“C’mon, Ice Prince.” I shake Jonah’s gloved hands to refocus him. “Let’s kick it up a notch. Let’s make our two moves into a combination.”
When Jonah releases my hands and unzips the top of his skinsuit, I contemplate concocting a sudden need for toilet paper in the women’s locker room, so we can visit the supply closet together instead of skating. Jonah tucks the gloves inside his skinsuit and then shakes my bare hands to refocus me.
A large smile cuts across Jonah’s face as we build up speed. We go through what has become our signature move. Our move. Every time it gets a little better. As we come back out of the hydroblade counterbalance, Jonah seamlessly passes my hand from his right to his left until we are skating facing each other. I flip around, and with a nod, Jonah and I stretch out our limbs into a low but solid arabesque spiral.
Egg claps slowly when Jonah and I finally come to a stop. “Okay, that wasn’t a complete disaster. Your form sucks, and Olivia’s arabesque was ridiculously low, but the hydroblade was interesting.”
“What?!” I say.
Jonah wraps his arms around me and pulls me in between his feet. His head dips down to my ear. “Well, I think it was perfect.”
I want to reward Jonah for his perfect answer, but the front door of Ice Dreams flies open, and Mr. Choi sprints in.
“Jonah! Son! Great news!” Mr. Choi runs up to the cut in the boards. “Zack Song pulled out of competition with a hamstring injury. We’re clear for Utah! Come on. We gotta get home. Our flight leaves at nine.”
Jonah whoops and then catches himself. “Olivia, I—”
“It’s okay.” I unwrap my arms from around Jonah’s waist.
“Oh, the dance thing,” Mr. Choi says.
The Winter Dance is the latest in a long line of missed events in my life. I’ve missed sleepovers, class trips, birthday parties, and multiple holidays with my extended family. People are used to me being a no-show.
“It’s just a dance.” I shrug, but my eyes are suddenly stinging. “Good luck this weekend.”
“Thanks.” Jonah pushes a wayward piece of hair behind my ear. “If I could clone myself, you know I would.”
“I know.” I force a smile across my face, even as I feel my heart being ripped out of my chest. “Bring home the gold, okay?”
“Is there any other option?”
I put out my fist for Jonah to bump. After we make our dorky hand sign, Jonah grabs me in a tight hug. Mr. Choi clears his throat.
“Sorry, son. We need to go. We can’t miss our flight.”
Jonah gives me another tight hug and kisses the top of my head before skating off.
“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Egg skates up next to me. “But we can’t change it. So channel it into your art. Now, let’s see how much of the phoenix number you remember.”
“I thought we were trying to get people to forget that was us.”
“I don’t know. We’re short on time. Maybe we could Frankenstein something together from the parts of our previous routines that didn’t suck. Or start like our old routine and then—bam—hit ’em with something new. Let’s start with the phoenix number.”
Egg grabs my hand, and we skate out to the middle of the rink for our opening pose. He lunges and throws a jazz hand to the ceiling. I drape my left arm over Egg’s shoulders and weave my legs around his back leg. Egg reaches his lower hand down to make a perfect diagonal, like Alexei told us to do: “Make the heat. Make the passion.” Except Egg’s hand doesn’t cup my hipbone anymore. Now that I’m curvier, Egg’s hand cups my butt cheek instead.
Well, this is awkward. I bite my lip to keep my mouth shut because I am a professional.
“Ready?” Mack’s voice booms over the sound system.
Egg gives Mack a nod. The Chois pass Table #1 just as the opening strains echo around the rink. Mr. Choi herds a conflicted-looking Jonah out the door. As we step out into our opening pattern, which I’ve done a million times, everything feels wrong. The ice. My boots. My body. Even Egg. It’s like I’m ten years old again. Back when my parents suddenly decided that I was going to be a pairs skater like them and not a single skater like I wanted to be. Granted, part of my reason was because I thought boys were stupid. For the first six months of our partnership, Egg proved me right pretty much every day.
“Loosen up, Livy.” Egg shakes my arms that are currently caressing his chest in Alexei’s awkward choreography. “Find the girl I’ve been skating with for forever. The one who can nail triple-doubles like there’s no tomorrow.”
Unfortunately, that girl is currently missing, and she took all her jumping skills with her. I hit the ice hard during our throw triple lutz. I jump back up, and we stumble through the rest of the routine.
“Wow, that sucked,” I say when we freeze in our final pose.
“It’s okay. At least you attempted the triple-double-double.” Egg releases me. “So, we’re a little rusty, but we’ll get it. Team Kennedy/Trout always does.”
Old demons come back to haunt me. You two have so much potential, but you can’t seem to get your footing at the senior level. The USFSA regrets that we will not be able to fund your training this season. I’m sorry.
But I smile and nod at Egg.
Chapter 17
The news doesn’t go over well on Friday. Jonah and I have thrown yet another wrench into Naomi’s master plan.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize for the hundredth time. I sneak contraband ibuprofen out of my purse and throw it down my throat. My back hurts. My calves hurt. My hip hurts from the four hundred or so times I didn’t land the triple-double-double last night. Brandon already greeted me in chemistry this morning with, “Why do you smell like a giant cough drop?”
“You and Choi. Dead to me. Dead, I say,” Brandon jokes.
Naomi and Erika shrug. The climate around our lunch table hits subzero.
“It’s one dance. There’ll be others.” I had to practice those words a dozen times in the mirror last night before my stupid eyes would stop watering. Cramming the perfect fuchsia dress Mack found into the back of my closet first helped.
“You can come without Jonah, you know,” Brandon says.
Naomi’s face lights up. “Ask Stuart to be your date.”
“What? No. That would be weird.” Though we still have a good twenty minutes of our lunch period left, I pack up my bag and grab my half-eaten lunch. “I’ll see you guys in English.”
“Don’t you regret having all your eggs in one basket sometimes?” Erika’s voice trails behind me.
“No,” I say. Then again, I’m the person who thinks she can land a triple-double-double without solidly training for four months. What do I know?
* * *
Egg is waiting for me at Ice Dreams after school. The pink rubber gloves he’s sporting with his black warm-up suit makes me chuckle.
“Where’s Mack?” I miss my usual derby girl intro. I pull my Ice Dreams jacket off its peg out of habit and then hang it back up. I’m not cleaning skates or filling Barbie’s empty head with Tootsie Rolls today. I’m working.