Chapter 3
Two days before the Nordic Ice Trophy competition
Alisa was dreaming that she was practicing single jumps…
alone… lutz, lutz, lutz, quadruple lutz, like a mantra repeating in her mind, again and again, entering the jump over and over again, because it was one of the most difficult ones in figure skating.
Taking off and landing on the same foot, and even rotating in the opposite direction from most other jumps, and she had been working on it for years, yet she had never performed a lutz in a pair with Lev, it had always remained something of her own, part of her individual training, something she faced alone.
And in the dream, she was alone on the ice.
The stands were dark, completely empty, and only a single spotlight followed her, isolating her in the vast space, while the blades of her skates cut across the ice, collecting fine shards that scratched softly with every movement, every step, every landing echoing loudly through the entire arena, as if the rink itself was listening to her.
Music was playing, bright and vivid, but nothing could drown out the sound of her own heartbeat, not even the loud jazz flowing from invisible speakers.
She had never skated to jazz before, and that was what felt so strange in the dream, but at the same time it felt right, almost comforting, as if she were floating above the ice, rising higher with every jump, carried by something light and unfamiliar, while the rhythm wrapped around her, warming something inside her that usually remained frozen.
The music slowly faded, but she did not stop.
She kept jumping.
Again and again and again, repeating the same motion, the same takeoff, the same rotation, the same landing, over and over without pause, as if she could not break free from it, as if the jump itself had taken control of her body, and she continued, faster, sharper, more desperate, until her breath caught somewhere in her chest—
—and she woke up.
She sat upright in bed, clutching the blanket tightly in her fists, trying to steady her breathing, as if she had just finished another intense training session inside the dream, as if her body had not rested at all.
After a moment, she swore quietly under her breath, already knowing that sleep would not come back.
Alisa got out of bed and went to the bathroom, turning on the water as hot as she could, not even bothering to switch on the light, and stood under the stream in complete darkness, eyes closed, letting the heat and steam fill her lungs, trying to ground herself in something real.
She did not notice how much time passed.
When the alarm finally rang from the bedroom, she stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a warm white hotel towel, and sat down on the bed, staring into the darkness beyond the window, where even the sun had not yet risen.
But she was already awake.
* * *
They arrived at training ahead of everyone, right at 5:30 again.
The coach had said that this session would be the toughest, a morning run meant to push them to the absolute limit, and then a rest day would follow before the competition, so it was crucial to give everything now.
That’s why they were here before anyone else.
The ice stretched out before them, completely untouched, not a single scratch from blades.
Alisa stepped onto it, letting the skates carry her through a warm-up lap, feeling the familiar glide beneath her.
Lev was still speaking with the coach, but Alisa was already lost in her own world, skating simply to feel, to get her blood moving, surrounded by silence except for the sound of blades slicing the ice and her steady breaths.
The icy air filled her lungs, and the black training dress she wore flowed beneath her Russian national team sweatshirt.
She adored that dress, not for its material of course, not for its cost, but because her grandmother had made it for her before she passed away.
Every seam, every pattern, every inch had been crafted by her hands, perfectly tailored to Alisa’s style.
Two years had passed since her grandmother had gone, and the loss still hit her like a shadow, but she skated for her grandmother now, more than even for herself, honoring the woman who had been everything in her life, her anchor, her support, her constant.
How strange it felt, in contrast, to realize that for her grandmother Alisa had been only a part of a much larger life, while for Alisa, her grandmother had been everything. It was a strange, piercing thought.
Then memories swept over her so vividly that she sank into them headfirst. A tear slipped down her ruddy cheek, chilled by the ice and the morning air. For some reason, she was pulled back to the very first time she had stepped onto the rink, back to her earliest skating memories, or rather…
She remembered waking up extremely early, maybe even at 5 a.m., when it was still dark outside. The wind howled through the streets, and cold drafts seeped through the cracks in the windows, despite her grandmother’s careful attempts to seal them with thick cloths for the winter.
Alisa sat on the bed, still half-asleep, tugging uncomfortably at her tights, which she hated for their clingy fit and itchy prickling against her skin.
But there was no escaping them; she had to dress warmly before going to the qualifiers at the SSOR, the School of Olympic Sports Reserve.
It was the only place in the city for figure skating, right in the winter palace of sports, and the drive there would take nearly two hours, especially in winter when traffic crawled through the streets.
Sleepily, she dressed in simple, practical clothes and shuffled to the kitchen, where her grandmother was already cooking breakfast — fried eggs and bread with butter, “a champion’s breakfast,” she always said.
Talia hummed softly while working at the stove, eyes flicking to the clock with her habitual precision, counting every minute of every day.
She had been a disciplined woman all her life, once a gymnast herself, though in a different discipline, and years ago, she had decided that Alisa should leave gymnastics and take up figure skating instead—a choice that had turned out perfectly, for Alisa had loved it from the first glide.
Today was a special day: school selection. Every bit of Alisa’s preparation was meant to culminate here, the start of a path that could lead to the Olympics, a path that felt enormous and terrifying all at once.
Alisa bit her lip nervously. She didn’t feel like eating, but she knew she had to, because this day mattered too much to waste, and she wanted desperately to go to that particular school, where the best coaches in the city trained their athletes.
Rustling from the bedroom caught her attention, her mother was awake and heading toward the bathroom.
Their apartment, a Stalinka acquired by her grandparents for years of factory work, was narrow and crowded, difficult for six people to share in only two rooms, but it had become home.
Alisa looked up at her mother with a smile as she ruffled her hair, then turned back to her grandmother.
“Why haven’t you braided her yet?” she asked.
Talia bared her teeth in mock ferocity as she slammed a plate of fried eggs down in front of Alisa, the sound so loud it could have woken the whole building.
Glancing at Alexandra, that was Alisa’s mother’s name, with a glare, she said, “I’ve been cooking for everyone since morning, how could I braid her too?
I don’t have four hands or something! You should have woken earlier in this case if you wanted that!
Alisa has an important day today if you’ve forgotten. ”
Alexandra shook her head, exhaling like she had a headache.
“Oh, right, the qualifiers… already?” she said, her words trailing as Talia shoved her gently toward the bathroom.
“Go already, hard worker!” Talia hissed, her tone a mix of humor and exasperation, and Alexandra smiled, resigned, and locked herself in, preparing for her work day.
While Alisa ate her breakfast, Talia got to work on her long, thick hair.
Her hands gripped the strands tightly, pulling so hard that Alisa’s eyes narrowed to slits in silent protest. She squealed softly but continued eating, knowing there was no point in arguing.
When Talia finally finished, she had fashioned Alisa’s hair into a crown of braids, secured with pins that pricked her scalp like tiny needles, a discomfort Alisa remembered vividly for the rest of her life.
Even in that moment, she hated that part of the routine, but it was a necessary ritual, a part of the preparation that shaped her into the skater she would become.
Then, when her hair was braided and the eggs eaten, Alisa began on the bread and butter, and her grandmother pushed a small wooden sugar bowl toward her, lifting the lid.
The characteristic smell of stale sugar immediately drifted out, but for some reason, it was oddly comforting, even pleasant.
“Come on, dip it in sugar, it will taste better, and we really need the energy!” Talia said.
Alisa nodded, buttering a piece of the small bread and pressing it lightly into the sugar.
The grains stuck to the butter, and she lifted the makeshift sandwich to her mouth, savoring the mix of sugar, butter, and gray bread.
Alisa smiled at her grandmother, Talia returned to her room, where she lived with her husband, Alisa’s grandfather, apparently gathering her things while sipping tea.