Chapter 17
“Is there a reason we had to drive forty-five minutes to this rink when there are three perfectly good ones closer to campus?” Noelle asks, lacing up her professional skates. They don’t look like her usual ones, but she said that was the point.
“Oh, and let’s not forget the one that’s actually on your campus. You know, the one you live five minutes away from and I’ll be skating on tomorrow.”
Grumbling, I tug at my rental skates, wondering why the laces seem designed to cut off circulation rather than provide actual support. My feet already hurt and I haven’t even stood up yet. “I already told you, I don't want anyone from school seeing me.”
“Right.” Noelle rolls her eyes. “Because the actress brushing up on her skating skills is too embarrassing for anyone to see.”
I ignore her mocking and try to tighten my laces again. It does nothing.
“I’m still confused about that, though.” She leans against the rink boards and glances at the empty rink. I knew 8 a.m. on a Friday morning would be the best time to come. “None of your snobby friends are going to be at the rink.”
“They aren’t snobby.”
She whips her head back in my direction, her dark ponytail flying across her shoulder in the process. She raises a brow, but I can barely see it with her perfect bangs. “You’re joking, right? Your friends in high school used to carry around giant water bottles labeled ‘VOCAL HYDRATION.’
“Yeah, well, that was high school. We all make mistakes. Need I remind you that your high school boyfriend wore eye black for every gym class claiming ‘you never know when the competition starts.’”
“Oh, we’re going there, are we?” She laughs. “At least Jace could bench press me, and he did, on multiple occasions.”
I cringe, not wanting to think about Noelle and her extracurricular activities.
“You were too busy thinking Octavian Kingsley walked on water to realize how hated he was at school.”
“He wasn’t hated. He was the lead in every production we did.”
“Laura,” she says despondently. “The guy would do his vocal warm-ups in the hallway. It’s fine when you do it because you have the voice of an angel. He’s tone-deaf and made us listen to him. Every. Single. Day.”
“He was quirky, I admit.”
“Good. Now will you tell me why you are avoiding the hockey rink when it’s only meatheads like me there?”
“You’re not a meathead.”
Scotty isn’t, either. I saw that when we did our Romeo and Juliet assignment. I’m still not sure how I got credit for that entire class since I dropped it so early, but I’m not complaining.
The idea of seeing him, though… it’s too much.
“I just don’t want to be judged until I’m at an acceptable level, okay?”
Noelle purses her lips and pushes them from side to side.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She raises her hands, leaning back on the boards. “I didn't say anything.”
I point at her face. The one that looks like a mirror image of mine. “I know that look. You've got something to say, so say it.”
She sighs. “Fine. You're following the same pattern you always do.”
“Which is?”
She closes her eyes. “I can't believe you're going to make me say this.” Then she blows out a breath, staring at the ground. “You are so afraid of failure, Laura, that you never let people truly see you shine.”
I crinkle my nose. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You worry so much about everyone’s opinions that you either give up on things or keep them secret.”
“Can you blame me?” I say quietly. “I have a gold-medal-winning twin sister. It's pretty hard to be taken seriously.”
She gives me a small, placating smile. She's known how I feel for the longest time, and in a way, that makes it hurt more. Growing up, she'd always pull back and dim herself, just to make me look like I was catching up. I never was. It didn’t matter how many auditions I went to; I’d never be able to compete with the Olympics.
“You could've won a gold medal right alongside me. You just gave up before you could realize that dream.”
“Because it wasn't mine,” I admit, a little more defensive now. This isn’t the first time she’s mentioned it to me.
Her shoulders slump, and she joins me on the bench.
After a moment of silence, she knocks me with her elbow.
“I know it wasn’t your dream, but that’s not the point. I worked my ass off to get where I am. I wasn’t just born good at skating; I fought for every inch of it. But you? Your voice is something else entirely. It’s incredible, and yet hardly anyone gets to hear it. That’s what kills me.”
“That's not by choice.”
“You sure? You've had plenty of opportunities, Laure.”
“Yeah, ones I’ve failed at.”
“Because you’re picking the wrong things to audition for.”
“I audition for everything.”
“Do you?”
I nod, annoyed now.
“Do you remember when that singing competition came to our hometown and everyone in high school was expecting you to audition for it? We were all so excited for you, and I remember practicing my speech about how incredible you are for the camera because it was obvious you were going to get picked and they were going to need to film family and friends. Only, no cameras ever came, because you didn’t even try. ”
“Yeah, but that was because I don't see myself as just a singer. I'm an actress too, and I didn't want to be pigeonholed into pop when I don’t know if that’s where I want my career to go.”
She frowns. “Do you think that hasn’t just proven my point?”
“What?”
She laughs. “You're so pretentious sometimes. Every opportunity has a flaw. Nothing is perfect, but it’s a stepping stone in the right direction. So what I’m saying is, maybe it’s time to start paying attention to what opportunities offer instead of what they’re missing.”
She's right. I know it. She knows it, but I'll never acknowledge it out loud. Seeing Noelle being so successful so young has given me stage fright of my own life.
“I'm trying,” I whisper. “That's why I asked for your help.”
She leans over and places her hand on my knee.
“I know, and that's why I'm here. You're amazing, sis, and everyone deserves to hear your voice.
Let's make sure they get the opportunity to.” Noelle moves to kneel in front of me, batting my hands away.
“Here, let me do it before you cut off all circulation to your feet.”
I let her take over, grateful despite feeling like a kid being scolded by a teacher. Noelle’s always been like this—equal parts annoyed and annoyingly competent. The perfect older sister…even if she’s only older by four minutes and never lets me forget it.
“So… any chance you think your skating talent will transfer through osmosis?” I joke, trying to break the tension.
“Judging by how terribly you tied your skates, I'm going with no.”
“Thanks for doing this,” I say quietly. “I know you're missing practice with your team, and it means a lot.”
She stands on her skates, placing her hands on her hips. “Are you kidding? I would have canceled a meeting with Tate Sorenson, the hottest baseball player of all time, for the chance to see my theater snob sister on ice skates.”
“I'm not a theater snob,” I protest.
Noelle just gives me a knowing look as she finishes lacing my skates. “Says the girl who spent all of Thanksgiving blocking out a full stage version of The Princess Bride like you were directing it.’”
“Okay, fine, but that doesn't make me a snob. It makes me right.”
She laughs, and holds out her hand. “Come on, Stanislavski. Let's see what we're working with.”
I take her hand, feeling wobbly the instant I stand up. How do people balance on these tiny metal blades? It's like trying to stand on pencils.
“Take it slow,” Noelle advises, guiding me toward the rink entrance. “Small steps. Heel to toe.”
I follow her instructions, shuffling awkwardly across the rubber mats. Thankfully, there are only a couple of serious-looking older skaters doing drills at the far end of the rink, and a bored teenager working the rental counter.
There’s no one here from Covey U. No one who might recognize me…and laugh at me.
“Okay,” Noelle says, stepping onto the ice with confidence. “I'm going to hold your hand, and we'll just do a slow lap around the rink to start. Remember to keep your ankles straight and your weight centered.”
I nod, taking a deep breath.
I can do this. It's just ice skating. People learn to do it all the time.
Children learn it. How hard can it be?
The answer, as it turns out, is very hard.
The second my blade touches the ice, my foot shoots out in front of me like it has a mind of its own. Only Noelle's iron grip on my hand keeps me from face-planting.
“Whoa!” She steadies me, looking genuinely surprised. “Careful there.”
“I am being careful,” I hiss, clinging to her arm like a life preserver. “The ice is slippery.”
She covers a laugh with a cough. “That's… kind of the whole point of ice skating, Laura.”
I glare at her, but she's right.
God, I hate when she's right.
“Let's try again,” she says patiently. “Keep your feet under your body, shoulders relaxed, knees slightly bent.”
I try to follow her instructions, but my legs move quicker than I can keep up, and my arms splay out in different directions.
Fifteen minutes and half a rink later, Noelle's patience is starting to wear thin.
“It’s okay. You’re a little less progressed than I thought you’d be, but I think we’ve got this. You’ll be good.” Her voice pitches so high at the end, I know she doesn’t believe it.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Asking you to help me. I’m hopeless,” I groan, nearly falling, but Noelle catches me. It’s the fifth fall in as many minutes. There’s no way I’m going to be ready for the audition.
“You're not hopeless,” Noelle says, hauling me up, and leaning me against the boards so she doesn't have to hold me for a few seconds. “You're just… surprisingly bad at this. I mean, how are you this bad? You had lessons for four years!”
“Yes, well, not all of us are natural athletes, Noelle,” I mutter, brushing ice shavings from my leggings. “Some of us have other talents.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. You and I have the same genes, and I'm honestly flabbergasted. You look like you're being electrocuted in slow motion.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I'm just saying, we might need to adjust our expectations. The audition is in less than a month. I thought we'd be working on spins and simple jumps by the end of this, but at this rate…”
Our earlier conversation comes to mind, and this time, I refuse to give up.
“I'll get it,” I insist, setting my jaw. “It'll take a minute, but I will get it. It all just needs to come back to me.”
Noelle looks at me skeptically but shrugs. “All right, let's try again. This time, focus on pushing out with each foot, not just walking on the ice.”
I nod, determined to prove myself. Not just to Noelle, but to myself.
I need this audition. I need to show I can do more than just sing at student bars and entertain children at birthday parties. I need a real break.
Taking a deep breath, I push off with my right foot like Noelle showed me. For a brief, magical moment, I glide forward smoothly.
“That's it!” Noelle encourages. “Now the left foot!”
I shift my weight, push with my left foot, and promptly lose all balance. My legs go in opposite directions, and I land hard on my butt, skidding across the ice in a most undignified way.
“Owww,” I groan, more from embarrassment than pain. “This is hopeless.”
“Stop saying that,” Noelle says firmly, skating over to help me up again. “No one's good their first day back. Well, except me, but I'm a freak of nature, according to Mom.”
Noelle smiles, dusting ice off my back, just as some little kids glide around me as though they’ve been brought here to taunt me.
She squeezes my hand. “Look, we've been at this for almost an hour. Why don't we take a break, get some hot chocolate, let these kids have their lesson, and come back fresh at the end?”
“Giving up already?” I tease, even though my legs are screaming in relief at the suggestion.
“Strategic retreat,” she corrects. “Besides, your butt must be bruised beyond recognition by now.”
“I'll have you know that theater majors are used to physical discomfort,” I say with mock dignity. “We regularly lie on hard stages pretending to be dead for hours.”
“Well, no one will have to ask you to pretend to fall at your audition. You've got that part down perfectly.”
“I hate you.” I stick my tongue out at her.
She laughs, taking my arm to guide me back to the rink exit. “Love you too, sis.”