Breaking the Ice (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

I stroke onto the ice,
holding my arms one in front and one in back as I turn to acknowledge the judges and the audience. Cheers erupt from the top of the stands. I smile as I spot Braedon, Jessa, and a bunch of other skaters from the club.

I skate to the middle and tug on my skirt. I'm sure I stand out against the ice like a rose against snow. If only I could've worn my light pink
Swan Lake
dress, even though it totally doesn't go with this program.

Actually, I wish I could just skate my old program.

But I can't do anything about that now. If I did it once today, I can do it again. I take my starting position, arms
stretched out in front of me. My fingers are shaking just a ­little. I glance up and see people in the front row of the bleachers whispering to one another.

Probably about me.

I tilt my head down toward the ice. Then the first notes of my music start and I can't think about anything but all the little pieces that make up my program.

Arms down, flirty face, turn, stroke stroke stroke.

Footwork with the
ochos
.

Push, turn, push, act like I don't want anything to do with the imaginary guy I'm supposed to be skating with.

Layback spin. I extend my right leg behind me and arch backward until I can see the world spinning upside down.

Hop, step, turn, step, hop, hop.

Spread eagle. I open my arms as shouts and cheers from Braedon and the others rain down from the bleachers.

I land all my jumps and do all the right number of rotations on my spins. The rest of the program goes by in a blur until the double axel. I land it perfectly, and I can't help the big, not-so-tango-y grin that flits across my face.

I glide to a stop as the music finishes. Braedon's cheering louder than anyone else. I smile and curtsy to the judges and the audience, and then join Greg on the mats.

“Technically very good,” Greg says as he hands me my jacket, “but where was the feeling?”

“I tried.” I made the right faces. I don't know what more he wants from me. A bead of sweat drips into my eye, and I swipe my forehead with my jacket.

“We'll keep working on it for Regionals,” Greg says. “But great job on the jumps. That double axel should give you a bump up with the judges. I have to go check on Addison now.”

I smile as I picture myself with a medal around my neck, standing on the top of the podium set up in the lobby as Dad takes my picture.

Miyu and Karilee push through the lobby doors. Miyu's face is super serious, and she keeps rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

“Hey, good luck!” I say.

“Thanks,” Miyu replies. She rubs her arms even faster. “How was your skate? I didn't get to see it.”

“Really good, I think.”

Miyu rocks back and forth on her blade guards. “I knew you'd do fine. I couldn't land my double lutz at all in warm-up.”

“You can do it. You just have to forget about that.”

“That's easy for you,” Miyu says with a half smile. “Your jumps are always good.”

That's when I notice Peyton and Ellery standing back near the doors. They're pointing at Miyu and whispering something to each other. They're behind Miyu's back, and I'm glad she can't see them. I want to throw myself across the mats and shove them both to the ground. They don't know how hard Miyu practices or how much she loves to skate.

Hildy finally arrives from the lobby and shoos Peyton away. I feel a twinge of disappointment that Hildy didn't see my skate. I shove it down and turn to Miyu.

“But my spins aren't half as good as yours,” I tell Miyu. “You go out there and show those judges how great you are.”

“Thanks, Kaitlin,” she says as she keeps rubbing her hands on her arms.

I grab her hands and squeeze them. “Breathe, and calm down.”

She closes her eyes for a second and nods.

“Just skate great,” I say. “We're all cheering you on.” I let go of her hands and head to the stands to find Mom and Dad. I spot them sitting with a large group of Fallton skaters and parents, and I clamber up the bleachers to find a spot just below Braedon.

“Perfect!” Mom says. Dad just pats my knee and grins.

“You were awesome, Kaitlin,” Jessa says from the top row. “No one else has even tried a double axel yet.”

“You sure can jump under pressure,” Braedon adds as he squeezes my shoulders.

“Thanks.” My insides feel all warm and happy.

The announcer calls Miyu's name, and she glides out to start her program. Her music—the screechy violin piece—starts.

“She looks really nervous,” Jessa says.

I cross my fingers and sit on them, pressing them into the hard metal of the bleachers.

“Relax,” Braedon whispers. “You've already skated.”

But I can't help it. I hope Miyu's program goes better than her warm-up.

She stumbles a little on some footwork, which makes her stiffen up.
Relax,
I think, repeating Braedon's advice to me for Miyu. If she'd relax, she'd get more knee bend, and everything would be so much easier.

But she doesn't take my silent advice. Instead she barely lands her single axel and starts traveling across the ice on her sit spin combination. I can almost see the fear on her face as she preps for her double lutz. I want to close my eyes, but I don't. Instead of going for it and falling, Miyu doesn't even
try. She pops the jump to a single. At least Addison isn't here. I can't imagine what Ellery and Peyton are saying right now.

As Miyu falls on an easy double loop, I hear giggles from down below. A group of girls from another club are watching her. My hands clench into fists. How had I never noticed how rude everyone was to skaters from Fallton?

It's like I barely even knew they existed, before I became one of them.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mom clutches her coffee and
chatters away to Dad and Mrs. Murakami while we hang out in the lobby near the results wall. Almost everyone else from the juvenile division is here too. Miyu and I lean against the chilly concrete wall.

“I was awful,” Miyu says. “I don't know what happened.”

“Who cares about this competition? There's always Regionals,” I say. It's a lie, and she knows it, but it makes her smile.

“Why is it taking so long?” Mom asks. “I thought the results were pretty clear.”

Mrs. Murakami nods. “I'm sure Kaitlin placed.”

Mom beams.

“You were perfect, no matter what the judges think,” Dad says to me.

I smile at him. “You're supposed to say that. You're my dad.”

Mom gives me a sharp look. “Now
don't
say anything to the judges if you don't place. Although I'm sure you did.”

I don't want to remind Mom how wrong she was about that the last time. “I won't say a word, I promise.” I've had enough of the fallout from that.

I hope I place. I don't just hope, I really, really,
really
need to get at least third place. If I do, it'll set me up for a good showing at Regionals, so long as I skate as well as I did today. The judges aren't supposed to consider previous scores, but it's hard to ignore the girls who win the big summer competitions.

“The results are coming,” Greg announces as he joins us. “Have you seen Addison?”

I point across the crowd, just as the volunteer squeezes through to tape the results to the wall.

“Ready for this?” I ask Miyu.

“I guess. At least we'll know once we look, and we won't have to worry about it anymore.”

“Right. Then we only have to worry about Regionals,” I say.

Mom puts her hands on my shoulders. “I'm proud of you no matter what the results are. You've worked so hard with this new program.”

I blink so I don't cry. Sometimes Mom says exactly what I need to hear. “Thanks,” I whisper.

Addison and her mom are in front of us. Once they reach the wall, Addison does this totally dramatic turnaround.

She faces us, closes her eyes, and says, “You look, Mom. I just can't.”

Addison's mom runs her finger down the list. “Ninth!” She huffs. “I knew your jumps weren't high enough. Well, you'll just have to work harder.”

Addison's face crumbles.

I just stare at Mrs. Thomas. Her jaw is set, like she's never been madder in her life. I can't imagine my mom saying something that mean after a competition.

“I thought your jumps looked really good,” Miyu says to Addison.

Addison swipes her face with the back of her hand. “Mind your own business,” she practically hisses as Mrs. Thomas grabs her arm and pulls her out of the crowd.

Even though she's been nothing but mean to me, I can feel for her placing that low after skating a decent program. After all, I've been there before. Not to mention how awful her mom is about the whole thing.

“Dead last,” Miyu says as she looks at the list. “Well, I guess I deserve it.”

“You were brave to keep skating,” Mrs. Murakami says. “And you'll do better next time. What do you say to some ice cream?”

I don't hear Miyu's answer. I'm too busy searching for my own name.

Which appears next to the number fourteen.

Fourteen out of eighteen girls. Five spots behind Addison.

Mom's practically sputtering. “What? Why? I never! You deserve so much better. Greg!”

Dad tries to calm her down while Greg says something to Mom about expression and feeling the music.

I just stare at the number, watching it blur as my eyes tear up. I was
good
. If this is where I place when I'm good, I don't want to know where I'd be if I was awful.

I rub my eyes with the back of my hand and squint at the scores. They gave me 23.05 for technical elements. That's better than Praterville. But the program components . . . 8.75. Worse. Much worse.

Someone pushes past me and I stand there, wondering how in the world I'm going to do better at Regionals.

Miyu puts a hand on my shoulder. “I thought you were perfect.” Then she's gone, off to get ice cream, I guess. She placed worse than me, and she's trying to make me feel better. I almost want to laugh.

“Great scores, Kaitlin,” Peyton says as she turns away from the list. “I guess jumps aren't everything.”

“You must feel awful,” Ellery adds. “Of course, I wouldn't know. I've never placed that low.” She shakes her head in mock sympathy.

“Did you see that Ellery got third?” Peyton asks.

I just stare at them.

“Oh! I better get to the podium. My mom's going to want to take my picture,” Ellery says.

And off they go.

“Kaitlin?” Greg says. “I'll get the protocols and see exactly where you lost points. But I'm sure it's the same as Praterville.”

I kind of nod. I want to ask why. Why did I get such low marks when I've been trying so hard to make that components score so much better? But my throat is all tight, and if I say a word, I'll probably start to cry.

“I know you're disappointed,” Greg says. “There's still
time before Regionals, and we'll keep working. One way or another, we'll make you a more well-rounded skater. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I'll see you on Tuesday.”

Enjoy my weekend? This is the worst weekend ever. No, maybe the second-worst. The Praterville competition has that top spot in the Horrible Weekends Competition locked.

“Come on. Our flight leaves at seven.” Dad takes my arm and guides me away from the group.

“I don't understand,” I whisper.

“You're always number one in my book.” Dad wraps an arm around me.

Too bad dads can't determine figure-skating scores.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The reality of fourteenth place
hits me, and I feel like I've been run over by a Zamboni when I let it sink in, which is the next morning.

Sunday. At least I don't have to go to the rink today.

I'm still thinking about it that evening as I get ready to go to Miyu's for the sleepover. I yank on a pair of jeans and try to figure out—for the millionth time—where I went wrong.

It feels like my skating dreams are over. That's two competitions in a row where I've scored horribly. It'll probably be the same at Regionals. And if that happens, I won't qualify
for Nationals, and then my season's over. I'll do it all again next year, and for what? To get the same stupid low score? No Nationals. No Olympics.

But why? Especially after I worked so hard to improve the interpretation and everything else I got such low marks for at Praterville. After running it through my head over and over all day, I can come up with only two reasons. One, the judges really don't like me because of what I said at Praterville. Or two, Greg's right.

I don't know which option is worse, because I can't figure out how to fix either one.

“And this is my room,” Miyu says as she opens the door with a flourish. I peek in to see a room done entirely in her favorite colors—red and yellow. It looks like a McDonald's exploded inside.

“It's . . . red,” I say.

“Candy-apple red. I like bold colors.”

I sit carefully on the shiny gold bedspread. The doorbell rings, and Miyu runs to answer it. I'm glad I got here first. I knew Mom would want to spend at least a half hour talking to Mrs. Murakami, and I did
not
want to be the girl whose mom hangs around and gossips during the sleepover.

Miyu arrives with two other girls and her arms loaded down with food.

“This is my friend Kaitlin, from skating,” Miyu says as she arranges bags of chips and plates of raw veggies. “Kaitlin, this is Sydney and Jane.”

“Did you just move here?” the girl with brown hair asks. Sydney, I think.

“No. I—”

“Wait! I remember you from elementary school. Chauncey Elementary.” Jane drops an overnight bag on the floor and pounces on the chips. I remember her, too, only about a foot shorter. She's got to be at least five foot seven, and she has this cute, blond bobbed haircut.

“Yeah, I remember you. You had that awesome birthday party at the zoo.”

Jane laughs, a loud, infectious laugh. I can't help but laugh with her. “That was a blast, wasn't it?”

“How was the competition this weekend?” Sydney asks as she flops behind me onto Miyu's bed.

“Awful.” Miyu frowns. “I couldn't have skated worse.”

“Did you go?” Sydney asks me.

I nod. “I have this tango program I can't seem to get.”
Or maybe the judges just don't like me,
but I don't say that.

“Figure skating doesn't make any sense,” Jane says. “Give me basketball any day. At least it's straightforward. The ball either goes in the basket or it doesn't.”

“Maybe we should take up basketball,” I say to Miyu as I grab a carrot stick.

She laughs. “Right. A couple of just-over-five-foot-tall basketball players. We'd be great. Besides, no matter how I do, I love skating. When I land a jump, it's the best feeling in the world.”

I smile. I know exactly what she means. But I can't get over a lousy placement so easily.

“Where do you go to school, Kaitlin?” Sydney rolls onto her stomach and waits for an answer.

“Um . . . I don't. I do homeschool.”

“Lucky,” Jane says.

I shrug. “It's not all that fun. There're no clubs or dances or anything. Though it's not like I'd have time to do any of that if I did go to regular school. Because of skating.”

“Why not?” Jane asks. “Miyu does academic team. And yearbook.”

“And I helped you out with that polar bear swim fund-raiser last year, remember?” Miyu looks up from the backpack she's digging through.

Jane sighs. “You'll never let me forget that, will you?”

“Not a chance. It was freezing!”

It sounds miserable, but I kind of wish I'd been there too. “How do you have time for all of that and skating, too?” I ask Miyu.

She tosses the backpack onto the floor and hauls her skate bag out from her closet. “I make time. That's why I left my old club. They wanted everyone to be all skating, all the time. That just wasn't my thing. I love to skate, and I put everything into it when I'm at the rink, but it's not the only thing I love, you know?”

I remember something Braedon said. “So that's your story?”

Miyu's forehead creases. “My what?”

“Never mind.” Somehow I thought her reason for being at Fallton would be way more scandalous, but what she said makes sense. No other really serious coach would put up with a part-time skater.

“What are you looking for in there?” Jane asks through a mouthful of chips. “Please say it's a brown paper bag full of money you found on the way home from school last week.”

“Or Mark Benson,” Sydney adds.

“Duck, Kaitlin,” Jane says.

I slouch down as Jane chucks a carrot stick at Sydney. “You're obsessed with Mark.”

“No, I'm not.” Sydney smiles. “But he
does
have that swishy hair.”

Now that's something I understand.

“Aha!” Miyu stands up with a stack of DVD cases in her hands. “Found them.”

“Movies, perfect! What did you get?” Jane asks.

Miyu flips through the cases one by one. “
Strictly Ballroom
.
Dirty Dancing
.
Take the Lead
.
Mad Hot Ballroom
.”

“Wait. Are those all movies about dancing?” Jane's making a face.

“Well, the last one's technically a documentary—”

“I looooove dancing.” Sydney jumps up and starts waltzing around the room with one of Miyu's pillows.

Miyu looks at me. “I got these for you. Maybe they'll inspire you.”

“I doubt anything will help. It was a nice thought, though.” Right now the only way to help my disaster of a program would be to get rid of it.

Miyu hands the movies to Sydney, who picks one and loads it up in Miyu's DVD player. “You can't give up that easily,” she says as she sits next to me.

“I'm not giving up. I'm just admitting that I'm not good at tango. I'm a skater, not a dancer.” I cross my arms and watch Jane search for the cheesiest chip in the bag.

“You've barely even tried,” Miyu says.

“I've taken tango classes, I did a dance lesson with Svetlana, I've listened to Greg. None of it's working.”

“Then, who knows, maybe these movies will help. Or I can sign you up to audition for one of those reality dance shows.”

I laugh. “Now
that
really would be a disaster.”

“You just can't give up, okay? You're too good of a skater for that. Promise?” She holds out her hand and sticks out her pinkie.

I keep my arms crossed.

“I'll just sit here like this all night,” Miyu says.

“Fine. Pinkie swear promise,” I say, and link my little finger with hers. She's right. Skating is my dream. I can't give up on it just because I had two bad competitions. “Now let's see if any of these movies can teach me how to ‘make flirt eyes.'”

Miyu giggles at my awful Svetlana impression. Sydney flips off the lights, and we all crowd together in front of Miyu's bed as the movie starts.

We've finished
Dirty Dancing
and are halfway through
Strictly Ballroom
when there's a knock at Miyu's window.