CHAPTER 1
Present
Ana
“HE’LL BE HERE.”
Troy scoffs. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”
6:30 in the morning, and not a single sound echoes over the ice. I would still be in bed right now had I known my pair, Ethan would be this late.
The warm graze of Troy’s obnoxious breathing is the only reminder that I am not, in fact, sleep-skating.
“You’re one to talk,” I snap. “Where’s Violet? She finally realized your ego is big enough to be your skating partner?”
“Or—” Troy shoots an index finger toward me, “—she suffocated from all that perfume you wear.” He begins to leisurely skate in parallel lines. “Where’s Allen?”
Unfortunately, the dryness in my corneas doesn’t let me quite roll my eyes. “You know his name is Ethan.”
“Everything I know about that man has been against my will.”
“So you know how others feel about you.”
This conversation could spiral on until the Winter Games were finished, and we’d both missed the podium.
That’s how much Troy and I hate each other.
Troy Larsson—aka my skating nemesis since I was five-years-old aka the most self-absorbed guy on the whole planet—is just one of the many athletes at the Dupont Academy of Ice whose ego might shrivel if not constantly stroked.
Dupont Academy, as in the most prestigious and exclusive figure skating academy in the entire world.
All thanks to the venomous Marion Dupont, former international figure skating champion—who also happens to be my rival’s skating partner’s very important, very terrifying grandmother—decided to introduce an ice skating academy to Faerieladle’s most expensive rink fifty years ago, they’ve built an impressive roster who almost always medals at the Winter Olympics.
Home of skaters from around the world, most competing for the US, with a fair share representing their respective countries.
Our roster consists of figure skating singles, pairs, and ice dancers, managed by the second wealthiest family in Faerieladle: the Duponts.
For decades, they’ve invested all their resources into ensuring our program holds the title as the #1 prestigious skating academy, making enemies on every corner.
Their secret recipe? Previous generations of legendary skaters turned coaches, an abundance of cash, and a network you don’t dare mess with.
There are no applications to join, so when you receive THE dazzling envelope, you’re one of the lucky ones whose been invited for an adventure of a lifetime.
(Or hell on earth). Depending on your perspective and the latest feud you find yourself in.
It didn’t take long for the town to label us as The Academy. A rink full of cliques disguised as elite athletes on the ice, and if you try to take someone’s spot, there will be blood.
You never know who’s your friend and who’s your foe, and then you have the hockey teams that barely converse with the skaters.
That’s me putting it nicely.
Hockey and figure skating programs don’t always clash, but at the Larsson Ice Rink they do.
An ongoing war, the skaters and hockey players do not get along here; correction: we hate each other.
That’s what happens when you take some of the most talented athletes from around the world and force them to train inside the same freezing cold arena. Ego and trophy overload.
Club hockey and both the high school and university levels—Faerieladle High and University of Faerieladle—have their fair share of arguments, but it’s silly compared to the Hummingbirds.
The infamous Faerieladle Hummingbirds, the top NHL Hockey Team led by none other than the icy man himself, Troy’s father, Gustaf Larsson.
Which brings us to the wealthiest family in Faerieladle and the rest of the East Coast: the Larssons. The family responsible for the most lucrative hockey empire in the whole world—Larsson Rinks LLC—extending their reign all the way to Sweden, where Gustaf’s originally from.
And the Larsson Ice Rink—their top arena run for decades beyond Troy’s father and grandfather—happens to be the rink that The Academy shares training facilities with.
Most rinks close for the summer, but the Larsson Ice Rink is open all year round for select hockey practices and for the entire Academy, and today’s a pretty important day.
Because it’s the first day of training season.
Technically, it was supposed to be tomorrow, but Coach Yamamoto messaged me last night at a quarter to midnight saying that an announcement would make it’s rounds at 6 am sharp.
The odds of meeting a pleasant person at The Academy are slim to none, and this 6’2” idiot’s skating partner is no exception.
Violetta Dupont: the biggest bitch you’ll ever meet in your entire life, common knowledge. Being late to the first day of training season, a rarity.
Something’s up.
While Troy continues to ruin the freshly smoothed ice, a loud clunk reverberates from the corner of the rink.
Violet’s golden locks bounce in her classic high ponytail as she walks toward the entrance, alongside…Ethan?
And holding hands?
Last time I checked, those two were a far cry from lovers.
Troy’s skates scrape across the ice as he jolts to a stop once they approach us. Before I have the chance to sneak a word in, he places his hands on his hips and praises, “So how did the happy couple meet?”
The only time I don’t feel the need to roll my eyes at this man is when he’s insulting her.
But when the scheming rings of grey in Violet’s eyes begin to smirk with pride, I feel an uneasiness set in.
She pays the same glance at my skating partner, then locks eyes with Troy. “Well, I personally don’t refer to my skating pair and myself as a couple, but to each their own.”
Troy’s hands drop. “What?”
“Ethan, what’s going on?” I turn toward my partner, confused.
Ethan slaps an arm around Violet’s shoulder all warm as he replies, “We decided to join as a pair for the Winter Games. Wanted a change of pace.”
Laughter springs out of my chest without warning.
Ethan decided to be a comedian today. Not a very good one, but a comedian, nonetheless. Maybe Troy’s in on the joke too, since the look on his face resembles the unnecessarily serious one he has only when he skates.
“You can quit the bullshit,” Troy says, “I was just joking.”
But their eyes, Violet’s and Ethan’s, stay just as amused.
No.
It can’t be—
The reality hits like a freight train speeding violently toward me.
“I don’t think they’re joking,” I say as calmly as someone who’s suddenly losing their fucking shit on the inside can.
“Does coach know?” Troy directs to Violet.
“Knows what?” Coach Sokolov says from afar, meeting us on the ice.
The waves of shock sprinting through my system blocked out anyone around our circle. And now our coaches have officially joined us.
“That Ethan and I will be winning Gold next winter,” Violet fills her in.
Coach Sokolov’s intimidating Russian accent wakes up the remainder of me that was still asleep. “Enough joking. We do not have time for this nonsense. Troy, Violet, start warming up.”
“Coach, I’ll be warming up with my new partner, Ethan. I wish you the best of luck this season.” Violet pays a shrewd glance at her fallen skating pair. “Troy, it’s been a pleasure.”
I have never seen Coach Sokolov speechless. Apparently, today is full of original nightmares.
“My salary is not big enough for all of this,” Elena Sokolov mutters helplessly as she leaves the ice with her delicate hands pressed to her forehead.
When I shift around, I spot Coach Yamamoto sitting on the bleachers, sipping her usual cup of mint tea from her emerald green mug, her features as serene as always.
Arguably the most legendary figure skater of all-time, Rina Yamamoto’s legacy started and ended with her, when her daughter Hana decided to pursue a career in law, the way her father and Rina’s late husband advised.
With no siblings of her own, I always connected with Coach Yamamoto from a young age. Her granddaughter, Naomi, and I are practically siblings, but even she didn’t inherit her famous grandma’s intensity for skating.
The only person who fought harder for me to join The Academy was Coach Yamamoto.
If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have received my invitation almost a decade ago.
The golden ticket—the iconic frosted navy envelope with an amber wax seal of The Academy’s logo stenciled in—had the crisp sheet of paper tucked inside with the highly coveted words.
The words that I’d dreamed of receiving as a little girl, while watching Rina’s daring performances on the silver screen for years:
Ms. Petrov,
Welcome to The Academy.
And that was the end of the excitement.
Because when I first arrived, no one at the rink wanted me here—especially not the Duponts.
A lanky, 14-year-old, taller than every other female skater at 5’8”, taller than what most expect to compete at the Olympic level, without any influential connections. No fancy gear, scruffy skates, and the naivety that I’d be making new friends.
Since then, I went from Ana the wildcard, to Ana the Gold medalist, to Ana, the target for skaters who still don’t want me here.
Our academy’s board never seemed too thrilled by the addition either.
The first Persian Bulgarian skater winning Gold just a year after joining the top skating academy wasn’t exactly the storybook ending the panel had hoped for, I guess.
Not when the expected winners of our world all hail from dynasties that have rich history in the game, skating royalty that rarely welcomes peasants like me.
But Coach Yamamoto saw me skate at the town’s spacious lake, Lake Faerieladle. Said she saw something in me, something I didn’t see. Something I’ve fought my hardest to see in myself, even today.
Since we first met, Rina was a calm woman. But she doesn’t just appear calm, she looks like she knows something.
That she knew something.