Egg pushes away and shakes me gently until I open my eyes. “How about you at least try before you make up your mind on that?” Egg looks over the top of my head. “Sorry, we’re not open for public skating yet.”
“Oh, okay, sorry,” a familiar female voice says. “We’ll come back.”
“Hey, look, it’s Choi.”
My heart leaps. When I whip around, though, I find Brandon holding Jonah’s last picture frame. The one we were fighting over.
“What are you guys doing here?” I’d planned on meeting them outside. I didn’t expect them to invade my Skater Bubble.
“You told us to pick you up here.” Brandon leans Jonah’s picture back against the wall. “You know we roll on Erika Standard Time, which means we have to be twenty minutes early to everything.”
“What? I hate being late,” Erika says.
“It was my idea. I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.” Naomi looks around the rink. “I wanted to see what you said you were willing to fight for.”
Erika steps up next to Egg. “Hey, Stuart.”
“What are you wearing in this picture?” Brandon points at my last gold medal picture.
Naomi links her arm through mine. “Show me around, Olivia. I want to step into your world for a little while.”
“Me too.” Brandon links his arm through Naomi’s. “What’s it like here in Skatelandia?”
“Cold,” I say.
“Yeah, wishing I had brought a jacket,” Naomi says.
“Here.” Brandon slides off his jacket and hands it to her.
I wish we could tap Naomi’s megawatt smile. We could power the whole rink with it.
“So, give us the tour. Show us everything.” Brandon relinks his arm with Naomi’s. “Let us into this secret club you and Choi seem to have. Erika! Stop flirting and get over here.”
A red-faced Erika runs up to us and grabs my other arm. “Hey, is that a ballet barre over there?”
They weren’t kidding about me showing them everything. We start at the barre area. While Erika and Naomi try to remember some basic ballet from when they were eight, Brandon has me record him doing goofy walks and dance moves on Jonah’s state-of-the-art treadmill.
“You better not show that to Jonah.” I laugh at the playback. “He takes his skating and his equipment very seriously.”
Brandon hops off the treadmill. “Show us the rest.”
“This is the skate booth where I frequently have the glamorous job of disinfecting skates,” I say in my best tour-guide voice. “And to your left is Olympic Gold Medalist Midori Nakashima’s office.”
Mom pops her head out of her office as we pass. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends, Olivia?”
“New?” Brandon says.
“Not new?” Mom hobbles out of her office.
“You’ve never told your mom about our lunch crew?”
Mom puts on her “kiss and cry” smile. “Of course she has. She talks about you all the time. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m completely blanking on your names.”
“Brandon. Erika. Naomi.” I point at each of them in turn.
“That’s right,” Mom lies.
“Ms. Nakashima, would you mind if we took a picture with you?” Naomi says after Erika nudges her. “My mom is a huge fan. She even had her hair cut like yours in high school.”
Mom laughs. “My apologies. We thought it looked cool at the time, but now … yikes. Let me make it up to her. Livy, can you take our picture?”
This isn’t the first time this has happened. Everyone in Skatelandia knows who my parents are. Midori Nakashima and Michael Kennedy have signed autographs and taken selfies with skaters who—ten minutes later—skated against me. But today it feels weird, like my two worlds are colliding and jumbling into something new. I wish Jonah were here. He keeps me balanced.
Mom insists on sending Naomi home with one of their previously autographed pictures from the Olympics. She adds, Sorry about the hair, Yukiko! above her signature.
“You’re all going to stay for the Open Skate tonight, right? As our guests, of course,” Mom says.
“Not tonight.” I need more time to find my balance first. “Maybe next weekend, when Jonah is back and can skate with us?”
“Yeah, we’ll be on winter break then,” Erika says.
Brandon waves his phone. “Plus my dad is in the parking lot. He’s back from Fry’s with the brownie-making supplies.”
“You’re making brownies tonight? At our house?” A panicked look crosses Mom’s face.
“At Brandon’s.”
“Oh, okay. You have fun. I’m going home as soon as Ernie and Crystal get here.” Mom kneads her back.
“We should ask Stuart to join us,” Erika says.
“He’s … busy,” I say. “He already has plans with Mack.”
“Mack can come too,” Brandon says. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”
“Maybe another time.” My Skater Bubble already feels cramped.
As we walk toward the front door, Mom calls me back. “What time should I pick you up?”
“I’ll get a ride, don’t worry.”
“Okay.” Mom looks relieved, but then she straightens up. “No, I should come get you. Or at least let Stuart borrow my car and have him pick you up.”
“I said I got it, Mom. See you tomorrow morning.” I jog away as Mom calls after me.
“You’re so lucky,” Erika says as we walk across the parking lot toward Mr. Park’s SUV. “Your mom is so chill. Meanwhile, I get the third degree if I want to take the dogs over two streets to visit Naomi. I’m like, let me live, Jennifer!”
“I’m going to wrap this up and give it to my mom for Christmas. Best. Present. Ever.” Naomi, still wearing Brandon’s oversize jacket, squeezes the autographed picture to her chest. “Also, I’m totally broke.”
Brandon’s dad waves his fingers out of the moonroof to get our attention. Whatever song he’s listening to has a bumping bass to it. It floods out of the car. Brandon groans.
“If my dad asks what we want to listen to in the car, the answer is always nothing. Complete silence. Trust me on this. Otherwise, he will attempt to sing along to any song whether he actually knows the words or not.”
* * *
At 10:58 p.m.—because everybody is way more concerned about curfew than I am—I arrive back home. To her credit, Mom is sitting up on the couch, still in her street clothes, waiting for me. Since her head is tipped back and her eyes are closed, I don’t bother waking her. I balance the paper plate of brownies—that Brandon insisted I take home and that Naomi wouldn’t let me “accidentally” leave in her mom’s car—on my palm as I slip off my Chucks at the front door. The basket of overdue bills and mail is gone. Even the coffee table, which is usually filled with medicine bottles and other medical clutter, is clear. Mom must be afraid of being mom-shamed if somebody else’s overly involved parent insists on invading our normal here too tonight. I tiptoe through to the kitchen and hang up my keys. As much as it pains me, the brownies go straight into the trash.