me next. “You think you’ve won, but I got what I wanted. I know the federation is investigating Sergei, and I have a feeling he won’t be so lucky for once.”

  “Sergei doesn’t need luck,” I stated. “He has integrity, something you know nothing about.”

  Chris walked up to my side, joining our line of opposition. Viktor inhaled and gave me one last chilling leer before he stalked to the exit.

  “I’m guessing the verdict was good?” Chris asked.

  “We had messages to call for the decision, but we saw Viktor first,” I said. “From his reaction, I’d say the news must be good.”

  Alex was out to lunch, so the three of us crammed into his cramped office and crowded around the speakerphone. The panel chairman read the official ruling–Viktor had been expelled from U.S. Figure Skating for life.

  “Wow,” Aubrey whispered.

  After the chairman debriefed us, I hugged Aubrey and together we shared tears and sighs of relief. Aubrey’s tears soon became a quiet sob.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She nodded and wiped her eyes. “It’s hitting me now how huge this is. Viktor’s never going to coach again.”

  “We did the right thing. You’re not regretting it, are you?” I peered at her.

  “No, he deserved this.” She sniffed and put her arms around me. “I’m so glad it’s all over.”

  But it wasn’t over for Sergei and me. My relief over the verdict was quickly dampened by the knowledge that Sergei and I still had a battle to fight.

  “Now, if we could get Sergei cleared,” I said.

  Chris pushed aside a few papers and perched on the desk. “He hasn’t heard from David or Maria?”

  “No, they said they’d need a few days when they got back to Colorado to meet with some of the higher-ups and decide what to do next. They should be calling any time now.”

  “I thought they’d wanna talk to me since I’m around you and Sergei all the time,” Chris said.

  “I know, my parents wanted to talk to them, too, but they blew in and out of town so fast.”

  Sergei peeped through the small square window on the office door. He came inside and shut the door behind him. “Did something happen?”

  “We got the call.” I glanced at Aubrey, who plucked a tissue from the box on the desk. “Viktor’s been expelled for life.”

  “Good,” Sergei said adamantly. “They got it right.”

  Aubrey blew her nose and pitched the tissue into the trash can. “The federation better stick to their promise and handle all the questions about Viktor when we get to Salt Lake. I just want to stay out of it and skate.”

  “Sergei, do you think the rink will bring in a new dance coach to take Viktor’s place?” Worried lines creased Chris’s forehead.

  “I hope so,” Aubrey interjected. “I don’t want to move.”

  “Neither does Marley,” Chris said.

  “I definitely think they will,” Sergei said. “There are too many good teams here they won’t want to lose.”

  Aubrey dabbed once more at her eyes with her fingers before opening the door. “I have to tell Nick the news. Em, come find me for lunch.”

  Chris stood to follow her, and Sergei held up his hand. “I need to talk to you and Em. I was looking for you when I saw you in here.”

  Sergei made sure the door was closed before he continued, “David called. They’re turning everything over to the Ethics Committee, but since we’re leaving for Salt Lake next week, the committee is postponing any further action until after the Olympics.”

  “What does further action mean?” I asked warily.

  “They want to do more interviews before they decide if I should be suspended.” He lowered his eyes to the concrete floor.

  I sucked in a breath. “Suspended?!”

  Chris returned to his spot on the desk. “I thought there weren’t any specific rules against coaches and students of legal age dating.”

  “There aren’t, but if they determine I violated the code of conduct by having a relationship with a student, then I could face suspension.”

  I braced myself against the tall file cabinet. “For how long?”

  Sergei pressed his lips together, holding in his response for an unnerving number of seconds. “Possibly five years.”

  “Five years?” I exclaimed.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Chris said.

  I struggled to speak, the words catching in my throat. “I can’t believe this.”

  Sergei brushed his hand down my arm. “We need to stay focused on preparing for the Olympics. That’s the most important thing.”

  He was maintaining such a calm, strong façade, but I knew he had to be teeming with emotion on the inside. A five-year suspension could kill his career.

  “Chris, can you give us a minute?” I asked.

  “Sure.” He patted Sergei’s shoulder as he left.

  “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about this,” I said softly. “You have to be worried about what could happen. Five years out of the sport . . .”

  He met my gaze and held my shoulders. “We can’t do anything about it until after the Olympics, so worrying right now is useless. We have to stay positive and put all our energy into this competition.”

  Resolve flowed from his strong hands, and I nodded. “Okay.”
>
  But the stakes had been raised higher. If Chris and I didn’t win gold in Salt Lake, we’d have to work four more years for another chance. Four years we might be without Sergei–a scenario I couldn’t bear to think about.

  We have to win. We just have to.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Our van stopped in front of the Olympic Village’s massive security checkpoint, and the large sign above the guards sparked smiles on all the passengers’ faces.

  Welcome, Athletes of the World

  Chris bumped my shoulder. “We’re really here.”

  His big excited grin got me laughing. One of the thousands of Olympic volunteers opened the van door, and I jumped out. Snow flurries stuck to my brand new navy Team USA jacket, embroidered with the five Olympic rings.

  Athletes from a variety of sports spilled out of the van and lined up behind me to enter our home for the Games. Two shaggy-haired snowboarders and a diminutive speed skater whooped it up, while Claire and Brandon hopped in line next to Chris and me. I wished Sergei could experience this with us, but the Village was housing athletes only, so coaches had to stay at a nearby hotel.

  After the guards checked our luggage, two team leaders escorted us through the University of Utah campus to the dormitory-style apartment building designated for the American athletes. I smiled at the sight of the Stars and Stripes decorating every window.

  Inside the lobby, decked out with more flags and “Welcome” banners, the team leaders gave us our keys and a quick rundown of the building’s amenities. Claire and I located our apartment on the second floor, while Chris and Brandon moved into theirs across the hall from us. Red, white, and blue streamers draped over our doors, adding to the festively patriotic atmosphere.

  Claire and I would be sharing our apartment with Aubrey and Kristin, another ice dancer. Since the other girls weren’t arriving until later in the week, we had first pick of the two bedrooms. I stashed my suitcase in the one closest to the bathroom and checked out the view of the snowy mountains through the narrow window. Twin beds and a nightstand occupied most of the room, and I made a mental note to decorate Aubrey’s bed with a fun “Welcome” sign before the end of the week.

  Backtracking into the living room, I crossed paths with Claire and bounced toward the kitchen. “This place is so cute and cozy!”

  “I know, it’s a lot nicer than I expected.” Claire stuck her head into the bathroom, and her voice reverberated off the tiles. “Looks like we’re sharing this with the apartment next door.”

  “Hey, we’ll be getting a taste of college life,” I said.

  My cell phone rang, and I retreated to my bedroom. Seeing Sergei’s number, I answered with an enthusiastic, “Hi there!”

  He laughed. “Sounds like you’re having fun.”

  I walked to the window. A couple of athletes in Swiss team jackets strolled down the sidewalk below. “It’s starting to feel real now.” I wavered between excitement and disbelief. “I am actually at the Olympic Games.”

  “I want you to enjoy every minute of it.”

  My eyes watered as I thought of what awaited us after the Games. Amidst the exhilaration of the past few days–arriving in Salt Lake City, being outfitted with all my Olympic gear, attending team meetings–I’d pushed the Ethics Committee to the back of my mind. I needed to keep it there.

  “I can’t wait until my family gets here. Mom is so excited they got tickets to the Opening Ceremony.”

  “Oh, you’re not going to believe this. I was reading the paper today, and guess who’s performing at the Ceremony?” Sergei left a dramatic pause. “Sting.”

  “No way!”

  He chuckled. “I couldn’t believe it either.”

  The sun broke through the clouds, and its rays shone on the frozen quad between the dorms.

  “I think it’s fate,” I said. “Good things are starting to happen.”

  ****

  Chris pointed his video camera at Aubrey and me, and we waved our small American flags and chanted, “USA! USA!” The athletes around us picked up the cheer, and it spread through the entire American delegation as we waited to enter Rice-Eccles Stadium for the Opening Ceremony.

  I reached up and tugged on Chris’s navy beret, part of the Team USA uniform that featured a matching wool jacket and pants.

  “Hey, watch it!” He swatted my hand away.

  I laughed as he repositioned the hat over his thick wavy hair. He tried to grab my beret, and I yelped and ducked behind Nick.

  I’d been full of adrenaline all day. Chris and I had done an inspired run-through of our short program at morning practice, and my family had met me for lunch at the USA House, a gathering spot downtown for athletes and their guests. In addition to my parents, my aunt, uncle, and three cousins from Boston had come to be my cheering section. At lunch, we’d had a blast gawking at the famous hockey players, downhill skiers, and speed skaters in the dining room.

  As the host nation, the American team would bring up the rear in the parade of athletes into the ceremony. Once we received the cue to organize for the march, I linked my arm through Aubrey’s and pulled my camera from my pocket. Chris stayed close to my side and held his video camera aloft above the sea of heads.

  We edged forward in the tunnel. The muffled cheers of the crowd grew louder and louder until we emerged in the open-air stadium and the cheers became a deafening roar. Flashbulbs popped like bursting stars in the stands, lighting up the night. Through the fifty thousand wildly applauding spectators, I felt the support of the entire country embracing us.

  “This is so freaking cool!” Chris shouted over the noise.

  “It’s amazing!” I hopped up and down like a kid on Christmas morning, and Aubrey did a little skip alongside me.

  I was living the dream I’d had since I was seven years old and watched the 1988 Olympics on TV. Wanting to document every second, I snapped picture after picture of my friends and surroundings before putting my camera away and swaying my flag in the air. We continued our march around the stadium, and I craned my neck up at the crowd, wondering where Sergei and my family were sitting.

  We settled into our seats, and a number of musical acts, ranging from Josh Groban to the Dixie Chicks, performed. When Sting and cellist Yo-Yo Ma took the stage, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

  “I thought we could listen together since we can’t sit together,” Sergei said.

  I smiled. “At least it’s not raining this time.”

  The first notes of Sting’s haunting ballad “Fragile” were enough to make me tear up. The mood of the audience went from raucous to reflective, and the hushed silence allowed me to hear every nuance of the music.

  “So beautiful,” I croaked at the end of the song.

  Sergei and I hung up to watch the rest of the ceremony, which culminated with the 1980 U.S. hockey team lighting the Olympic flame. The blaze glowed against the dark sky and fanned the flames of my competitive fire. I fingered my small American flag and pictured Chris and myself on the top step of the podium, hands over our hearts and singing our national anthem.

  In twenty-four hours, we would take our first step toward etching our names in the history books. Let the Games begin.

  ****

  Not another person could fit into the arena for the short program. The frenzied capacity crowd drowned my ears with applause, and I trembled with anticipation. The sheet of ice in front of us hadn’t expanded since the warm-up, but with the audience screaming and the announcer calling our names, the gleaming white surface seemed larger than a mammoth Arctic glacier. I tightened my death grip on Chris’s hand.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured.

  I hadn’t expected to be this nervous. For days I’d brimmed with confidence. Then I’d arrived at the Delta Center and my heart rate went haywire. Our program required me to be flirty with the audience, but all I could think about was avoiding another fluke mishap on the Lutz like the one at Nationals.

  “Em!” Sergei called from behind the b
oards.

  He gave me a little nod and a smile that showed more in his eyes than on his mouth. The gesture was simple, but it reminded me of his sureness in my ability. I returned his signal and glided with Chris to the middle of the rink, where we rested our blades on the Olympic rings painted on center ice.

  For the first forty-five seconds of the program, I was oblivious to everything around me except Chris. Not until we completed the side-by-side Lutzes did I become aware of the crowd’s support echoing off the rafters. My knees relaxed more into the ice, and I flashed the audience a confident grin when I landed the throw triple Lutz perfectly on the beat.

  With each turn in our circular footwork sequence, I let more personality shine, teasing the spectators with smiles, and Chris played up his movements along with me. My shimmering blue dress sparkled along with our energy as we powered across the ice and into the death spiral to end the program. Everyone in the arena jumped to their feet.

  I slapped Chris’s chest with both hands and strangled him in a hug. He gripped my waist, lifting me off the ice.

  “Almost there,” he said close to my ear.

  We parted and spread our arms wide to bow to the audience. In the section of seats to the left of center, a girl jumped into the aisle, arms raised and fists pumping. My cousin Bri. To her right, the other members of my family alternately clapped and waved, all the while yelling cheers I couldn’t distinguish from the thousands of other voices. I blew them kisses and laughed as they continued to stand and scream long after everyone else sat in their seats.

  Sergei’s smile covered his entire face now. He held me in his arms and squeezed my curly ponytail.

  “That’s my girl.”

  “One down, one to go,” I mumbled into his collar.

  He hugged Chris as I climbed the three steps into the Kiss & Cry. Leonova and Romanov had already skated and were not surprisingly in first place. Hyatt and Wakefield sat in second. Where would the judges slot us?

  The scoreboard displayed a line of 5.9’s for technical merit. Chris and I both let out a quiet, “Yes,” and Sergei stretched his arm across our backs. The presentation scores appeared, and whistles and a few boos rang out in the audience. 5.8’s outnumbered the 5.9’s, and the standings showed us in second place. I maintained a smile, but inside I burned with disappointment. We still hadn’t beaten the Russians in a short program.