Breaking the Ice (18 page)

“You should do that more often,” Miyu says.

Maybe she's right.

“No one's coming. Let's just go in and enjoy the party.” She takes my hand, and just as we're about to slide back into the room, I spot someone.

A few someones, actually. And they're headed straight toward our party.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Miyu and I race back
inside, and a few seconds later, a group of girls that I recognize from a club in Ohio are standing just inside the doorway.

“There's no one here. Just those Fall Down kids,” one of them says.

“Hey, look, they've got brownies!” Another girl leaps away from the group and scoops up one of the brownies that Jessa brought from home.

The first girl shrugs, and the entire group moves farther into the room.

“Let's go talk to them,” Miyu says.

But Addison's already beat us over there. She's offering them drinks and complimenting their clothes. In less than a minute, she's laughing with the girl who wanted to turn
around and leave.

“Who knew Addison could be so friendly?” I say to Miyu.

The room fills up as more and more skaters arrive. By six o'clock, there are so many people crammed into the Olympic Room that I've finally stopped shivering. Everywhere I turn, people are talking or laughing or dancing. Braedon's doing some crazy break-dancing thing in the corner while a couple of other guys egg him on. Of course he has to be the center of attention.

And I've met skaters from as far away as Alabama. One of them even told me how much she loved my new music when she heard it at practice earlier.

“Thanks, but I have trouble really getting into it,” I told her.

“My program music is this super-sad piece,” she said. “And the only way I can pull it off is to remember how I felt when my dog died last year. It's like I'm torturing myself for skating, but it works, you know?”

Actually, I don't know, because I've never thought about skating like that.

One of the guys break-dancing with Braedon crashes into a table and knocks a bowl of chips onto the floor. I start toward the spilled chips when I spot someone I recognize watching the enormous TV.

I cross my fingers and move toward her. “Hey, Peyton?”

“What's this video?” she asks.

“It's . . . um . . . well, I went online and found a bunch of clips from a lot of the skaters here. And I made them into this video.” I don't add that it took me hours to find and cut all those clips, and to select the music and decide how to group them all under captions like
Grace
and
Athleticism
and
Ambition
.

“Hey, that's me!” She smiles at the clip of herself landing a perfect double flip. Then she turns to me. “So you did this? You were always making things for everyone. I still use that water bottle, you know.”

A warm, happy feeling fills me up from head to toe. “I made a copy of the video for everyone to pick up when they leave.” I point to the stack of DVDs on a table near the door.

“Thanks,” Peyton says. “Did you plan this party? I thought it was something official.”

“No, it was me. Me and everyone else at Fallton. We just wanted to throw a party for all the competitors.”

Peyton's red hair falls into her face. She searches for an elastic in her pocket and pulls her hair into a ponytail. “That's really . . . nice of you guys. I mean, considering, you know?”

I know exactly what she means, which is the point of this
whole thing. “We just wanted everyone to have a chance to have fun and maybe meet other skaters.”

“So how are things at the Fall D—sorry—Fallton?”

“Really good. Everyone's friendly, and my new coach is the best.” And I realize it's true. I love skating at Fallton, despite everything else. In fact, if Ridgeline asked me back, I'd probably say no. I have friends at Fallton, which is something I never really had at my old club. “So . . . is Ellery here?”

“Her mom wouldn't let her come. Which is too bad, because this is a blast. Hey, who's that cute guy with the crazy dance moves?” Peyton points toward one of Braedon's new friends, someone I met earlier from another Michigan club.

“Go talk to him. I think his name is Ian.” I give her little push, and she turns back and grins at me.

“Hey, Kaitlin?” Miyu's standing behind me, holding the stack of DVDs. “I think we should hand these out now. Otherwise people might forget to pick them up when they leave.”

Miyu and I weave through groups of people, passing out DVDs left and right. Every time someone says, “Great party!” my heart feels like it's going to burst.

“This is actually working,” I say to Miyu as we squeeze between people near the drinks.

“I can't believe how crowded it is. And everyone's having
fun, and they're talking to us like actual people instead of telling us to literally break a leg,” Miyu replies.

We're so busy handing out DVDs that we don't even notice the big man with the Indianapolis Ice polo shirt until we almost run into him.

“Um, hi,” I say. “Are you here for the party?” Even if their parents got Braedon's text, no one had brought their mom or dad.

“P-party?” the man sputters. “You can't be here!”

Miyu crinkles her eyebrows at him. “But we have the room reserved.”

“For a competitors' party,” I add.

“No one reserved this room.” He cups his hands around his mouth. “Party's over! Move it out. Now!”

A few people look at him, and then go right back to talking.

“Can't we stay a little longer? We won't be here very late,” I ask. He can't end the party now, not while everyone's having fun. Because then what would people think of us?

“Not if you didn't reserve the room and pay for it.”

“Pay?” I repeat. But he's already marching through the crowd.

“Wait!” Miyu shouts. We look at each other and race behind him toward the stereo.

He hits a button and the music dies. “Thank you for coming. Now get out or your parents will get a bill for the use of this room.”

His words echo across the room. Everyone's still for a second, and then they all make for the door.

“Not you two.” The man points to me and Miyu. “You stay put.” He studies Miyu's Fallton jacket and starts texting on his phone. This is not good.

“What's going on?” Jessa's fought through everyone streaming toward the door to reach me and Miyu.

“He says we can't have the room. It wasn't reserved or something.” I sneak a glance up at him as he watches everyone leaving. “You guys should get out while you can. I think we're in huge trouble.”

Jessa crosses her arms. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Me either.” Braedon's joined her, along with just about everyone else in Fallton.

“It was going so well,” one of the younger girls says. “And now they'll all hate us again because the party got cut short.”

“I think that's the least of our worries,” Braedon adds. He nods at the big man. “Hey, mister, what's the big deal here?”

“The big deal,
kid
, is that you and your friends are throw
ing an unauthorized party in a room you shouldn't be in, and that no one has paid for, and serving food and drinks that were not purchased from our snack bar.” The man looks over our heads at my video, playing on the TV. “And you're using extremely expensive electronic equipment without permission.”

“We did too reserve the room. And the TV.” Addison pushes her way to the front. With her hands on her hips, she looks like her mom.

“You did not, young lady. I'm the assistant manager. I keep the calendar of reservations.”

“Just ask Christina. She works here.”

“Christina?” The man looks confused for a moment. “You mean the general manager's daughter? She's not an employee.”

Addison's confident face drops a little. “She told me she was. And that she reserved this room for us.”

“Did you pay her?”

“Um . . . no.” Addison bites her lip.

“Then you didn't reserve the room. And Christina has no authority to do so anyway.”

Addison's face goes red. I feel awful for her, so I reach over and touch her arm. “Hey, it's okay.”

She jerks her arm away. “I didn't do anything wrong. I
only talked to Christina because
you
asked me to.”

“Addison, we're all in this together,” Jessa says quietly. “It's no one's fault.”

I turn to the man. “I'm sorry we didn't get the room the right way. We'll clean everything up, and it'll look like we've never been here.”
And please, please, please don't tell our parents about this,
I want to add. I cross my fingers and hope he'll go for it.

“You bet you'll clean this up. And there's who I've been waiting for.” I follow his gaze to the door, where a woman in the same Indianapolis Ice polo has walked in with Greg and Karilee.

I want to disappear into the floor and become one with the carpet. As if I'm not in enough trouble with Greg after the Zamboni crash, now he'll think I'm some crazy party girl who isn't serious at all about skating. Kind of like Braedon. And he'll definitely tell all of our parents.

Greg looks from the group of us to the TV and then back to the rink employee. “What is this all about?”

“Your kids threw an illicit party,” the big man says.

“Illicit” makes it sound a lot more awful than just a bunch of skaters hanging out and talking. My stomach is doing axels while I wait for Greg to say something. If only we could
explain to him why we had the party. Somewhere deep down, I think he'd understand. Maybe even be supportive. After all, it's his club too. His skaters, his name on the line every time one of us takes the ice in front of a rink full of people who think we aren't good enough.

But if he doesn't feel that way, then what? I don't think he'll kick me out of the club. If he didn't for the Zamboni, then he won't for doing this.

At least I hope not.

Greg rubs his eyes with his right hand, as if we're all a vision that will go away. I take a deep breath. At the worst, Mom will ground me for eternity when she finds out, and Greg will lecture me about competition decorum. And I can forget about going to school.

But it
has
to be worth it. If we didn't try, we'd never know what could've happened. People were having fun before the party got busted.

Karilee smiles and twists her hands together. “I don't think they meant any harm. It's just a party. A chance for those with similar interests to support and give strength to one another.”

The big man crosses his arms. “We aren't against parties. Only those that were thrown without following the appropriate procedures.”

“Which are?” Greg asks.

“Reserving the room with management, and paying for it.” The man glares at us.

“Fine. How much is it?” Greg pulls a wallet from his pant pocket.

“Five hundred dollars.”

Greg blinks at him. “Come again?”

“Five hundred dollars,” the man says again. “This is our biggest room, with state-of-the-art equipment and brand-new lighting fixtures. The fee also includes the food and drinks that should've been purchased here.”

Greg folds up his wallet. “Look, I'm sorry they used the room and didn't reserve it. On a competition night. Without asking their coaches or their parents.” He's scowling at us as he says this.

I scoot closer to Miyu.

“I assure you they will clean all of this up and then some. And I'll be certain to let their parents know of this situation. But nothing's broken or missing, and the party's over. Can we leave it at that?”

“We can as soon as someone pays me for the use of this room. Or I'll have no choice but to ban you all from this rink.”

Everyone starts talking all at once. Some protest, a couple of girls start crying, and Braedon yells, “That's not fair!”

My whole body is shaking. I
have
to compete. It's my only chance at going to Nationals. Not to mention everyone else's. Miyu's tried so hard to get her double lutz consistent, and this is Jessa's year to make a comeback. Addison's face is paper white. Her mother will probably disown her if she can't ­compete.

“If you get me kicked out of Regionals, Kaitlin, I'll never forgive you,” Addison whispers.

“It's not her fault. You went along with it.” Miyu glares at Addison.

Greg holds his hands up, like he's surrendering or something, and speaks over the top of everyone else. “I understand why you're angry. But isn't a ban a little . . . excessive? Some of these kids are competing tomorrow, for their one and only shot at Nationals this year.”

“I don't care if they're all shoo-ins for gold at the Olympics,” the man says. “Someone needs to pay this rink five hundred dollars.”

I don't have five hundred dollars, and I'm sure no one else does either.

“This didn't work at all,” I whisper to Miyu. “It's a com
plete disaster. Everyone's getting kicked out of the competition, and it's my fault!”