CHAPTER 94
Ana
“SO THEY WERE totally dating,” Tatiana says to Natalia. “But I heard Troy dumped her. Can’t keep her skating partner, can’t keep a guy. Told you she was still a loser.”
Hearing the girls snicker, I squeeze my coffee cup so tight, feeling the hot liquid splash out the lid and onto the floor, my hands burning from the hot foam.
I frantically reach for the stack of napkins on the counter, grabbing a bunch from the coffee shop’s order pickup spot, when the barista brings over a mop and stops me with a reassuring smile.
Then I hear Natalia whisper to Tatiana, “What a fucking freak.”
That’s. It.
I storm right up to them and rasp, “What the hell did you just call me?”
“Nothing,” Natalia lies. “You should really calm down.”
“No! It sounded like you called me a freak. Now say it again to my fucking face!” I’ve never seen these girls look so stunned. And quiet. “I said, SAY. IT. TO. MY FUCKING. FACE!!”
A touch of fear washes over Tatiana’s face before she quickly snaps, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ana.”
“Yeah, you’re hearing things,” Natalia agrees. “And let’s use our indoor voices.”
They chuckle in unison, while Natalia brings the chocolate chip muffin in her plate up to her lips, biting into it with a casualness that rips my whole stomach in half.
My eyes drop to the cake crumbles on the table in devastation.
The same muffins these same fucking girls shamed me for having too many of in high school.
When I stopped having those muffins.
When I stopped having the saltwater taffy.
When I stopped having the sugar cookies.
When I gave up sweets to better fit into my skating costumes when it was something I turned to, another vice I used to indulge in to stop myself from,
Losing.
My.
Damn.
Mind.
Anger filling every fiber of my being, I grab the muffin and claw my fingers into the cake, smashing it in one firm squeeze.
“There,” I announce. “This would make me a fucking freak! Enjoy the rest of your muffin.”
I lick the chocolate off my thumb, turning over my shoulder, and that’s when my hysteria finally withers away.
Every single person (including the barista) is staring at me, diverting their attention elsewhere as soon as I notice.
Out of nowhere my embarrassment drowns me, sprinting out the coffee shop in a level of shame I thought I’d already endured before.
_________
Someone recorded me.
At the coffee shop.
Someone recorded me at the coffee shop, losing my damn mind.
And now, it’s all over social media, plaguing the For You Page of TikTok, several videos already gone viral.
No, it can’t be.
I watch myself, not recognizing that’s me? That I snapped like that. That I let them, make me snap at them like that.
My chest shuts completely, the air escaping altogether.
It’s Pippa Collins.
And she’s talking about me.
“Ice Princess goes Spinning Out.”
That’s the new headline. That she wrote. About me.
“Ice Princess goes Spinning Out.”
No, it can’t be? Did she not see the full video? Where I clearly explain the awful things Natalia and Tatiana were saying about me.
“Ice Princess goes Spinning Out.”
How. Could. She. Say. That. About. Me.
Like I’m this thing. A tool in a circus she’s been wheeling around for years. A dusty skate that she finally decided to throw into the trash.
“Ice Princess goes Spinning Out.”
I hear it louder. It gets louder. It was in print. But it felt like she yelled it from the loudest speakers at the rink directly into my ears.
“Ice Princess goes Spinning Out.”
With one forceful push, I slam onto my trophy shelf, and slide every single piece of plastic and metal off it. Some break. Some survive. I don’t care which ones make it. I don’t even care when I feel a blazing sting coursing up my arms.
“Ice Princess goes Spinning Out.”
This must be how Alice felt when she went mad. Falling and falling, further in that rabbit hole that she fell into. And no matter how loud she screamed, she continued to fall, not landing anywhere anytime soon.
“Ice Princess goes Spinning Out.”
The gold medal lands on my foot. When I pick it up, the metal is stained with blood.
My hands. Are. Stained. With. Blood.
The medal drops from my hands.
I sprint toward my bathroom, turning on the faucet, staring at the sink that’s now filled with bright red, staring at it until every drop of blood circles the drain.
Mishi curls her paws around my feet, and that’s when I collapse, sinking to the floor.
Finally,
Falling down.
She slides into my lap before I push my weak chest over my even weaker elbows, crawling over the floor to reach for my phone. With shaky fingers and collapsed lungs, I dial the one person I desperately need to talk to while lying face down on the carpet.
“Hi,” I breathe into my phone’s speaker, “this is Ana.”
Breathe in,
Breathe out.
“Is Stephanie Wong free at the moment?”