Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
The carousel with our bags is taking its sweet time. Maude has gone off to find us some coffee. I scroll through my texts between me and Christos. They’re pretty professional, at least they always start that way, but then spiral into something more. It feels like something more.
“Déso, peitie tamia.” Maude laments as she returns with two cups of hot coffee.
“No thanks, I can smell how burnt that coffee is from here.”
She frowns. “You know once we’re checked in at the hotel you have to practice your routine.” She shoves the coffee into my hand.
I relent, a single sip confirming this coffee is worse than the stuff they brew in the dining hall. My face curls with disgust, but I swallow it anyway. “You couldn’t have put some milk or sugar in this? Artificial sweetener isn’t going to fuck up my diet.”
“The bitterness builds character.” She tells me before taking a big gulp of coffee, probably to shut up my whining.
I grumble, “Garth would let me have sweetener.”
“Because he is a sweet, simple man.” She hides a smile behind her cup, still smitten with him after all these years.
The bag carousel whirls to life. Everyone steps closer to the conveyor belt. “How did you and Garth start dating?”
Maude lifts a brow but entertains my question. “I asked him out on a date. Does your generation not do that anymore?” She waves a hand. “Let the phones do it for you with the swiping?”
“Actually, we’re all committed to celibacy. It’s the hip new thing.”
“I would not have answered your question if I knew you were going to nip, nip, nip at me for answering. Ah.” Her bag appears, and she goes to grab it.
When she returns, I give her an honest answer. “Dating is hard.”
She nods. “You don’t need the distraction right now.”
Finally, my own bag crosses the conveyor belt. We make our way over to the taxi depot, which is far, far away from Baggage Claim. It gives us time to argue. “What if having a boyfriend inspired me? It could unlock some new passion to add to my routine.”
“You have plenty of passion, Roderick.” She’s talking to me like we’re already on the ice. “The judges don’t want to watch an open flame engulf the venue. They want a controlled burn. Restraint. That is where you have always struggled, peitie tamia.”
I gamble. “The right guy could contain me.”
“What’s his name?”
I choke on air. “He doesn’t exist! Not yet.”
“Oh, so he’s a fantasy man? Like Prince Charming.” She throws her head back and laughs. “That’s the best sort of man anyway.”
“I’m telling Garth you said that.”
“And I’m warning you, he will agree with me.”
We get a taxi and I drop the conversation, opting for a nap instead.
Not that I get much rest with all the honking and stop and go traffic.
The skating club is in a Boston suburb, and it takes a ridiculous amount of time to travel.
It makes me miss the country roads of Pennsylvania.
Travel makes me weirdly nostalgic for a home I haven’t left yet.
In the hotel lobby there are dozens of kids wearing skating club jackets, all junior divisions age. I’m in the senior division and, boy, do I feel it when I hear squeaky voices making conversation. It’s a lot of questions about video games and hometowns.
Meanwhile, I avoid conversation with another senior division skater checking in next to me.
Donald, a mothfolk from Jackson Florida.
When we were teenagers he loved playing RPGS, even let me watch him play his handheld game after we finished our programs. I’m surprised he’s here, considering his scores last season.
“Can the shuttle take us to the club?” Maude asks the hotel worker.
“Yes, ma’am.”
All my practice gear is in its own bag so we don’t bother going to the room to unpack. Today is a cakewalk. Tomorrow is what matters.
One competition down. One gold added to my ranks. And one lovely Maude checking in on me from the moment I’m back on campus.
“Your professors understand you’ll be gone again next week, yes?”
“I let them know. They’re letting me submit my assignments online.” I push the door with my back, keeping my phone up to my ear with my shoulder. As soon as I enter the building, shouts and calls echo from the rink into the lobby.
“Also, you have a fitting in October.”
I perk up. “Can I see the sketches? Are there sketches?”
“We are just getting your measurements. You should come with ideas.”
Figure skating costumes are a mess of spandex, chiffon, rhinestones, and low-cut shirts. They’re so camp, and I love them so very much. In the past, Maude has taken the lead on concepts with some feedback from me. It sounds like this year, I’ll get the final say.
“You do love me.”
“I trust your taste. Consider it a reward for your last program performance.”
Hard to be disappointed with a reward valued at $2000—more if I really want to go hard on the diamonds and velour. “Thanks, Maude. I just got to the rink. Talk to you later.”
I approach the glass and watch the team play a heated scrimmage match. It really is like feeding time at the aquarium, with the puck being a nice chunk of chum to fight over. The sideline team roots for their respective teams with less-than-respectful banter.
“YOU HIT LIKE MY DEAD GRANDMA, TERRENCE!”
Harsh, maybe that means we’ll actually win some games this season.
Christos sneaks up beside me, as subtle as his six-foot frame will allow. He leans down, a good distance from my ear but close enough I can feel his breath. “Nice job this past weekend.”
There’s no way. I’ve never walked into a sports bar or family restaurant that just so happens to have a figure skating championship on in the background. You either have to have a niche cable package or tune into the official livestream, which is laggy as hell.
I glance in his direction. “You watched it?”
He shrugs, arms crossed. “I got curious.”
“Did you watch the whole thing?”
He licks his lips, keeping his eyes on the game. “I watched the men’s senior programs for a bit. Not so much after you were done.”
“So, you didn’t see me take the podium?” I say, haughty.
He laughs, offers me his full attention. “I saw a photo. Do I get points for that?”
“Deduction for stamina but points for effort.”
“I don’t understand how the scoring works,” he admits. “I know what I saw was impressive. You’re impressive.”
It’s brief, but for a moment I forget where we are. The jeers and taunts fade away. Chill doesn’t nip at my nose—if anything, everything feels warm. He’s doing it again. Looking at me with soft eyes that welcome me, but to where? Right into his arms? God, they’re such nice arms.
Two guys slam into the glass in front of us. I jump back. Christos raises his voice over the crowd. “Remember we’re all on the same team!”
I recognize Terrence’s voice from across the ice. “You wanna go, freshmeat?”
Christos shouts again. “Hey!” His voice drops to a breathy, “Sorry,” before he rushes onto the ice to settle the tension.
I scan the room for Leroy, who sits on the sidelines with a pained expression. Maybe instead of being in the top four, the Dingbats can win more than four games in a season. It would still be progress.
After breaking up the fight, Christos sends everyone to the locker room for a debrief and likely a lecture. It’s weird hearing him talk like a coach. Stern, unwavering, to use Terrence’s words, a real ball-buster. This is the guy who sends me jokey texts and wants me to have my own key to the rink?
The zamboni glides across the ice while I put on my skates.
It’s not absurd that Christos treats me differently.
I’m not on the team. I’m an Olympic hopeful in a sport he knows nothing about.
I’m on his mind enough that he figured out how to tune in to my qualifying program.
I’m impressive. I’m also about to become a big hypocrite if I keep up this line of thinking.
How good are you at writing essays?
I’m an English major, so pretty damn good.
I don’t think I knew that. They’re fine with giving you a key if you can write a 500 word statement.
Easy.
How good are you at editing?
You don’t want me editing your statement.
Yes, I do, you know what they’re looking for. At least read it once before I submit it.
Alright. I won’t be much help.
Like you’ve never given a rousing speech to the team.
You make a good point.
A very tenable argument.
Did you pull up a thesaurus to send that text?
Depends. Am I using it right?
Yes, that is the correct use of tenable. Gold star.