“We better get over there. Reality is about to crash down on Livy in about thirty seconds.”
“Mike, maybe it’s time to stop.”
“Unfortunately, I think so.”
My parents’ voices silence as Egg’s and my dismal score echoes around the rink.
The crowd hisses and Dad drops an f-bomb.
“Oh God, it’s worse than we thought,” Dad says. “The USFSA rep is headed their way and it won’t be good news after that performance.”
I hear scrambling and shuffling before the footage cuts off. Mom didn’t need to film what happened next. I remember it clearly.
The world as I knew it ended.
Chapter 19
I ugly cry until I’m sure there is more moisture in the couch than in my body. I knew my parents were disappointed with our Skate Detroit performance, but they let the USFSA rep be the bad guy. The truth is, they gave up on us—really, me—long before the USFSA did. Dad and Alexei had argued all through the last half of our senior debut year. Sometimes about Egg, but mostly about me. Especially how I wasn’t getting any better despite all the changes.
I grab my knees close to my chest to keep from exploding. Egg isn’t the weakest link. I am. I bury my head in a paisley throw pillow and scream until my throat hurts as bad as the rest of my body.
Not only does the USFSA think I’m not good enough to be a competitive skater, neither do my parents. Or Alexei. Or Crystal. Or Egg. If I’m completely honest with myself, neither do I. I didn’t inherit that X factor that Mom and Dad had. That one magical element that takes a great skater and makes them an Olympic skater.
That thing Jonah has. I both love him and hate him for it.
Screw this. I’m going home.
My abductors and adductors are so tight that I can’t get off the couch, though. I’ll wait ten minutes. Maybe by then, my face won’t be so blotchy for my one-mile walk of shame back home. My left calf cramps thinking about it. Even worse, I can hear Crystal’s voice echoing around the rink, encouraging her student. The knife in my back twists a little more.
I grab my phone and pull up Mack’s number. At least there is one person in my life who thinks I’m good enough. Yeah, what a great pair we are. Losers. Complete losers. At least Mack has the derby girls. I’m not even 100 percent sure I have Jonah in my corner. Yeah, he likes my outer package, but does he think I’m good enough on the inside too?
Instead of calling her, I pull up the video Mack made of Jonah and me doing our signature move. I watch it a good hundred times. It soothes my heart even though my body still aches. I’m on the 101st repeat when my eyelids get heavy. My phone slips out of my hand onto the floor, but I don’t care. Jonah has chased the demons away.
* * *
I’m not sure what time it is when I finally wake up again. A puddle of slobber has escaped the corner of my mouth while I was comatose on the couch. Mom’s office is pitch-black except for the tiny red light on the DVD player. It’s not enough light to guide me to the light switch, and the new bruise on my shin proves that.
Crap, what time is it?
I slap around the doorframe until the lights come on, burning my retinas. I retrieve my phone to find that I have four texts and two voice messages from Egg, but I ignore them. It’s a little after eight. I could still go to the dance. I could go home right now, shower, change, and enjoy the rest of the dance like a normal teen.
I slump back down on the couch. There’s only one person I want to be a normal teen with, and he’s currently in Utah trying to become the next Apolo Ohno.
Using my cell phone as a flashlight, I weave through the pitch-black rink over to the snack bar and flip on the lights. The snack bar is immaculate, as always. Mack doesn’t do anything half-assed. The drink cups are stacked in equal piles. The napkins, straws, and condiment packets have been filled to the rims. I can even see my reflection in the highly polished glass of the pretzel display.
Wow, I look like crap. I press down the pieces of hair that are sticking out the side of my head at a ninety-degree angle. The small amount of eyeliner I had on this morning has run down under my right eye and completely disappeared from my left.
The pretzels sing their salty siren song from their hangers. I’m not supposed to eat the merchandise. I shouldn’t eat the merchandise. My stomach growls. I eat three of the merchandise anyway. My stomach balloons out, and I don’t care. I add a large Pepsi to the damage. And when I’m sure my stomach might burst, I add a Pixy Stix on top of it all because I haven’t had Pixy Stix since I was eight.
Damn it. I deserve a Pixy Stix.
I waddle over to Table #1 and collapse in a gluttonous stupor. I’m seriously going to puke. In an attempt not to fall into a carb coma, I pull my phone back out and watch Jonah’s and my footage again. This time, I don’t focus on Jonah. Instead, I focus on me. I push pause when Jonah and I look over at each other in our hydroblade counterbalance. My eyes are closed, but a huge smile lights up my face. I look like one of those busty women on the front of the Walmart romance novels that Crystal is always reading.
I restart the short video and watch me again. I watch my face, my arms, my legs, my upper back. This girl looks nothing like the one skating on Mom’s DVD. Who is this girl?
I scramble out of the snack bar and head back to Mom’s office for my skate bag.
* * *
I watch Jonah’s and my video one last time as I lace up my skates. It’s time to find that new girl and bring her forward. I click on my skating music playlist and pop in my Bluetooth earbuds. “Stay with Me” by Epic Danger comes on. The haunting melody tugs at my heart.
I’ve always liked this song, but now the lyrics have a completely new meaning. I put my phone on top of the rink’s tissue box and step out onto the mostly clean ice. My heart feels lighter than it has in years. I apply the phoenix choreography, minus the jumps, to the music. I remember the artistry of the ice dancers from Australia and the passion of the British couple. His strong arms wrapped around her sequined waist. The look on her face—which was not the face. I close my eyes and imagine that Jonah is here with me. I feel his hands in mine. The pull in my arm as we come into a perfect counterbalance. The heat flowing between us even though the air is cool. Strong. Rooted. Balanced. Happy.
A stupid tear sneaks down my cheek. I reach my hands out and shadow skate the routine like Jonah is here. Halfway through, I throw out Egg’s Frankensteined choreography all together. I restart the song and create a new piece for Jonah and me. And somehow, my dream Jonah miraculously knows this choreography. Our chemistry shines through, and the judges can see it. I let that fantasy play through my mind for three more repeats of “Stay with Me” before I have a reality check. Even if he weren’t on the Olympic gold path for short track speed skating, there’s no way that Jonah could be at my level anytime soon. We can never be partners.
As the song comes to an end, I do a variation on the final phoenix pose—minus the face—and let my mind wander. I still want to be a skater, but I want to do it on my terms. Not somebody else’s. Just like Egg, I need to start looking out for #1 for a change. Maybe it’s time for me to return to being a solo skater.