“What do you have now?” I say, and Jonah shows me his schedule. I read down the list. “I have the same class. I can show you.”
“Thanks. I already walked into the wrong class once this morning.” Jonah slides his backpack over his shoulder. “This school is enormous. I need GPS to get around it.”
As we walk toward honors English, I look up at Jonah. He still has a small red mark on his left temple from yesterday.
“Were there a lot of Asians at your old school?” I say.
“Yeah. Mostly Koreans. Filipino. A few Vietnamese. A lot of biracial kids. Arlington is much more diverse than Phoenix.”
“Why’d you move here, then?”
It takes a few beats before Jonah answers. “My mom got a huge promotion at work. Unfortunately, it required her moving to Phoenix. Then Dad was laid off, so here we are.”
“Did you skate a lot in Arlington? You’re really good.”
“Yes.”
“Phoenix isn’t exactly known for ice sports. I think you moved to the wrong state.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Well, at least you came to the best rink in the state.”
“Do they pay you to say that?”
“No. It is the best rink.”
Jonah shrugs. “It’ll do. For now.”
This isn’t the first time people have talked smack about our rink. I’ve seen the Yelp reviews. Mom won’t let me feed the trolls who call us all “washed-up, figure-skating has-beens” and say that our rink is “dying a slow, painful death.” They’ve announced loudly about moving to Gold Medal Ice—our biggest competitor—up in Scottsdale. They’ve trashed my parents. Criticizing Dad for “selfishly leaving his family to relive his glory days as part of the Olympians on Ice tour,” and calling Mom a “tragic has-been who can barely skate, much less teach anymore.” And then there was the review left by Hannah’s mom yesterday. I shouldn’t have looked, but I couldn’t stop myself. Paragraph two was all about me and how much I suck. I know I’m not the best coach. I got the job purely because Mom didn’t want to give Crystal any more of her students and the money that comes with them. Also, it’s not like I had anything better to do. Still, her last dig was a low blow.
I guess the old adage is true. Those who can’t do, teach. Need proof? Watch “Coach” Olivia’s latest Skate Detroit competition with her partner Stuart Trout. Sad. Must be hard to be washed up at sixteen. Why they made her a coach is beyond me. If you want a *real* coach for your talented child, go to Gold Medal Ice in Scottsdale instead.
Hannah’s mom must have asked all the Gold Medal Ice skater moms to vote on her review because now it’s at the top of the page for everyone to see. Fabulous. Like we need more bad publicity. Pretty soon all we’re going to have at Ice Dreams are the baby skaters and the Red Hat Society ladies who do Zumba on Tuesday mornings in the barre area. I look up at Jonah. I don’t expect him to make it more than six months at Ice Dreams. Maybe one month, based on yesterday’s tantrum.
“Well, hopefully, you’ll be leaving Phoenix soon and going back to wherever.” That may have come out a little more acidic than necessary based on Jonah’s wince. I point to the door. “We’re here. Honors English.”
Thankfully, the only open seat available is at the back of the class next to Brandon, who gives Jonah another awkward fist bump as I pass them. Whatever. Jonah can be Brandon’s problem for the rest of the day.
* * *
Unfortunately, I get Round 2 with the Ice Prince after school. A navy-blue BMW pulls into Ice Dreams right behind me. Mr. Choi steps out of the car and tucks his fashionable shades into his pocket.
“I thought that was you, Olivia,” Mr. Choi says. “Would you like a ride tomorrow, so you don’t have to skate over from school?”
“No, thank you.” I slide my in-line skates off. “It’s part of my training.”
“See, son, now that’s a work ethic,” Mr. Choi says as Jonah gets out of the car, grumbling something under his breath. “When’s your next competition, Olivia?”
Crap.
“I’m not sure yet.” Possibly never?
“Were those your medals I saw yesterday hanging in the box behind the skate counter?” Mr. Choi says as I slip on my Chucks.
“Some of them. The rest are Mom and Dad’s. Well, except for the Olympic gold. Those two are in the bank box.”
Mr. Choi lets out an impressed whistle. Jonah looks bored. Or he’s still pissed about having Brandon inflicted on him during honors English. Whatever.
“The two of you will have to share training tips. Jonah could sure use some of your discipline.”
Jonah slams the car door with unnecessary force. “Dad, we’re on the clock.”
I follow Jonah and Mr. Choi into Ice Dreams. I bring my fingertips to my lips and slap a kiss on Mom and Dad’s poster. Jonah looks back over his shoulder at me. I don’t have to explain myself. This is my rink.
Mom—the three-dimensional version—greets us with a huge oh-thank-God-I-can-pay-the-mortgage-this-month smile.
“Mr. Choi! When you have a minute, I wanted to go over the specs for the safety padding,” Mom says, and then tells her 2:00 p.m. Olympic-hopeful goodbye for the day. Bella isn’t going to the Olympics. Not this year. Not any time in the next ten years. Not ever. But her parents keep fueling that golden dream with a steady cash flow for private lessons and top-of-the-line equipment and airline tickets to competitions around the country. I give thirteen-year-old Bella another eighteen months before she gets a reality check. Then she’ll find something else to fill her time. Like a life. I’m still working on that part myself.
I never finished the boots yesterday, so I go straight to the skate booth. When I squat down to throw my backpack under the counter, I find a flier with a note.
Free Saturday at 7 p.m.?
My stomach flips for a second, until I keep reading.
The Surly Gurlz vs. The Destructo Kitties
7 p.m. Saturday
I kneel on the floor so Mom can’t see me on my phone and text Mack. Got derby flier. Yes! Can you give me a ride?
Mack texts back immediately. Yes. Come to my house at 5. Bring something fierce.
Fierce?
FIERCE! If you show up in jeans & T-shirt,
I’m sending you home.
“Fierce?” I say, standing back up.
I let out a yelp when I find Jonah standing on the other side of the counter. He jumps back.
“Are you asking me out?” Jonah holds out an identical flier. “I found this taped to my locker.”
“Um, no. That was all Mack.”
“Oh.” Jonah cringes. “She’s not really my type.”
“Why? Because she could probably kick your ass?”
“No,” Jonah says too quickly. “Though you have to admit, she is a little … intimidating.”
“Mack is almost twenty. She’s not interested in dating high school boys.” I pull the flier’s twin out from underneath my backpack and show it to him. “Mack and I go to roller derby bouts on Saturday nights sometimes. She was being nice since you’re new to the area and don’t have any friends.”