Breaking the Ice (4 page)

Chapter Six

DUH. THAT'S Y IT'S FALL DOWN CLUB.

I read the text from Ellery and try to think of what to say next. Houses and stores slip by the van window as the sun starts to come up. It's Monday morning, and I can imagine Ellery texting as her mom drives her to Ridgeline.

Mom was so excited about me officially joining Fallton, she gave my phone back last night. The first thing I did was text Ellery about the club. She just got back to me.

My phone beeps before I get the chance to respond.

CAN'T BELIEVE UR SKATING W/ THOSE FREAKS.

NOT SO BAD, RLY
, I type.

WHATEVER.

C U SOON.

I wait for a response. When nothing comes, I stuff the phone into my skate bag. I just wish she was happy I'm skating again, the way Dad was when I told him Fallton didn't seem so bad. After all, Miyu was really nice. Jessa Hernandez skates there, and then there was that guy with the perfect hair who called me Double Axel. And even though none of the coaches are Hildy, Greg seemed really into working with me and didn't even mention my fiasco at Praterville.

Best of all, I'd be unstoppable at Regionals if I could skate with that wonderful, light feeling like I had on Saturday. That feeling I used to have moving around the rink at Ridgeline, where nothing exists except me and the ice. If I work hard, maybe I can make the judges forget what happened at ­Praterville—and those embarrassing apology letters Mom made me write—and be back on track to qualifying for Nationals.

In the rink lobby, I find an empty chair—one that's not broken—and pull out my skates. Miyu is talking with some other skaters. She waves. I wave back. I'm wondering if I should join her when Mom sits next to me.

She consults a sheet of paper from her purse. “I signed you up for two free skate sessions this morning. You have a lesson
with Greg first thing. They don't have skating again until later this afternoon, so we'll go home and you can do your schoolwork. Then when we come back, you have a couple more practice sessions and an off-ice class. Oh, and we'll have to join a gym, since there's no exercise equipment here. You can't slack off on your strength training.”

I yawn just thinking about it all. As I lace up my skates, I watch through the rink windows as a slender blond woman makes camp on the bleachers. She lays out a blanket, pours coffee into a mug from a thermos, and pulls a notebook and pen from a huge orange bag. She has to be someone's mom, although I don't know why she's sitting out in the cold by herself when she could watch just fine from the lobby with most of the other parents.

“Kaitlin! It's so nice to see you. Are you ready to work?” Greg looms over me, smiling as if seeing me is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

I double-knot my laces and stand. “Ready.”

“Skate hard!” Mom shouts after us. She's already moving toward her usual rink activity—gossiping with the other parents. I swear Mom knows more about skating than I do, and she's never even been on the ice.

I pull my guards off and glide toward the far wall to
deposit my stuff before working on the ice bumps. As I dig into the nearest one, someone flies past me. The girl is blond, about my age, and wearing this expensive practice dress Ellery and I drooled over when we saw it at a designer's booth at the last competition.

“Addison! Time to kill the bumps,” Greg yells at her.

She comes to a graceful stop next to us and daintily jabs her toe pick at an extra-large bump while she glares at me. “Who are you?”

I stare at her for a moment. Everyone was so nice on Saturday. Who in the world is this girl? “Kaitlin.” I give her a smile.

Addison doesn't smile back.

“Kaitlin, why don't you start down near the Zamboni garage?” Greg winks.

I skate off to the end of the ice—far away from Addison. One by one, the other skaters trickle out, and the bumps are gone in no time. Greg gives me ten minutes to warm up before my lesson, and I take off across the rink with the same free feeling I had on Saturday.

It's not until I start my jumps that I notice Addison again.

She's doing the exact same jumps, right after I land them. I do an axel, she does an axel. I squeak out the landing of a double flip–double toe loop combination—two jumps, one
right after the other—and she does the same thing perfectly.

The little hairs on my arms rise. It feels like she's following me, copying me. As if we're in a competition and she's trying to show judges—or maybe just me—that she can do everything better.

I don't have anything to prove to her. I know I'm a good skater, never mind what the last judges thought. I push across the rink and move on to spins. I lower myself into a back sit spin, rotating on my right leg with my left leg extended in front and my rear end just inches from the ice. Addison does the exact same thing. I'm spinning so fast that everything's a little blurry, but it looks like she just twisted her body into a pretzel-like position I've never seen before.

How did she do that? I whip my head around so I can see her again, forgetting that it will slow my spin. I lose the careful balance on my blade and it shoots out from underneath me, leaving me spinning on my behind.

Addison pulls up from her twisted sitting position and finishes with a fast upright spin. She glides over to me and smirks. “Nice butt spin.”

I open my mouth to say something back, but then I shut it. It's only my second day here. I can't be rude to people, even if they're rude to me. I search for something nice to say.

“Thanks. I've been working on it,” is all I can come up with. It sounds like one of Dad's jokes.

She doesn't laugh. Instead she squats next to me. Her hairline shows brown roots, and I try not to stare at it. Her mom lets her dye her hair? Mine won't even let me wear makeup unless I'm performing.

She narrows her brown eyes. “Your double toe was under-rotated. You don't turn fast enough after you take off. That's why you could barely land it.”

My face burns. Who does this girl think she is? A coach? I scramble to get up from the ice. She rises gracefully and looks me in the eye.

“You won't ever get past Juvenile with an under-rotated double toe.”

I clench my gloved hands into fists at my sides. How does she even know what level I'm on? I don't remember seeing her at competitions. I wish she would just go away.

And she does. With one last smirk, she turns and pushes off across the rink. I glance around, sure I have an audience. But, just as before, everyone is busy with their own practices.

Greg calls my name. I force myself to take a couple of deep breaths as I move my feet to start my lesson.

I show Greg my arsenal of jumps and spins. I try a few triple salchows and fall on each one.

He reaches out a hand to help me up after the third one. “That's a good start. This is a jump you have to master, though, if you want to move on. Triple sal was the minimum required jump to be cast in the Skating Sensation.”

Since the Skating Sensation doesn't even exist anymore, I don't think I'll be trying out for it anytime soon. “I've only been working on it for a couple of months,” I say.

“You don't need it until next year, so you've got time. Did you bring your music? I want to see your program.”

I grab my CD and give it to the ice monitor. As I glide toward center ice, my throat goes dry. I want Greg to see me as the girl who could win Regionals, the one who's got Olympic potential. Not the girl who almost placed last at Praterville. Mom's always saying first impressions are the most important, and I want Greg to have the right first impression of me. Skating my full ­program—perfectly—is a chance to show him what I've got.

I arch my arms over my head and lean slightly to the right. Addison's watching me even as she runs through some footwork. I close my eyes for a second.
Focus. Stop thinking about her and just skate
. The first notes of the music sound over the speakers, and I move my arms out and down.

I follow the movement of my left hand with my eyes and see something weird.

My hand is shaking.

“No one is watching,” I whisper to myself. As I take my first steps, I clench and unclench my hands to make them behave. I know this program. There's no reason for me to be nervous at all. I need to think about what I'm doing—one thing at a time.

Stroke, turn, arms out. Spiral. I stretch my right leg out behind me as high as it will go. I arch my back until I feel the muscles pulling, and hold that position for five counts.

Hildy put the double flip at the very beginning of the program. Turn backward. Reach back with right arm. Extend right foot behind me. Toe into ice. Vault into air and pull arms in hard. The two rotations happen almost too fast to count. I land solidly on my right foot. A smile covers my face as I thrust my arms out and stretch my left leg behind me.

The music continues, and I think my way through the jumps and spins and steps of the program. I turn and set up the hardest jump in the program—the double axel. No one else at Praterville even tried one. I glide backward on my right foot, ready to step forward and launch myself into the air, when someone shouts.

“Watch out!”

Chapter Seven

I rise up on my
toe pick and screech to a stop.

Addison's right behind me. Adrenaline rushes through my body as I realize what might've just happened.

“Oops, sorry,” she says in a sickly-sweet voice as I maneuver around her and try to catch up to my music.

My heart is thumping overtime and my legs feel like spaghetti, but I push on. One thing at a time. Double lutz. It's just like a double flip, except I'm gliding into the jump on the outside edge of my blade instead of the inside edge. That tiny little change of edge makes all the difference. I pick my other toe into the ice and start to turn hard into the air. My body
leans off to the side as I rotate. I land—just barely—but don't have nearly enough speed or balance for the double loop that comes right after. I try it anyway, pulling my legs together as I twist up and off my right foot. My blade hits the ice too early, and I fall hard on my side.

I scramble up and hear giggling over the music. Addison stands not five feet away at the entrance to the ice, smiling with the blond woman who's been sitting on the bleachers through the whole session. They look so much alike, the woman has to be Addison's mother.

I force myself back into the program. My hands are shaking again, and it takes all my willpower to finish. As the last notes of
Swan Lake
fade, I arch my arms over my head in the same pose I started with.

Breathing hard, I grab my water bottle from the boards where Greg is waiting. I gulp the freezing water as I wait for his judgment. It really wasn't bad—except for the missed double axel and the fall. And he had to see how Addison messed those up.

Greg shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He's looking across the ice. I turn my head to see who he's watching, but there's no one in his line of vision.

“How do you feel about that program?” he asks out of nowhere.

I take a deep breath. “I missed the double axel. I know I messed up the combination jump, but my timing was off,” I say as fast as possible. Greg's quiet, so I add, “I think I rushed the flying camel, too.” I'd jumped too fast from one foot to the other to start the flying camel, so when I stretched my left leg out behind me in the spin, I wobbled a little bit. But only for a second. The rest of the spin was fine.

“The jumps and spins were good. But I'm not talking about that particular run-through. The program as a whole—do you like it?” Greg turns his head to study me.

What does he mean, do I like it? “I suppose so.” I'm not sure if that's the right answer.

“Do you feel connected to it, like you're leaving a piece of yourself on the ice when you skate it?” Greg's eyes burrow into mine, as if he's trying to see into my soul.

I cast my gaze down and pull on the fingers of my black-and-purple-striped glove. “Um . . . I guess? I love skating.” It feels like he's giving me a test I haven't studied for. Hildy never asked stuff like this. Her questions were more like, “Did you count the revolutions in that camel spin?” and “Why didn't you do the bit of choreography before the footwork?” Things I knew the answers to.

“I guess?” Greg repeats.

I shrug and sneak a look at the clock on the hockey scoreboard. It's 5:57. Only three minutes left in this ­session. I can't get away from Greg and his weird questions fast enough. Mom's right about first impressions. I obviously blew this one.

“Kaitlin,” Greg says.

I snap my eyes back to him.

“You'll never skate a memorable, winning program until you put your whole self into it. Not just physically, but emotionally. You need to feel something in order to make the judges and the audience fall in love with you. Your personality has to shine through.”

I blink at him. The program has expressive choreography. What about that part at the beginning where I'm arched sideways? And the footwork, where I point my toes and make balletic movements with my arms?

“Showing personality and emotion is more than just waving your arms around and imitating movements someone else has come up with,” Greg says as if he read my mind. “What was your program components score at Praterville?”

“Nine point six five,” I whisper. My throat is prickling.

“Hmm.” Greg rubs his chin with his hand. “Seems like the judges agreed with me. I haven't seen your protocols, but
I'm guessing they docked you on interpretation, choreography, and performance.”

That's exactly what the score sheet said. I only stared at it for hours last week, trying to figure out what went so wrong. I bite my lip. The prickling intensifies, and my eyes get watery. I can't cry in front of Greg. I can't, I can't, I can't.

“Session's over,” the ice monitor calls from the entrance. A few skaters, the ones not staying for the second morning session, move toward the ice entrance.

“I think I know just what you need.” Greg thumps his mittened hand against the top of the boards. “I'll bring it this afternoon.”

Addison skids to a stop a foot away, spraying ice all over me. I look down at my snow-covered pants and resist the urge to wipe them dry.

“Isn't it time for my lesson?” she asks Greg without even looking at me.

“It is,” Greg says. “See you this afternoon, Kaitlin. And remember, you can't be a star without twinkling.” He leads Addison out toward center ice.

I stare after him. What does that mean? And, more importantly, does he really think I'm as boring as the Praterville judges thought? It's like he didn't even see how difficult
my program is. Didn't notice how Hildy chose every single element to show off my soaring jumps and fast spins. My eyes prick again, and I squeeze them shut. I can't think about that now, or I'll start crying in front of everyone.

I go through the motions of practice for the next hour, but my mind is on whatever it is Greg's bringing this afternoon.

At least it is until Swishy Hair comes to a stop next to me while I'm sipping water at the boards. I didn't realize how tall he was yesterday. Now he's towering over me, although he doesn't look like he's very much older.

“I saw what happened with your program,” he says. “Don't worry about Addison. She's just really competitive, especially with those at her level. We tune her out.”

“Oh. So . . . everyone just puts up with her?”

“And her mom.”

I'm dying to ask why. I mean, the fact that I got kicked out of my old club for saying what I thought to the judges and accidentally knocking over a bunch of medals—but Addison doesn't for being awful all the time—hardly seems fair.

“You're dying to know why, right?”

I shake my head, but he just laughs.

“Yes, you are. It's in your eyes.”

I look away from him, like I'm suddenly really interested
in watching everyone else skate. How can he read my eyes, anyway? They're just eyes.

“Come on, admit it, Double Axel,” he says.

I watch a pair of ice dancers maneuver around the rink. The guy flips the girl into a crazy lift. Her head is just inches from the ice. Just as I'm sure she's going to slip from his grasp and hit her head, he grabs her waist and pulls her into a standing position. Then they separate and move into some strange dance, flailing their arms over their heads and leaning forward. It doesn't look like any ice dance I've ever seen.

I take a deep breath and turn back toward Swishy Hair. “Okay, fine. Why is Addison allowed to skate here if she's so awful?”

“Why are you here?” he asks in return.

“I was kind of kicked out of my old club.”

“Everyone here has a story.” He sweeps his arm around, taking in everyone on the ice. “Look around.”

I do, but all I see are people skating. “What do you mean?”

But he's already gone. I spot him headed toward Jessa Hernandez, who's also taking a water break on the other side of the rink. Jessa, the National champion who completely lost it at Worlds two years ago and could barely land a single jump in her free program. Everyone thought for
sure she'd given up when she didn't even show for ­Nationals the next year.

Nearby, Karilee's hugging one of her students.

Wait. The ice dancers with the crazy moves. Jessa, the meltdown queen. Mean Addison and her over-the-top stage mom. Miyu, who's super nice, not super good, and who left Pound Lake for some mysterious reason. Karilee, the touchy-feely coach. Greg, who seems just a little hung up on his former ice show. The Russian coach who stared me down.

Everyone here is just a little bit . . . weird. Was Ellery right? Am I weird too? Or maybe I'm just stuck here, like the Swishy Hair guy, who couldn't be weird if he tried.

And what's his story?