“I’m not chastising you, Annabelle,” Mom says. “I want to know how it’s looking.”
“Mr. Choi is a go. Mrs. Choi is a stay. Jonah can’t get a word in edgewise. If they would just let Jonah talk, maybe they’d— Oh hey, Mr. Choi.”
Jonah follows his parents into Ice Dreams, looking exasperated. “All I’m saying, Dad, is let’s ask and see if it’s even a possibility before we make a decision.”
Mr. Choi gives the big white guy standing in the snack bar with a cup of tea in his hand a confused look before asking, “Midori, is there even the remotest chance we could build a short track program here?”
“A program? Maybe, if you recruit from the hockey rink across town,” Mom says. “A program at Jonah’s level? No. Your son is a one-in-a-million skater.”
Mrs. Choi beams. Normally, I would be jealous, but I can see the crack forming in Mr. Choi’s resolve.
“Midori and I have contacts in the Olympic community.” Dad comes out of the snack bar to shake the Chois’ hands and introduce himself. “We can help put feelers out for you for a new coach.”
I stand and look Dad in the eye. “Tell them the whole truth, Dad.”
“Olivia,” Dad’s voice has a warning tone.
“No, they need to know. If we lose Jonah to Utah now, then we will probably lose the rink in a few months.” I look at Jonah. He nods at me. “If Jonah changes his mind and comes back to Arizona, Gold Medal Ice’s new Phoenix location isn’t going to give you the whole rink, especially not during premium ice times. Jonah won’t be the reigning Ice Prince at Gold Medal Ice. He will be just another talented skater fighting for ice time.” I take Jonah’s hand. “But that’s not how we do things here. Ice Dreams is a family.”
“The choice is yours, of course,” Dad says diplomatically.
“Dad, I want to go to Utah,” Jonah says. “But not yet. Do I think I have a shot at a medal at the Junior Championships in two weeks? Honestly, no. Am I a stronger, more consistent skater since moving to Phoenix, though? Definitely yes. And I’ve got the hardware to back that up. Let’s double down, Dad. Let’s stay in Phoenix together as a family a little longer.”
Mack comes to stand behind us. She places a hand on each of our shoulders. “If he can whip a bunch of sassy derby girls into shape, just imagine what Jonah could do with a bunch of little kids.”
“Ehhhh.” Jonah shrugs. “I’m not sure about the little kid part, but I would be willing to assist the short track coach during group classes to help lower the cost of my private coaching. I know my dream is a financial burden on our family. I want to do my part.”
“What do you think?” Mrs. Choi says to her husband.
“How about a trial period? Six months?” Mr. Choi says.
“Yaaaaaaassss!” Mack grabs Jonah and me in a bone-crushing group hug.
“Mack has something she’s been wanting to show us.” Dad nods at Mack. “Now might be a good time to see it.”
Dad makes another round of tea for everybody as Mack sets up her laptop on a stool in front of Table #1. Jonah straddles the bench seat behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He leans in until his chin rests on my shoulder.
“Call me delusional, but I think we might be able to pull this off,” Jonah whispers in my ear.
“Delusional.” I fold my hands over Jonah’s and give them a squeeze. “Since we can’t figure out how to be normal teens, let’s lean in to being extra. That’s what we do best, after all.”
“Speaking of being extra.” Jonah nods at Mack.
“So, it’s a little rough.” Mack shuffles from foot to foot. “I can definitely make something more professional with a little more time and a lot more sleep, but here you go.”
Mack pushes a button and steps out of the way. A montage of pictures flows across the screen to an upbeat instrumental soundtrack. Me doing a Biellmann spin. Jonah in a deep angle, his gloved fingers grazing the ice. Egg defying gravity, hovering over the ice in a butterfly jump. Egg and me doing a death spiral.
Mack’s adulting voice narrates as the picture changes. Here at Ice Dreams, we’re more than just gold medals.
A montage of old pictures of Mom and Dad from the Olympics mixes with Egg and me waving to the crowd with gold medals around our necks and Jonah with his newer medal pictures.
We’re family.
Mom gasps when a picture comes on the screen of me kneeling down, tying a laughing Lina Kitagawa’s skate boot. It’s Mrs. Choi’s turn when a picture of Jonah demonstrating a deep squat to a crowd of derby girls in the park comes up. She puts a hand on Mom’s arm when a still of Jonah and me doing our hydroblade stunt slides across the screen.
So whether you aspire to go for the gold or are just looking for a fun new way to exercise, why don’t you come dream with us today?
The last shot melts into the Ice Dreams logo with our address and social media handles.
“Wow … just … wow, Annabelle.” Dad runs a hand through his hair. His eyes glisten.
Mom straight-up wipes her eyes with her fingertips. “Annabelle, you’re fired.”
“Wait, what?” Mack says.
“You need to go back to school or at least apply for a job with a PR firm. I love you like a daughter, but this is me pushing you out of the nest.”
“I want to, but not yet.” Mack gives me a nod. “Give us a chance to save the rink.”
“It’s going to take a group effort,” I say.
“I’m game.” Jonah puts his hand in the middle of the table. “Who’s in?”
“I am.” I put my hand on top of Jonah’s.
One by one, everyone else at the table adds their hand. Mack puts her hand in last.
“Let’s make this dream a reality.” I look around the table and stop at Jonah.
“No regrets,” Jonah says.
“No regrets.”
Chapter 36
ONE YEAR LATER
“Move it a little to the left. No, my left. Higher. Higher. Now it’s too high.”
“Mom, it’s fine.” I smack the pushpin into the wall and climb down off the chair. “The doors are opening soon, and we’re still futzing around with the banner. Plus, you promised Tera Lynn that you wouldn’t overdo it tonight.”
“I’m not overdoing it. I feel better than I have in months.” Mom leans in and tugs on the corner of the banner anyway. “Plus, Tera Lynn says I get a bonus massage tomorrow after our PT session for meeting my exercise goals this month. So bring me the balloons and then go get changed. Michael!”
“I’m doing a taste test for Mr. Sato,” Dad says, his cheeks puffed out with rice and pork cutlet. “Excellent as always.”
Dad slips a twenty-dollar bill in the donation jar that has my picture and “Go for the Gold, Olivia!” on the front of it and takes his paper bowl of katsudon with him to his assigned station over in what’s become the short track speed skaters’ dry land training area with Coach Phillips. We dance around each other as I bring Mom the swarm of gold balloons.
“Move it a little more to the right, Mike,” Mom yells as I hand her the balloons.