Breaking the Ice (6 page)

Chapter Ten

“Program,” he repeats. “You need
something that exudes personality. That connects with the audience. And that makes the judges sit up and take notice.”

“Okay,” is all I can say. Inside, my brain is screaming. It's too late to change my program. What was wrong with
Swan Lake
? It's soft and pretty. Everything this music isn't. Ellery could skate a tango. Addison could definitely do a tango. But me? Hildy always called my style light and ­balletic.

Not to mention that I'm pretty sure the judges have already taken notice of me. And not in a good way.

“A tango.” I say the words like they're some foreign language.

“That was your favorite, right?”

I nod. It was . . . just not for my program.

“Then let's start choreographing it. With enough hard work, it should be polished and ready to go for Regionals.”

“Wait,” I say as Greg leaves the coaches' room. “I . . .” Mom's words echo through my head. I can't mess up this opportunity. It's the only one I have. “Um . . . never mind.”

Numb, I follow Greg back to the ice. He hands the CD to the ice monitor.

Maybe it won't be so bad. Once he sees how much tango doesn't suit me, he'll change his mind and go back to
Swan Lake
. Or he'll just give up on me.

Wait. What if he does give up? Then where will I skate? We'll have to move across the country to find a new coach. Or I'll have to quit and kiss my Olympic dream good-bye. I'll have to take up hockey or softball or some sport where they'll accept my loud mouth and lack of tango ability.

“Let's tango!” Greg says as he hops onto the ice.

“Okay.” I try to say it with enthusiasm.

Strains of the dramatic music fill the rink. I trail after Greg as he walks through the program. “We'll keep all of the same jumps and spins as your old program but move them
around to fit this music,” he calls over his shoulder as he demonstrates where everything will go. “Now this will be the footwork sequence. We'll fill it in later with something flirty. Then stroke, stroke, layback spin combination with your arms like this.” Greg puts his hands on his hips.

I follow him without saying anything.

“Then some fun little steps here.” Greg flies through a series of turns and hops diagonally across the ice. “And we need something before you do the first combination jump. What do you think?”

What do I what?

“Is there something you'd like to do before the jumps?” He skids to a stop and waits for an answer.

This is so not at all what I'm used to. Hildy always had my programs choreographed before she showed them to me, usually with the help of a professional choreographer. If something didn't work, she'd change it, but she definitely never asked
me
what I wanted to do.

“Come on, Kaitlin. There's got to be something you'd love to have in this program,” Greg says.

“A spread eagle,” I say right away. I love gliding along on a deep edge with my feet turned out, heel to heel.

He smiles. “Perfect. It fits the music. And it'll make doing
the jumps right after a lot harder, which will give you a better score—if you can do it.”

“I can do it.” Hildy never put a spread eagle in any of my programs, and I'm not about to let Greg change his mind now that he's agreed to it.

“Now, what about after this double lutz–double loop combo? You need to start another spin right on this change in the music, but we have a few seconds to fill right before that.”

And he does that for the rest of the program. I get to add in all the moves I love—a Biellmann spiral, where I grab my foot from behind and pull it up over my head, a split jump, and all kinds of other things I never got to do in a program before.

It's actually kind of fun, until I remember that I'm supposed to do this program perfectly in less than two months at Regionals.

“Last jump is double axel. Then finish with a kicky little stag jump and a show stop.” He does the show stop, turning his right foot out and placing it in front of his left foot so the blade skids to a halt.

I'm out of breath even though I haven't even been doing anything. My hardest jump, at the very end of the program, when I have no energy left and my legs feel like mush?

“It's not an easy program,” Greg says. “It's challenging,
but I know you can do it. Let's show those judges you deserve a second chance.”

I nod. But inside, I'm completely freaking out.

We spend the rest of the lesson nailing down the program in pieces. By the end, I have it memorized, even though I don't know whether I can actually do the whole thing. And do it with what Greg calls “personality.”

When the lesson is finally over, Greg talks to Mom about my program. I cross my fingers and hope she'll insist on
Swan Lake
. And what Mom wants, she always gets. Maybe Greg will let me add a spread eagle to it.

“A tango! How daring. I love it,” she says when Greg tells her. “And you think it'll be ready by Regionals?”

What?
No!
No, no, no, no, no.

Mom and Greg keep talking around me.

“If Kaitlin works at it,” Greg says. “She's an extremely talented skater, but the judges will never see that unless she really engages them. She needs to come out of her shell.”

I bite my lip to keep all the nos from falling out. I'm standing right here, and he's talking about me like I'm invisible.

“I'm thinking we'll have to add some ice dance lessons too. We're going to turn you into a skater the judges can't possibly
look away from.” Greg squeezes my shoulder as he heads back to the ice.

They won't be able to look away from me because I'll be the only girl who can't get through her program. This is what I get for joining the Fall Down Club.

I have to say something. I can't let my dream die without a fight.

I look from Mom to Greg, who's almost to the rink doors. I have a better chance with him than with her. “I just have to ask Greg something,” I say to Mom before I run after Greg.

“Wait!” I stumble over my blade guards into the doors.

“Kaitlin? You okay?” Greg grabs my arm, and I manage not to fall in an ungraceful heap on the floor.

“Sorry, I'm fine. I just . . .” How am I going to say this without completely offending him? “I'm not sure about the new music. I mean, it's really fun and intense and I like it, but I don't know if it's me. I don't know if I can skate it the way you think I can.”

I cross my fingers behind my back and hope he doesn't dump me the way Hildy did. He smiles just a little as we step out of the way to let Svetlana and the crazy ice dance team move through the doors. Smiling can't be bad, right? Maybe he agrees with me.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

“Um . . . yes.” At least, that sounds like a question I should say yes to. I barely even know him, but I don't think he'd want to sabotage my skating career. He wouldn't be much of a coach if he did that.

“Then trust me on this. You need fiery music. And believe me, you can skate it—but only if you let yourself.”

“But that's it. I don't think I can. My style is softer, lighter. Not . . . fiery.”

“Then who was that girl who told the judges exactly how she felt at Praterville?”

“
That
was an accident,” I say.

“Knocking all the medals off the table was an accident. You speaking your mind wasn't. You've got a bold, fiery side that's just dying to come out.”

For the nine hundredth time, I wish I could take back what happened at that competition.

Greg crosses his arms. “Okay. So here's the deal, and I'm not being mean. I'm being honest. If you want to be a champion, go to Nationals, maybe even the Olympics one day, you need to embrace that person you don't think you are. Or, you can do the same old thing, get the same old scores, and be happy with being mediocre. I'll coach you either way, but it's your decision.”

I blink at him. “You mean I won't get to Nationals with
Swan Lake
?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“But Hildy—”

“Is Hildy your coach?”

I swallow and shake my head.

“I know this sounds odd, but I think that by giving you such low components marks in your last competition, the judges were trying to push you. They can see you have the jumps and the spins. They know you have the makings of a champion, but you need to improve on the artistic side.”

He's right—that doesn't make a lot of sense. But I get what he's really trying to say. It's tango or nothing. “Okay. I'll try it.”

“You'll have to do more than try.” Greg zips up his Skating Sensation jacket and moves toward the doors.

I imagine myself on the podium at Regionals. If a tango will get me there, I'll do it. Even if it means pretending to be someone I'm not. “I'll tango better than anyone. I promise.”

Greg nods at me and disappears into the rink.

Now if only I can keep my promise.

Chapter Eleven

Pizza Supreme is packed on
Thursday night. Mom only springs for pizza on special occasions, like me getting a crazy-­hard new program. She claims it has too much sodium and saturated fat, and always makes Dad and me add a salad. Like the lettuce is going to zero out all the bad stuff from the pizza.

We're waiting for a table when I see them. Ellery and a bunch of kids I don't recognize are crammed into a booth along the side wall.

Mom notices them at the same time. “Isn't that Ellery? Why don't you go say hi, Kaitlin?” She gives me a little push in their direction.

“No, they look busy. I don't want to bug her.” Ellery hasn't called or texted me in forever.

“I bet she'll be glad to see you. Go on, now.” Mom gives me another push.

I look to Dad for help. He just grins at me.

I walk as slowly as I can toward the booth while pretending like I'm really interested in the dancing reality show blaring from the huge TVs hanging on the walls. Why does Mom always do this? I don't even know these people, except Ellery. Maybe I should act like I'm looking for the bathroom and then pretend to spot her.

Yep, I'm totally searching for the bathroom and not trying to avoid awkward conversation. Don't pay any attention to the girl who's eyeballing the wood-paneled wall like it's the most interesting thing ever.

Just as I reach the booth, I look toward the left and put on a surprised face as Ellery meets my eyes. I wave. She waves back and then starts chatting again with the guy sitting across from her.

No way am I stopping to talk. Especially since it seems like she wants nothing to do with me. I take a decisive step toward the imaginary bathrooms and almost walk right into a huge tray of pizzas and drinks blocking the middle of the aisle.

“Sorry, miss. Be just a minute.” The waiter grabs a couple of drinks and some straws off the tray to give to the booth behind Ellery's.

Great. Now I'm stuck here next to Ellery with nothing to say. Thanks, Mom.

“So . . . um . . . how's everyone at the rink?” I finally ask.

Ellery looks up from her conversation. “Oh. They're fine. How's the Fall Down Club?” She giggles. The scrawny guy sitting across from her laughs. He probably has no idea what she's talking about.

“Good,” I say. “Great, actually. I'm working on a new program that's totally different from anything I've done before.”

Ellery gives me her full attention. “This close to ­Regionals? What was wrong with your old program?”

“It was kind of boring, don't you think? And I'm really close to landing my triple salchow.” In my dreams. But of course I don't say that to Ellery.

She tilts her head. “But you just started working on it a couple of months ago.”

“My new coach has this great technique he's teaching me. I'm so close to it. Of course, I'm not allowed to do it in my program, but I might test up to Intermediate.” Now I'm just
making stuff up. Aside from my first lesson, Greg hasn't even mentioned working on the triple sal. Or testing up.

“That sounds really hard,” the dark-haired girl sitting next to Ellery says. “Can you do that, Ells?”

Ellery's shoulders tense up. “I'm working on it.” Which is hilarious, because Ellery hasn't even landed her double axel yet.

“And I'm going to start ice dance, too.” It's like my mouth won't stop. The words bubble up in my throat and fall out before I realize what I'm saying. It's just like Praterville.

“I didn't think you were into dance,” Ellery says.

“That was before I had a partner,” I lie.

“That sounds so romantic.” Ellery's friend sighs.

Ellery shrugs. “Whatever. I hope he's cute, at least. I'm just sticking to what I do best. Singles.”

The dark-haired girl giggles and pokes Ellery in the ribs. “I know who you'd like to dance with.” She nods at the guy across the table.

Ellery flushes. “Cut it out.”

I've never seen Ellery get embarrassed. Ever. It's weird, so I look away. The closest TV shows a couple twisting and twirling to some tense music. Kind of like my new program piece. “And I'm going to learn to dance.”

“Yeah, you just said that.” Ellery's face is back to a normal color, and she's frowning at me.

“No, actual dancing. Like that.” I point to the TV, where the couple is gazing into each other's eyes as they sashay around the dance floor.

“Ooh, I'd love to learn ballroom dance!” Ellery's friend says.

Ellery doesn't say anything, so I keep talking. Which seems to be my thing tonight.

“And guess who's in all my sessions? Jessa Hernandez.”

Ellery swirls a bread stick in some marinara sauce. “I thought she retired.”

“She just took some time off. She's going to make a huge comeback. And she's helping me with my triple sal. Oh, we got a table. See you later!” I run off toward my ­parents. If I stood there any longer, I'd probably start telling Ellery I'd already qualified for the Olympic team. I can't believe I made all that stuff up. And then said it out loud!

“Are you all right, Pumpkin?” Dad asks as I slip into the booth. “Your face is bright red.”

“Oh, yeah . . . I'm fine.”

“How is Ellery? Is she ready for Regionals?” Mom asks.

“She's okay. I guess she's ready. I didn't talk to her much. She's with a bunch of friends from school.”

“I'm surprised her mother hasn't started homeschooling her yet. I don't know how she'll find enough time to practice once school starts again.”

I stab a bread stick with my fork and take a bite before Mom can say anything about it. Ellery was almost always at the rink before and after school. She didn't seem to have any problems balancing school and skating.

“Did you tell your father about your new program?” Before I can answer, Mom launches into a detailed description of my new music and how it will benefit my skating. Dad just smiles and nods. Mom's been talking nonstop about the program since Monday.

I swallow the last of the bread stick and fidget with my napkin. From a few booths down, I hear Ellery and her friends laugh. I guess that's what happens when you go to normal school. You have friends to get pizza with. And you share secrets. Then they tease you about the guy you like.

It looks . . . fun. I wish I went to school.

But that won't ever happen. I glance at the TV across from our booth. It's showing another couple in a studio lined with mirrors, where the guy is teaching the girl some dance steps.

Maybe talking to Ellery wasn't a complete waste of time after all.

“Hey, Mom,” I say. “I have an idea that I think will help with my new program.”

At practice the next day, I go through the program over and over and over. Learning the order of everything in a program is pretty easy. Actually doing it all—and doing it well—is the hard part. At the very end of the last afternoon session, I finally land all the jumps and push through the spins. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. In fact, maybe Greg will be so impressed when he sees it, he'll let me work on the triple salchow. Then at least something I told Ellery will be true.

Well, that and the dance lessons. Mom was so excited about the idea of me learning to dance for real in order to help my skating that she talked to Greg about it this morning. He agreed, so Mom called up a dance studio and signed me up for a class that starts tonight.

“Where are you off to?” Braedon asks as I follow Mom to the parking lot.

“I'm doing ballroom dancing. For my new program,” I say.

“Like this?” He drops his skate bag and grabs my hands.
Before I can say anything, he's pulling me around in circles between parked cars.

“Kind of!” I'm laughing so hard, I can barely even breathe.

“Dah dah dah dah!” Braedon sings some made-up tune as he swings my arms back and forth.

“Kaitlin?” Mom's standing by the van, keys in hand. “We have to go. The studio is on the other side of town.”

Braedon drops my hands and bows. Then he waves to Mom, scoops up his skate bag, and runs toward a white car waiting near the rink door.

A little out of breath, I climb into the passenger seat of Mom's car.

And it hits me that I was just holding hands with Braedon. I feel warm all over thinking about it.

“Who was that?” Mom asks as she starts the car.

“Braedon,” I answer.

I can tell she wants to ask more questions, but she doesn't. And I'm glad, because I'm not sure if I'd know the answers.