Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Of all the ISU banquets I’ve been to, this one is by far the most overwhelming. Everyone wants to congratulate me, offering me no space to go talk to the other skaters. I’m going to the Olympics with several of them, but instead of asking them about their plans, I’m stuck with two ISU judges.
“It is so delightful to watch a skater mature,” an old Dragonfolk woman titters, looking to the other judge. “I remember when you won silver at your first Juniors and thought, well I can’t wait to see what he does next.”
I do my best not to squirm, thinking about how many years she’s been scrutinizing me.
“I’m glad I’ve met your expectations,” I say before sipping at my sparkling grape juice.
It’s disgustingly sweet, like the jungle juices they serve at frat parties.
Everyone returned to campus while I competed at Nationals.
Which worked out, since I avoid social media more than usual before competition.
Normally I don’t get FOMO seeing people partying, but this winter break has been especially isolating.
Besides Christmas day with my family, everything has been rink time with interviews and promos squeezed in between skates.
Christos hasn’t messaged me once.
Neither has Terrence, and he always sends me those hypersexual holiday copypastas with so many emojis I think my phone is going to explode. No message telling me to jingle my balls or pop my champussy at midnight. I haven’t had the heart to text Leroy and Marcus to see if they got theirs.
The other ISU judge pulls me from my wallowing.
“You do push against those expectations.” His eyes narrow. “Will you be keeping that costume for the Olympics?”
I almost drop my drink. The debut for my new program was fantastic.
Sure, I stumbled on my final quad, but the crowd loved it.
Clearly the judges didn’t hate it despite my screw up right at the end.
Far from my personal best, but I'm okay with that.
Or I was… How many points would I have gotten if I wore something more traditional? Less queer. Less me.
“I will be.” My voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t leave any room for doubt. “I want to give them something to remember.”
“It would be a lovely exhibition skate.” His tone makes it clear this isn’t an offer.
Thankfully Maude slips in, exchanging hugs and cheek kisses with both judges who promptly gush all over her. She’s earned this; I wouldn’t be here without her guidance or support. The judge never asks her about my costume. Eventually he wanders off to go be a ghoul to some other Olympian.
Maude stands beside me and rubs my back. “Hey, remember what we talked about?”
“Remind me again.”
“This is your moment.” She looks out over the party of skaters, judges, and press. “They’re just catching your sunbeams. What are your plans?”
“Um, I thought you had that worked out.” I stare at the bottom of my champagne glass, watching the never-ending bubbles float. “All the interviews and sponsors and stuff…”
“I mean for celebrating! We both know this isn’t how you unwind. What book are you reading right now?”
I roll my neck with a groan, although that’s the one part of my body that isn’t feeling sore. “I started a classic. Hated it. Picked up a romance. The dialogue was cringe. Tried a fantasy. It was trite.”
“Peitie tamia,” she says with the cadence of a curse word.
“Hang on—” I notice Alex tucked away in a corner. Her red hair is done up with pearls and wearing a satin dress, the same olive-green tone as her skin. All of it is outdone by her bitter expression. “I gotta—”
“Go,” Maude is now looking at Alex with the face of a concerned mother. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
I’m not sure what we’ll be discussing. It’s not like I need a pep talk My scores prove that.
As I approach Alex, she pushes off the wall, exiting the banquet and entering the hallways of the hotel.
I haven’t gotten a chance to complement her on her program.
The emotion in her short and free programs was so raw.
Sometimes it hurt to watch, but looking away was way harder.
She also popped half her jumps in her free skate, missing the required program elements.
It’s never made sense to me why under rotations are penalized so harshly. Doubles were standard jumps not that long ago. Now you under rotate on a triple, and you get nothing to show for it.
Maybe I should tell her that, but instead I ask, “Got any plans?”
Alex stops short and I end up walking a few steps ahead of her. I turn back to find her hands bawled into fists and her shoulders tight. When we were kids, she’d get so tense her shoulders would go up past her ears.
“Really?” She growls before crossing her arms.
I shrug, “I meant like, visiting your boyfriend or I don’t know—” She stomps away from me and I chase after her. “Oh, come on! I can’t have you pissed off at me too!”
I chase her to the elevators, where she’s pressing the up button rapidly. She stops once I run up beside her. I push the button for her, but it still takes a moment for the elevator door to open.
“You should head back. I’m sure everyone is missing the champion.”
“Fuck that,” I roll my eyes. I wait till we’re in the elevator to tell her, “They already told me to change my program.”
She looks up at the mirrored ceiling. “Bitches.”
“The costume specifically.”
She shakes her head, a toothy smile spreading across her face. “Fucking bitches.”
The elevator dings, and I follow her back to her room.
Its walls covered in tiles with a large bathtub in the center.
The bath is already full of water and small lily pads.
Alex is looking up at the ceiling, and I follow her gaze, expecting to see mirrors or some other Fishfolk accommodation, but there’s nothing spectacular about the tile ceiling.
There’s a whimper. Alex pouts, her eyes all scrunched up, and I realize she’s trying to keep herself from crying.
“Hey, it’s okay…” I wrap her in my arms and she breaks, covering her face with her hands before pressing her face to my chest. She’s saying something but it’s too muffled for me to understand. I take a note from Maude’s book and rub her back.
“You’re still the hottest bitch on ice.”
She lifts her head, makeup smeared but that somehow makes her more captivating. “Please,” she blubbers. “You take that title…”
“I’ll wear it with pride.” I hold her makeup smudged hands. “But seriously, Alex, Worlds will be in two months. You can make the whole Olympic Committee regret not picking you then.” I give her another hug. “And I’m going to miss you so fucking much.”
She pushes on my shoulders and I release her, even if it hurts my heart. She wipes her cheeks with her palms. “I’m not going to Worlds.”
“But you have the scores—”
“Roderick, fuck! Would you let me talk?”
She glares at me, her tear and makeup stained face making her look all the more severe. Not sure if I’m allowed to respond, I nod.
She reaches back behind her, struggling with the zipper.
I get behind her and unzip the dress, letting it fall to the floor.
Still wearing underwear, she gets into the bath where she sleeps.
It’s not the first time we’ve hung out like this.
Getting into the bath is the Fishfolk equivalent of putting on sweats, and getting cozy under a blanket.
I grab the chair and bring it to the side of the tub.
Alex soaks with her lips and nose under the water. I wait patiently. She shoots me a glare every time I open my mouth, even when it’s to yawn. Finally, she sits up, gazing into the algae water like it’s a crystal ball.
“I hurt my back when I was training in Russia.”
“I never would have guessed,” I say but looking back, her technical scores have been the weakest they’ve ever been. All that angst and drama in her routines might have been her working through the pain.
“When I left, I still felt like it had been worth it because I met Zina.” She pulls her legs to her chest. “He was always so attentive and sweet… Turns out he does that.”
My heart sinks like a stone dropped in the tub. Injuries can heal with rest and time. Broken hearts are a bit trickier. “Did he cheat on you?”
She shrugs. “Probably. But it doesn’t matter. He broke up with me before the Grand Prix. Maybe because I was only an alternate. He always paid more attention to me when my scores were good.”
“What a fucking weirdo.” I’d hoped she’d laugh at that but she swishes the water around, sending bits of algae into a vortex. “Christos and I don’t talk about that stuff.”
Finally she turns to me. “Scores?”
“Skating in general. I don’t talk about figure skating, he doesn’t talk about the Dingbats.”
She sits up, perturbed. “Now that’s fucking weird.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Roderick,” she leans over the tub, some water spilling onto the tile and splashing my shoes. “You spend hours everyday skating. What else is there to even talk about?”
“Lots of stuff. Books—”
“Your life doesn’t revolve around books!” I’m about to tell her otherwise, but she cuts me off. “Is it a jealousy thing? Like you think he’ll get upset if he realizes your one true love is figure skating above all else?”
“I wanted him to get to know me outside of figure skating.”
She slinks back into the bath, somehow floating in the shallow water. “Who are any of us outside of figure skating?”
From the way her eyes glaze over I can tell she’s seriously thinking about it.
Even before the injury, Alex has given a lot to skating.
I haven’t given up nearly as much. She had tutors while I had public school.
Most of her time was spent skating, so most of her friends also skated.
My parents always encouraged me to skate but Alex’s parents lived and breathed the sport before she became the center of their world.
If she retires, she’ll still have her parent’s love, the skating community will stand by her, she’ll manage school fine; but it will all be in the absence of skating.
I start to wonder how my life would be different if I’d chosen ballet, or been a speed skater like my dad, or if I’d focused on my studies instead of sports.
I probably would have gone to a different school not so close to my home rink.
I would have never met Alex or Terrence or Christos.
Would he have any interest in me if I wasn’t who I am right now?
A champion figure skater on my way to the Olympics?
Alex starts pulling the pearls from her hair. “Do you mind?”
Welcoming the distraction I pluck the peals attached to clips from hair. “So… are you retiring?”
“Maybe… Maybe just from competition. I don’t think I’d be happy without skating.”
“Me too.” I pull a pin and a trestle of hair falls past her shoulder. I push it back over the edge of the tub to avoid getting tangled with pond scum.
Alex hums, knowingly. “But you won’t talk about it with your boyfriend. Interesting.”
“Not my boyfriend.” I yank out a pearl, not caring if I tear out a few hairs. “We’re not even talking right now.”
Alex spins her head around, unaware I’ve got one of the last pearls in my grasp. “What—ow!”
I lay my arms across the edge of the tub, not caring if this suit gets wet. “Forget about that, I’m going to lose my mind without you in Milan.”
“Ugh, I know,” she moans. “Honestly the women’s division will be so boring without me.” She purses her lips, eyes becoming puffy. “They’re all so good.” Her voice breaks. “I know they’ll push each other but like,” she’s full-on blubbering now, “I would have pushed them harder!”
She hides her face in her knees.
I rub her back, careful to rub down in the direction of her scales. After a few minutes of sobs, she takes my hand and squeezes it tight. “Which is why you better not change your free program. Make those ISU prudes uncomfortable for the both of us.”
I smile and nod, but the gesture feels hollow. I’ve given so much of my life to this sport. Even if I don’t perform in a skirt, it’s still my routine, it’s still a part of me. Only twenty-two individuals have won gold in the men’s singles division. Is my pride worth more than that?