Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
IMANI
I adjust the lapels on my smart and feminine little suit.
As with most of my wardrobe, it’s a pastel pink.
I’m so fucking over the pastel pink, but I know Coach wants me to fit in with the other skaters.
Blah blah blah “You’re so fucking Black” blah blah blah is all I hear when he tells me how to fit in.
It’s like a racist Peanuts cartoon—which, okay, is already kind of racist. Have you noticed Franklin, y’all?
Anyway, I’m ready for the next interview, and I’ve got Blake in my head. Not the sexy Blake, because I don’t want to be distracted—no, I’ve got the educational Blake in there. I’ve got their mantras in my brain, and I feel just a tiny bit more prepared than the last time I did this.
Coach is scowling at me, but it’s not like he’s good at this portion of the event. I just need to tune him out and picture Blake smiling at me, encouraging me to do my best. I smile, thinking of their praise.
“Ah! Yes!” Coach interrupts my inner monologue. “A smile like that is what you need to give to the reporter.” He claps his hands, takes me by the shoulders, and pushes me around to face the grim-faced white woman who is fiddling with her microphone.
I’ve had this journalist before, and I’m not at all enthused to be across from her again, but at least it’s not that jackass I told Coach was on my blacklist. No more of that douchebag.
Unfortunately, looking at the impending set kills any genuine smile from me and causes me to back up.
“Absolutely not, Imani. This is part of the deal. You’re going to go on that set, you’re going to talk to that woman, and you’re going to do a better interview than you’ve ever done,” Coach informs me and then pushes me forward.
The woman looks toward me, standing and reaching out for a handshake. My confidence shatters as she gives me a plastic smile.
I give a shaky smile as I step up to the chair, feeling like my legs could give out underneath me at any time. Feeling like my limbs no longer belong to me, I watch my hand move toward hers, and I overcompensate with aggression as I return the handshake.
Fuck my entire life.
I smooth the offensively pink skirt down as I pose delicately in the chair, turning toward her in that studied way that doesn’t cut off the camera.
The cameraman counts down with his fingers, and I internally bemoan each moment of loss before the red light flickers on, and I try to arrange my face into something resembling friendliness.
“This is Karma Daniels reporting live from the Olympic arena. Today we have Imani Gray with us to celebrate her gold medal from the team event, and to talk strategy for winning the personal gold,” she says into the camera and then turns to me.
I can’t help the outward cringe I make at having that plastic smile turned on me. It’s apparent she was shoehorned into being paired with me, and we’re supposed to sit here and pretend everything is fine?
I watch her smile flicker when she registers the cringe, but she’s determined to continue. “Say hello to the audience, Imani,” she presses through that pasted-on smile.
I laugh awkwardly, trying to brush off my deer-in-the-headlights moment.
“Hi, America, it’s great to be here.” I unfold my hands, bring one of them up to do a stilted wave, but in the middle of it, I panic, thinking that it’s stupid.
Blake would never be so ridiculous. So I tuck my hand back into my lap.
“Sure, sure. It’s okay, Imani. We know you aren’t great on camera unless ice is under your feet, right?” Karma laughs, but it’s not cruelly. It’s clear she’s not sure what to do with me, as much as I don’t know what to do with her.
My shoulders tighten. “I don’t think anyone can dispute that I’m a leader on the ice,” I grit through the smile that’s still staying strong on my face.
“Oh no, no. I wasn’t—I’m not—America is lucky to have you representing us,” she says, as I watch her pale skin redden to epic proportions.
The quick backtracking takes away some of my defensiveness. But all I can seem to manage is loosening my body and staring intensely into Karma’s eyes.
It causes her to widen her eyes in panic and drop her notecards on the ground.
“I’ll get those,” I blurt out, at least knowing how not to fuck up that one singular thing. I don’t hear what she says in response, but I lower myself quickly from my chair and daintily pick up the scattered cards.
When I stand, holding the cards out to her, she eyes me warily.
Finally, the first genuine smile, albeit shy, crosses her lips. “Thank you, Miss Gray.”
Sitting back in my chair, I cough into my hand. “You’re welcome, Miss Daniels.”
“Can you tell me how important winning the gold medal is to you, perhaps?” She finally finds her voice.
I nod. “Yeah. Um. I think. I want to win gold for my mummy,” I manage.
“Not for America?” Her laugh is a tinkle this time.
“I also want to win for America,” I tell her haughtily, feeling my face get warm.
“It’s been over 20 years since we brought a women’s individual figure-skating medal back to the States. There’s a lot riding on you,” she informs me.
“I know my fucking Olympics history, Karma,” I parry.
The easy laughter disappears. “Imani, please, we ask that you not curse. This is a live broadcast.”
“Then I please ask you not to remind me of inane things. Water is wet, too, did you know that? When I perform, do I skate on ice?” I go off sarcastically.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I have to remind the audience of the stakes. I know that you are aware,” Karma says softly, and I see that tears are beginning to form in her eyes.
“They should know, too. I’m the best hope we have at figure-skating gold, but I’m absolutely going to bring it home.
Not for the government, not so the U.S. can brag to its flimsy little allies, but so that the American people can have it.
So that the people I love in this country can have one more thing that gives them hope,” I say heatedly.
Karma looks between the camera and me awkwardly. “That’s really beautiful, but I think that’s all the time we have for today! Karma Daniels signing off after discussing gold medals with Imani Gray!”
The red light goes off just as quickly, and Karma puts her head into her hands, making me rethink everything I just did.
Well, shit. I don’t think that was better than the time before last.
Taking off my microphone and pack, I abandon them on the chair and run past Coach’s fuming face. “You can’t be mad at me because I’m trying!” I yell behind me as I absolutely flee the studio.
And run straight to my room.
When I get to the room, Blake is napping above their covers in just a sports bra and boxers, all of their gloriously tattooed body on display.
I slam the door purposefully, stomp over to my bed, and fling myself down atop it with a sigh. I know I’m overdoing it, but I can’t simply ask for my needs to be met. That would be insane of me.
Blake yawns and sits up, their abs crinkling beautifully in their torso. Actually, yeah. They deserve this whole attitude because they haven’t even been letting me climb that ladder. It’s been all “Imani, take this pose. Imani, listen to this command. You’re such a good girl for me, Cupcake.”
Am I even? Because good girls get fucked. And there’s been only torture!
I sigh loudly and throw a hand over my eyes.
Blake pads over to me, and I feel the bed dip with their weight. “C’mere, Cupcake,” they say sleepily.
I peek out from under my eyes and look over, finding their arms open for me. I utter a hmph, but I crawl into their lap, snuggling into their sleep-warm body as they wrap their arms around me, rubbing circles into the bare skin that’s peeking out.
“That’s better. We’ll just sit here until you tell me what’s wrong, how about that?” They whisper into my ear.
And so we sit. I notice Blake can’t help humming a song as they soothe me, but I’ve gotten so used to the humming at this point that it’s become comforting to me. If they stopped vocally stimming, I might have to comfort them.
“What song is that?” I finally ask, breaking the almost-silence.
“Hm? Oh, was I?” Blake asks with shock. “Let’s see.” They hum a few more bars. “Oh, of course. It’s ‘Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby.’ That is an apt song for us right now. You ready to talk?”
“I had another bad interview,” I mumble into their chest.
“Oh, Cupcake,” Blake sighs. “Well. Let’s talk about it. Did you do your best?”
“Mm. I think I really did,” I tell them.
“Then I’m proud of you!” Blake squeezes me to them. “We will keep working on it.”
“I think it was a solid improvement,” I report. “Everyone was still upset with me, though.”
“It’s important to look at our progress. We’ll watch it later and debrief on it, yeah? But for now, let’s just do some aftercare,” Blake soothingly says.
I roll my eyes even though they can’t see it. “You think everything deserves aftercare, even when I didn’t even do anything to deserve it.”
“Everyone deserves aftercare. And sometimes, life is hard enough that we need a little gentleness for it, okay? So you just let Sir take care of you, all right, Cupcake?” Blake’s voice gets a little sterner.
“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledge. “How did your game go?”
“Oh, shit. It was so good. Would it help for you to hear about it right now?” Blake checks.
“Yes, please, Sir,” I sigh and nuzzle into their neck.
“If my Cupcake wishes,” Blake agrees, and then proceeds to regale me with their latest preliminary game, practically narrating the game play-by-play.
I don’t mind at all. I actually very much like it, their presence and voice soothing me further, taking me to a deep meditative place as I relax in their arms and soak them in.
When I’ve practically fallen asleep, just awake enough to be impressed by Blake’s latest prowess on the ice, they interrupt themselves. “Hey, let’s go out.”
“I have practice,” I whine, clinging to their body further.
“Fuck that. You’re already great. Cancel it. I have an idea I think you’ll like,” Blake presses.
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll nix practice and get into whatever nonsense with you if you fuck me at the end of the day,” I counter, pulling away from their body to pin them with my stare.
They throw their head back, laughing loudly. “I love how you think you can bribe me.”
“Oh, fuck off. Then no,” I push Blake’s body and try to untangle myself from them.
Blake stops me with a hand to my throat, keeping me in place. “How about we do what I have planned and you wait patiently like the good girl I know you are?”
I roll my eyes again, this time where they can see, and fold my arms. “Yes, Sir.”