Breaking the Ice (14 page)

“I know it's weird, but you can do it if you take it seriously,” he says.

I try to smolder.

“You look like you've just eaten rotten fish,” Tom says.

“Thanks. How does Samantha do this without laughing?”

“We've been skating together since we were nine years old. We're sort of used to each other now.” Tom says all this while keeping that crazy intense expression on his face. “Use your eyes more,” he says.

How do I do that? My eyes are attached in my head. It's not like I can wave them around or something. And what is it with ice dancers and eyes? Svetlana was all about the eyes too.

“That's better,” he says.

I wish I knew what I'd done to make it better.

The music stops. I'm completely out of breath from skating so fast and trying to smolder and use my eyes.

“I think you got it toward the end, Kaitlin,” Greg says. “Now use that in your program.”

Tom returns to Samantha, and I skate my program again. I pretend I'm skating with Tom. I smolder while I count the steps in my footwork. I use my eyes. I try to look like I haven't eaten rotten fish. I do it all while I think through my program piece by piece. The music ends, and I turn toward Greg.

He shakes his head.

I'm never going to get this.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Mom leans out the window
of the car. “Are you sure you'll be okay by yourself?”

“Mom, yes! It's just a dance class.” And I'm actually a ­little excited that she's just dropping me off. I mean, she rarely watches every move I make on the ice, but she's always there. Like she's babysitting me or something.

“Okay. Call if you need me. I'll be back in an hour.” Mom waves as she backs out of her parking spot and heads to the grocery store.

“Hey, Double Axel!” a guy's voice calls from down the sidewalk just as I'm about to push the studio door open.

“Braedon?” A wave of warmth rushes through me as I let the door go and step back. There he is, headed right toward me. “What are you doing here? Did you sign up for dance class too?”

“No way.” He stops in front of me and pushes his hair out of his eyes. My heart beats just a little faster. “Besides, I have a better idea. Skip and come to Burger Hut with me,” Braedon says.

I peek inside the glass door of the studio. Fernando's there, gliding across the shiny wooden floor with one of the giggling older ladies. Almost everyone's already inside, ready for the class to start. “I don't know . . . I really have to work on my expression.”

“But you owe me a burger, remember?” Braedon smiles at me.

Would it really be so awful if I missed one class? I've been to a bunch so far, and there are still a few more before Regionals.

I know I shouldn't, though. I still haven't nailed whatever it is that Greg thinks I need to make this program work. And if we got caught, Mom would ground me for all eternity. I could hang up any chance of Dad convincing her to let me go to school.

But Braedon came all the way over here, from . . . somewhere. He wasn't at the rink this afternoon, and he's still wearing his St. Benedict's uniform. And he's giving me that adorable grin. I feel a little melty, like the ice on a ninety-­degree afternoon.

“Okay.”

“Really?” Braedon's face lights up.

Just then the door opens. Addison steps out, looking perfect in tight black pants, a black top, and a little red tie-on skirt. “What are you doing out here?” she asks me. Then she notices Braedon, and her frown dissolves. “Hi, Braedon.”

“Hey,” he says. “Double Axel and I are going to Burger Hut. You want to come?”

Is he seriously inviting Addison? My face goes red. Maybe this isn't a date after all. Maybe we are just friends.

Addison gives him a flirty smile and twists her ponytail with her finger. “I'd love to, but Kaitlin and I have tango class right now. Come on, K, it's about to start.”

K? Since when does Addison call me by a nickname?

“Um, I'm kind of hungry. I'm going to the Burger Hut instead,” I say.

Addison's fake friendly smile retreats into her usual frown.
“You're skipping class? Can you really afford to do that with Regionals coming up?”

“One class won't make or break her chances at qualifying,” Braedon says. “Not with that double axel.”

Addison looks like he just punched her in the stomach. She hasn't even landed a double axel, as far as I know. “Fine,” she says as Mrs. Thomas taps impatiently on the studio window. Addison nods at her mom, and then turns back to me. “So where's your mother, Kaitlin?”

There's something about the way she narrows her eyes at me. I know she's not just asking where Mom is. It's almost like a threat. As in,
You go off with Braedon, and I'm so telling your mother you skipped class.

I swallow hard. “At the grocery store. She'll be here later.”

“Hmm.” Addison gives me a little smirk, and then dis­appears back inside.

“What was that all about?” Braedon asks.

“I think she's going to rat me out.” Now I'm not sure I should go. Is this worth getting into loads of trouble with Mom?

Braedon pulls on his loosened St. Benedict's tie. “She wouldn't do that.”

“I don't know. . . .”

“You're not going to stand me up again, are you?” He gives
me this sad puppy-dog look. “We'll eat fast and have plenty of time to get back before your mom. If Addison does say anything, you can deny it all.”

That is true. There's no way Mom would believe Addison over me.

“Okay, let's go.” I take a step forward and stop. “Wait, how are we getting there? Did you steal a car?”

He laughs, and for a split second, I wonder if he did. It seems like the kind of thing he'd find fun.

“No, we have to walk. Sorry. But it's not very far.”

It isn't, but there aren't any sidewalks here either. Just a really busy street and some overgrown grass between the parking lots of stores and gas stations.

Mom got me a pair of black heels called character shoes. They aren't very high ones, of course, and I can only wear them for dance. The heels are sinking into the soft ground between a Gas Up station and a Good Times Family Buffet. “Ugh . . . mud!”

Braedon laughs as I rub my shoe against the grass. It doesn't do a lot of good, though. The black heel is now brown. I'll have to clean them off before Mom sees. “So gross.”

“Burger Hut is worth it. Just think of having a good, greasy burger instead of your usual rabbit food.”

“I don't just eat rabbit food,” I say, but he's already scrambling up a small hill toward the Burger Hut parking lot.

“So, where were you today? I didn't see you at the rink,” I ask Braedon after we get our food and sit in a booth in the back. Just the two of us.

I'm still not sure if this counts as a date. I mean, he came just to get me, but then he invited Addison, too. But if it
is
a date . . . The whole idea makes me want to smile and throw up at the same time.

“Didn't feel like skating. Ended up hanging out with a couple of guys from school instead.” He squirts ketchup from one of those little plastic packets onto the open wrapper of his burger.

“Won't your parents be mad that you skipped practice?”

“Probably.”

He doesn't seem to want to talk about it, so I change the subject. “Are you nervous about Regionals?”

“Not really,” he says through a mouthful of food. “I never qualify for Nationals, so it's just another competition for me.”

“Don't you want to?”

“Sure, I guess. Doesn't everyone? But it'll never happen. And even if it did, I would have to practice more and work harder. That's no fun.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes and takes another bite of burger.

I don't know what to say to that. Miyu just skates for fun, but even she wants to qualify for Nationals. And somehow I know that if she did, she'd take it seriously and work as hard as she could to do well. “So why do you skate?” I finally ask Braedon.

He drags some fries through the pool of ketchup. “I don't know. Because I always have? I like jumping.”

“Me too. It's like flying for a second, and when I land a jump, I feel so good. Like I've done something really incred­ible. Like I've done something no one else can do.”

“Yeah, just like that. If all I had to do was go out there and jump, it would be great. No spins or footwork or artistic interpretation.”

I roll my eyes. “Don't get me started on artistic interpre­tation.”

“Still can't flirt, huh?”

My cheeks heat up and I concentrate on rescuing the lettuce and tomato sliding out of my bun. “You really don't like to spin?” I ask, hoping he won't bring up the flirting thing again.

“Not really. I mean, it's okay, but I don't get the same thrill from it as jumping. Give me a good triple salchow over a perfect camel any day.”

“I wish I had a triple sal,” I say. “Then the judges would have to notice me, whether I can tango or not.”

“They notice you. It's kind of hard to forget the girl who spoke her mind and then took out the medals table.”

I put my burger down. That's all I'm ever going to be. The skater who lost her composure and ruined her whole career.

“Hey, Double Axel? I meant that as a compliment.” Braedon's giving me this concerned look.

“Thanks? I don't know if it's doing much to help Fallton's reputation, though.”

Braedon waves a fry at me. “You couldn't do anything to change that—good or bad.”

“It's not fair, though. We have really good skaters, but everyone writes us off.”

“I know. But why worry about something you can't control?”

“I guess.” I chew my last bite of burger and wish there was something we could do.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Braedon walks me back to
the dance studio, and I slip inside with ten minutes to spare. Jill gives me a funny look but keeps moving around the room, checking arm position here and demonstrating steps there. Up front, Addison's dancing with Fernando. Her mom is beaming, like Addison's going to get the award for World's Best Tango Dancer.

When the class ends, I move toward the door to wait for Mom.

“I hope it was worth it,” Addison says over my shoulder.

“Worth what?”

She glances back at her mother, who's talking with
­Fernando. “My mom didn't see you leave. But if I told her, she'd probably say something to your mom. You won't get to eat burgers with Braedon if you're grounded, you know.”

I bite my lip. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. It definitely sounds like Addison is going to tell her mother. What if Mom believes what Mrs. Thomas says? Not only will I be grounded, she'll never trust me to be alone anywhere, including school.

Mom pulls up outside. Without a word to Addison, I sprint out the door and jump in the car.

“How was class?” Mom asks.

“Great.” I'm watching the dance studio disappear in the side mirror.

Addison's probably already talking to her mother. I am so dead.

As the Zamboni plods across the ice on Saturday morning, I search for Braedon in the crowded lobby. I spot him leaning against the concrete block wall next to the snack bar, drinking water and watching the Zam move in slow circles. After I make sure Mom is busy talking with some of the other ­parents—and that Addison and her mom aren't here yet—I move toward Braedon.

“Hey, Double Axel, long time no see,” he says.

My stomach jumps at his lazy smile. Then I remember the world of trouble I'm going to be in once Addison gets here.

“So . . . um, that was fun last night. The burgers, I mean. But I kind of can't do anything like that again,” I say.

Braedon sets his water on the snack bar counter. “Why not?”

“Because Addison's going to tell her mom, who will definitely say something to my mom.”

“I told you, she wouldn't do anything like that.”

“She pretty much told me that she was.” I roll up to the tips of my blade guards and search the lobby—just in time to see Addison and Mrs. Thomas walk in.

“I'll talk to her.” Braedon grabs his water bottle and strides across the lobby to meet Addison.

“It's probably too late,” I say to his back.

I stay put near the snack bar, watching. I can't hear them from here, but Braedon's smiling and Addison looks really annoyed. She glances up at me and glares. I bite my lip and cross my fingers. Maybe she hasn't said anything yet.

Then he must say something funny, because she laughs. He claps her once on the back before heading back toward me. She watches him, all happy and smug-looking, and then turns toward her mother.

“What did she say?” I ask the second he gets close enough to hear me.

“She didn't tell her mom yet. She promised to keep it quiet.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes, looking pleased with himself.

“How did you make that happen?” I can't imagine what he would've said to convince Addison not to get me in heaps of trouble.

He taps his gloved fingertips together like some old movie villain. “I have my ways.”

He looks so silly that I can't help laughing. “Thanks,” I say.

“No problem. Hey, look, the Zam's done.” And with that, Braedon tosses his water bottle into the air, catches it, and walks off toward the ice. Near the doors, Addison catches up with him. She says something, and he touches her arm and laughs.

My happy feeling floats away. I wonder what exactly it was that Braedon told Addison to change her mind.

When I'm not in my lesson, I spend most of the two back-to-back skating sessions watching Braedon help Addison with her double axel and worrying about whether she'll really keep my huge mistake a secret. And about whether I
missed the one thing in tango class that could've made my program perfect.

I don't get a chance to talk to Miyu until after the last skating session. I sit next to her while we wait for Karilee's Movement and Interpretation class to begin.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask her quietly. I'd told her on the phone last night about going to Burger Hut with Braedon.

She sighs. “No. I'm just confused, I guess.” Miyu unties and reties her shoelace. “You want to win Regionals, and now you're skipping out on a class you're taking to do that, just to hang out with Braedon?”

“I know. It was kind of a dumb thing to do.”

“But you still have a crush on Braedon.”

“I don't have a crush on him!” I hiss at her.

“Yes, you do. It's so obvious, Kaitlin. All he does is look at you, and you turn all red and giggle.”

“I don't giggle!”

Miyu gives me a look.

“Okay . . . maybe I like him a little. But I don't giggle. I don't know if it even matters. He seems to be into Addison, anyway.”

Miyu shrugs. “Who knows? Just remember what I said about him before. I mean, he's been expelled from how many schools? And he's definitely not serious about skating.”

“You're not serious about skating,” I say defensively, even though I know exactly what she means.

“I am, just in a different way than you are. If Braedon's mom didn't make him come to the rink, I doubt he'd skate at all.”

What was it Braedon said at Burger Hut yesterday? He skates because he always has. Not being ultracompetitive about skating hardly makes him a bad person. But then there's the whole skipping practice sessions and getting me to leave my dance class thing. Kind of red flags.

What I
should
do is forget about Braedon. At least until after Regionals.

But I don't know if I can.