CHAPTER 26
Ana
“I’M TRYING!” ALICE pants from the center of the rink.
My eyes snap up from the bleachers to find her coach, Coach Margarita, standing on the ice in front of her with her hands raised to her hips.
“I don’t need you to try!” her coach screams at the young skater. “I need you to do!”
Coach Margarita is one of The Academy’s scariest coaches. How do I know? She’s the only coach here who goes by her first name, and everyone, including Violet’s family, is on edge around her. She’s known to be a damn good coach, though.
She was Coach Yamamoto’s biggest rival back in the day and almost took the crown as the most decorated figure skater in Olympic history, if it wasn’t for the 1988 Calgary Games.
The Games where Rina Yamamoto beat Margarita for a second time right before they both retired from the sport.
(Yes, even our coaches have their own fair share of rivalry stories to tell).
One of Russia’s most renowned singles figure skaters, Margarita Volkov, doesn’t coach just anyone.
She coaches superstars. Patty Dune (Team USA gold medalist at Sochi for women’s singles).
Toni Peretti (Team Italy gold medalist at Beijing for men’s singles).
Aya Tanaka and Kori Sato (Team Japan gold medalists at Vancouver for pairs figure skating).
Those are just a few of her skating prodigies.
And Alice Rossi is on her way to be another figure skating superstar. Potentially one of the greatest. At just 13-years-old, Alice has been skating at this rink since she was 4-years-old, and her sister Daisy, who’s just 8-years-old, is following in her older sister’s skates.
At 13, Alice just qualified for the Juniors Level. To put her age in skating perspective, she will qualify to compete at the Seniors Level by the 2030 Winter Games. My level. In a little over 4 years, Alice and I will be competing at the same level.
The notion unsettles me. Maybe since she’s currently just one year younger than the age I was when I first joined The Academy.
Back when the ISU (International Skating Union) allowed 15-year-olds to compete at the Olympics.
That rule changed since, and now you have to be at least 17-years-old to perform at the Games.
I was 15 during my first Games.
Sometimes I wonder if my mental state wouldn’t be in complete shambles if the rules had been there to protect me. If that would have somehow made the bullying, the name-calling, the eating habits, the online hate, the comparisons, weigh less at an older age.
I wonder if Alice receives the same comments that I did when I was around her age.
Ana has no tits.
Those bony legs must poke her skating partner.
Where’s her ass?
If we’re lucky, she’ll grow tall enough to be kicked out of skating!
I glance back at Alice’s face. She looks tired.
She also looks determined. Like she already understands that while her classmates are off enjoying their summers, she’s pushing her body’s limits at a rink that doesn’t care if she breaks.
Someone else will also replace her one day. That, I don’t think Alice knows yet.
Picking up my study materials, I move to one of the benches outside the rink.
Sometimes, I like studying right next to the ice, the cold air helping anchor my focus.
But after today’s practice with Troy, nothing’s proven to be useful.
Before my brain has a chance to replay the dirty fever dream from the studio, Naomi and Eloise drop their bags on the bench I’m now sitting at.
Looks like their shift ended early today.
Naomi plops two plates of fresh nachos from the rink’s eclectic snack bar onto the glossy table. Hypnotized by the steam rising off the melted cheese, I realize how I haven’t had a plate of these since high school.
“Did you just discover a new law of physics?” Naomi jokes, snapping me from the daze.
“Yeah,” Elle adds, “you look pretty stunned.”
“Nope.” I chuckle, then point my pencil toward the window overlooking the rink where Alice is preparing to complete another layback spin. The third one she’s done in the past ten minutes.
Naomi leans forward cautiously, as if the duo on the ice could hear her if she didn’t. “You know, I still duck anytime I walk past her.”
“Who, Margarita?” I ask.
“No, Alice.”
I laugh, surprised. “What?”
“Alice is intense.”
“Yeah, she’s nice, but she’s definitely intense,” Elle backs up. “Her costume arrived at the shop in the wrong color before last year’s Winterfest, and she started screaming at Margarita. It was like the end of the world for her. I’ve never seen a 13-year-old look so mad before.”
Faerieladle Winterfest is the biggest winter festival on the East Coast that our town hosts each January.
It’s two weeks stuffed with enough snowflake-shaped desserts to give you a headache.
Everything from pancakes to ice cream bars to candy floss.
There’s no shortage of activities either.
Outdoor ice skating, carnival games, sleigh rides, and live music take over the town for fourteen days.
The event kicks off with a skiing and snowboarding showdown at Mountain Olive between former and existing champions.
And it ends with two themed figure skating recitals, one from the juvenile skaters that practice at the Larsson Ice Rink along surprise performances by select members of The Academy.
The other, the Winter Recital—the second largest non-competition competition—gets everyone pumped for the winter festival with its crazy costumes and even wilder production, where all the rivalries can take center stage, top skaters from other academies sometimes even joining for this major event.
Think Stars On Ice but bigger. And bloodier. (Metaphorically, of course…)
Alice Rossi gave one of the surprise skates at last year’s festival. Though she appeared calm from the stands where I was sitting. Elle’s story leaves me a bit stunned, since the times I’ve seen Alice practice or in passing, she’s never once snapped.
I nudge Elle’s shoulder from underneath the table when I notice who’s approaching us.
It’s Dimitri Larsson in all his muscular and tall glory.
Deep hazel eyes making an impression before you’ve ever spoken to him, Dimitri’s suited in simple athleisure clothes today.
His dark brown hair’s tamed by his Hummingbirds snapback, holding an effortlessness that all the Larssons carry.
To my surprise, his attention lands on me. “Hey, Ana. Have you seen Troy?”
“Not since practice an hour ago,” I reply. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, his phone’s probably just off. Thanks, though.”
“Sure.”
“Hey, Dimitri!” Elle greets exuberantly.
Naomi and I exchange a skeptical glance from across the table as Dimitri faces our friend, confusion with some amusement shifting his expression.
“Hi,” he says, testing the water. “You’re, Eloise, right?”
Her eyes pop out. “You know my name.”
I don’t think she meant to echo that out loud…
“I mean, yes,” she rewinds, flustered. “I’m Eloise. But you can call me, Elle.”
Naomi wraps a palm across her rising cheeks to stop the laughter from bursting from her. I bite down on my own smile.
“Elle, okay.” He grins, flashing us with the classic Dimitri smile that every girl swoons over. “Nice to meet you. Officially,” he gestures charmingly, then flicks his head toward her. “Oh, and cool shirt.”
He turns over his shoulder in one smooth motion and finally leaves. Yeah, he made turning around look cool.
“Oh my God,” Elle beams. “Did you see that?!”
“I don’t think we could have missed it even if we were standing a few blocks away,” Naomi says.
“You were very subtle, Elle,” I jest.
“I didn’t know you were such a flirt,” Naomi coos. “I know who I’m asking if I ever need lessons.”
“You know what, fuck you,” Elle mocks as she laughs.
“‘But you can call me, Elle,’” Naomi parrots in the same peppy tone Eloise used, while bouncing in her seat.
“Hey, at least my crush just talked to me.”
“Your crush also has a girlfriend.”
“Whatever. At least he’s age appropriate.”
Naomi’s jaw drops. “Hey, I’m 18 next year.”
That was a pretty low dig from Elle’s end, knowing how sensitive Naomi gets when it comes to her crush on the rink’s hockey trainer, Caden Bassett.
Caden’s 24-years-old, and, well he’s not age appropriate for Naomi.
But she’s been swooning over the tall brunette hipster for a while now.
I’m not sure if Naomi means to flirt with Caden when they run into each other at the rink, but it rubs me the wrong way that he also flirts back.
Everyone here knows each other’s ages. He should know better.
Naomi and Elle start munching on their nachos, but my attention is drawn back to our conversation. I think that was the first time Dimitri Larsson has ever approached me. Weird. But it also, I don’t know? Made me feel kind of important, for a moment. It’s stupid, I think to myself.
While I’m daydreaming, Elle asks, “So, how was practice with Troy?”
Heat pierces my skin.
The memory from earlier toggles back into my head.
Troy pressing my body tight against his.
How it was the first time I felt all the defined muscles armoring his body that every girl claims are lifechanging.
Ignoring exaggerations like that before, I can now attest that there has to be at least some truth to them.
That must explain the tiny lava lamp that’s been sailing in my belly the past hour, tossing a mix of emotions and naughty thoughts back and forth.
“It was more productive than usual,” I reply. “Something about our instructor feels off, though” I divert the topic to shift the focus away from Troy.
“Colette?” Naomi asks. “I thought you said she seems nice.”
“No, she’s really nice. She just seems super invested in this routine. We’re not ice dancers, and yet she’s training us like we have the biggest ice dance final coming up.”
“Isn’t that good, though? Your coaches will be impressed, and you can start your real routines faster,” Elle points out.
“I guess that’s true. Don’t you think it’s weird, though, for an instructor to point out that the sexual chemistry between you and your skating partner is off? And giving you a bunch of off-base tips to fix it? Like this quickly after knowing us.”
Naomi laughs. “Troy must’ve had something shrewd to say about that…”
“And she keeps telling us random details about her personal life,” I go on, restlessly.
“Like the other day, she told us how she’s leaving the country to go to France right after our lessons are finished.
And she will be away until next summer, but she will still fly to Milan to go to the Games. Why is she telling us all this?”
“That is a little random,” Naomi agrees. “Maybe she’s just comfortable around you guys, I dunno.”
“Maybe.” I nod. “Maybe I’m reading into it too much.”
“Here, have a nacho.” Elle nudges her plate toward me.
“Thanks. I just ate though.”
Naomi flicks her eyes at me, seeing through my lie.
If I have one nacho, I’ll want more, and then I’ll finish the entire plate.
I just got my weight back to a comfortable place, and I can’t afford to have another setback with how high the stakes are, going into these next Games.
Hoping Naomi doesn’t bring this up later, it’s not that I don’t trust her, I just know she won’t understand.
I never used to think twice about trusting people.
You trust until you get betrayed. Don’t hold a grudge on someone who hasn’t wronged you yet just because you’re holding one from someone that came before them.
It’s been almost a decade where that all changed.
And now, there are almost no people I trust. Even the ones I do, I expect them to be holding a knife behind their back.
Waiting to aim it at me with a twisted smile.
Maybe that’s why I mistook Colette’s small talk for suspicion. Or maybe I’m still stuck on why my skating-nemesis-turned-skating-partner is taking up space in my brain right now and needed to pick on another topic to avoid him.
Maybe I need to open my physics textbook back up and focus on the end goal: winning.