Life on the Edge (42 page)

Athletes from a variety of sports spilled out of the van and lined up behind me to enter our home for the Games. Two shaggy-haired snowboarders and a diminutive speed skater whooped it up, while Claire and Brandon hopped in line next to Chris and me. I wished Sergei could experience this with us, but the Village was housing athletes only, so coaches had to stay at a nearby hotel.

After the guards checked our luggage, two team leaders escorted us through the University of Utah campus to the dormitory-style apartment building designated for the American athletes. I smiled at the sight of the Stars and Stripes decorating every window.

Inside the lobby, decked out with more flags and “Welcome” banners, the team leaders gave us our keys and a quick rundown of the building’s amenities. Claire and I located our apartment on the second floor, while Chris and Brandon moved into theirs across the hall from us. Red, white, and blue streamers draped over our doors, adding to the festively patriotic atmosphere.

Claire and I would be sharing our apartment with Aubrey and Kristin, another ice dancer. Since the other girls weren’t arriving until later in the week, we had first pick of the two bedrooms. I stashed my suitcase in the one closest to the bathroom and checked out the view of the snowy mountains through the narrow window. Twin beds and a nightstand occupied most of the room, and I made a mental note to decorate Aubrey’s bed with a fun “Welcome” sign before the end of the week.

Backtracking into the living room, I crossed paths with Claire and bounced toward the kitchen. “This place is so cute and cozy!”

“I know, it’s a lot nicer than I expected.” Claire stuck her head into the bathroom, and her voice reverberated off the tiles. “Looks like we’re sharing this with the apartment next door.”

“Hey, we’ll be getting a taste of college life,” I said.

My cell phone rang, and I retreated to my bedroom. Seeing Sergei’s number, I answered with an enthusiastic, “Hi there!”

He laughed. “Sounds like you’re having fun.”

I walked to the window. A couple of athletes in Swiss team jackets strolled down the sidewalk below. “It’s starting to feel real now.” I wavered between excitement and disbelief. “I am actually at the Olympic Games.”

“I want you to enjoy every minute of it.”

My eyes watered as I thought of what awaited us after the Games. Amidst the exhilaration of the past few days–arriving in Salt Lake City, being outfitted with all my Olympic gear, attending team meetings–I’d pushed the Ethics Committee to the back of my mind. I needed to keep it there.

“I can’t wait until my family gets here. Mom is so excited they got tickets to the Opening Ceremony.”

“Oh, you’re not going to believe this. I was reading the paper today, and guess who’s performing at the Ceremony?” Sergei left a dramatic pause. “Sting.”

“No way!”

He chuckled. “I couldn’t believe it either.”

The sun broke through the clouds, and its rays shone on the frozen quad between the dorms.

“I think it’s fate,” I said. “Good things are starting to happen.”

****

Chris pointed his video camera at Aubrey and me, and we waved our small American flags and chanted, “USA! USA!” The athletes around us picked up the cheer, and it spread through the entire American delegation as we waited to enter Rice-Eccles Stadium for the Opening Ceremony.

I reached up and tugged on Chris’s navy beret, part of the Team USA uniform that featured a matching wool jacket and pants.

“Hey, watch it!” He swatted my hand away.

I laughed as he repositioned the hat over his thick wavy hair. He tried to grab my beret, and I yelped and ducked behind Nick.

I’d been full of adrenaline all day. Chris and I had done an inspired run-through of our short program at morning practice, and my family had met me for lunch at the USA House, a gathering spot downtown for athletes and their guests. In addition to my parents, my aunt, uncle, and three cousins from Boston had come to be my cheering section. At lunch, we’d had a blast gawking at the famous hockey players, downhill skiers, and speed skaters in the dining room.

As the host nation, the American team would bring up the rear in the parade of athletes into the ceremony. Once we received the cue to organize for the march, I linked my arm through Aubrey’s and pulled my camera from my pocket. Chris stayed close to my side and held his video camera aloft above the sea of heads.

We edged forward in the tunnel. The muffled cheers of the crowd grew louder and louder until we emerged in the open-air stadium and the cheers became a deafening roar. Flashbulbs popped like bursting stars in the stands, lighting up the night. Through the fifty thousand wildly applauding spectators, I felt the support of the entire country embracing us.

“This is so freaking cool!” Chris shouted over the noise.

“It’s amazing!” I hopped up and down like a kid on Christmas morning, and Aubrey did a little skip alongside me.

I was living the dream I’d had since I was seven years old and watched the 1988 Olympics on TV. Wanting to document every second, I snapped picture after picture of my friends and surroundings before putting my camera away and swaying my flag in the air. We continued our march around the stadium, and I craned my neck up at the crowd, wondering where Sergei and my family were sitting.

We settled into our seats, and a number of musical acts, ranging from Josh
Groban
to the Dixie Chicks, performed. When Sting and cellist Yo-Yo Ma took the stage, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

“I thought we could listen together since we can’t sit together,” Sergei said.

I smiled. “At least it’s not raining this time.”

The first notes of Sting’s haunting ballad “Fragile” were enough to make me tear up. The mood of the audience went from raucous to reflective, and the hushed silence allowed me to hear every nuance of the music.

“So beautiful,” I croaked at the end of the song.

Sergei and I hung up to watch the rest of the ceremony, which culminated with the 1980 U.S. hockey team lighting the Olympic flame. The blaze glowed against the dark sky and fanned the flames of my competitive fire. I fingered my small American flag and pictured Chris and myself on the top step of the podium, hands over our hearts and singing our national anthem.

In twenty-four hours, we would take our first step toward etching our names in the history books.
Let the Games begin.

****

Not another person could fit into the arena for the short program. The frenzied capacity crowd drowned my ears with applause, and I trembled with anticipation. The sheet of ice in front of us hadn’t expanded since the warm-up, but with the audience screaming and the announcer calling our names, the gleaming white surface seemed larger than a mammoth Arctic glacier. I tightened my death grip on Chris’s hand.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

I hadn’t expected to be this nervous. For days I’d brimmed with confidence. Then I’d arrived at the Delta Center and my heart rate went haywire. Our program required me to be flirty with the audience, but all I could think about was avoiding another fluke mishap on the Lutz like the one at Nationals.

“
Em
!” Sergei called from behind the boards.

He gave me a little nod and a smile that showed more in his eyes than on his mouth. The gesture was simple, but it reminded me of his sureness in my ability. I returned his signal and glided with Chris to the middle of the rink, where we rested our blades on the Olympic rings painted on center ice.

For the first forty-five seconds of the program, I was oblivious to everything around me except Chris. Not until we completed the side-by-side
Lutzes
did I become aware of the crowd’s support echoing off the rafters. My knees relaxed more into the ice, and I flashed the audience a confident grin when I landed the throw triple Lutz perfectly on the beat.

With each turn in our circular footwork sequence, I let more personality shine, teasing the spectators with smiles, and Chris played up his movements along with me. My shimmering blue dress sparkled along with our energy as we powered across the ice and into the death spiral to end the program. Everyone in the arena jumped to their feet.

I slapped Chris’s chest with both hands and strangled him in a hug. He gripped my waist, lifting me off the ice.

“Almost there,” he said close to my ear.

We parted and spread our arms wide to bow to the audience. In the section of seats to the left of center, a girl jumped into the aisle, arms raised and fists pumping. My cousin Bri. To her right, the other members of my family alternately clapped and waved, all the while yelling cheers I couldn’t distinguish from the thousands of other voices. I blew them kisses and laughed as they continued to stand and scream long after everyone else sat in their seats.

Sergei’s smile covered his entire face now. He held me in his arms and squeezed my curly ponytail.

“That’s my girl.”

“One down, one to go,” I mumbled into his collar.

He hugged Chris as I climbed the three steps into the Kiss & Cry.
Leonova
and Romanov had already skated and were not surprisingly in first place. Hyatt and Wakefield sat in second. Where would the judges slot us?

The scoreboard displayed a line of 5.9’s for technical merit. Chris and I both let out a quiet, “Yes,” and Sergei stretched his arm across our backs. The presentation scores appeared, and whistles and a few boos rang out in the audience. 5.8’s outnumbered the 5.9’s, and the standings showed us in second place. I maintained a smile, but inside I burned with disappointment. We still hadn’t beaten the Russians in a short program.

Sergei walked with his arms around us as we headed backstage. “Second place is as good as first,” he reminded us. “Whoever wins the free skate wins it all. You’re in a great position.”

Chris and I changed out of our costumes, but we couldn’t leave the arena until we drew our start number for the free skate in two nights. We gathered with our competitors in a small room next to the press area, and I folded my hands in prayer. Chris needed to pull number twenty, the last spot in the order, out of the bag. Skating last would give us our best chance to wow the judges and show them we were most deserving of gold.

Chris reached into the satchel, and I peeked with one eye open and one closed. The first digit didn’t look like a two.

“Nineteen,” the International Skating Federation official announced.

My stomach contracted. Chris slouched next to me, and I patted his thigh. Oksana drew next, and I tried a different prayer that she wouldn’t pull the desired number. With my eyes closed, I heard, “Twenty.”

Sergei kept a positive tone when we gave him the news. “You don’t want to skate last. This way, you’ll put the pressure on them.”

Chris left to meet his parents and Marley, but I lingered with Sergei backstage. He watched me fidget with the zipper on my jacket.

“
Em
, the only thing you can control is the way you skate.” He pulled me into an embrace. “And I know you’re going to skate your heart out.”

His passionate assurance stoked the fire inside me. I clamped my hand on his shoulder, stopping my fingers from curling into his hair.

“I miss being with you,” I whispered.

He caressed the five rings on the back of my jacket. “Soon, we’ll never be apart.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

The next day, Chris and I had an afternoon practice, so my family attended Sunday morning mass with me in the Village. Afterward, I gave them a tour of where I’d been living for a week. The sun warmed my face as I pointed out the coffee shop, dining hall, arcade, and internet café. When we headed toward the dorms, Dad, Uncle Joe, and my younger cousin Trey ducked into the coffee shop to get us some hot beverages for the rest of our tour.

“This place is huge. They could’ve let the coaches stay here, too.” Aunt Debbie touched my elbow. “You must be missing Sergei.”

I smiled, happy I could talk freely with my family about Sergei. Mom shared everything with her little sister, so it didn’t surprise me when she’d asked to tell Aunt Debbie about Sergei and me.