Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Skating moves are so much harder to perform off ice. Yet that’s what I’ve been doing for the past hour, stretching and bending my body to appear like I’m skating when really I’m on a backlot in New York shooting promo for the Olympics.
“Okay, aaaaand—we got it!”
I grunt and drop my leg, standing awkwardly with one foot flat on the ground while the other is elevated by my skate blade. The PA is telling me something, but I’m too busy catching my breath to listen. “Right, yeah, sorry can you repeat that?”
A Sasquatch holding a clipboard looks down at me. “You can take a break.”
“Oh. Nice.”
I stand there with my hands on my hips, glancing around the soundstage. It reminds me of an overgrown jungle; root systems of wires ready to trip me up, dark corners I would rather avoid, and a general sense that I am deeply lost.
“Where do I do that?”
“I’ll show you to the green room.”
This nice lady has been leading me around all day, and I’ve completely blanked on her name.
We enter a stark, quiet hallway, and I tell myself to ask so I can stop feeling so guilty about it.
I can’t gather the courage or energy to do it.
She opens the door to a medium sized dressing room, flowers on a table with snacks and drinks, and a couch pushed to one wall.
“Thank you,” I say, but she’s already running off, her finger pressed to her earpiece. Her voice echoes down the hallway, something about stage 3 running out of fake snow.
I flop down face-first on the couch. It smells like cleaning supplies, like every sterile hotel room I’ve ever been in. Somehow, I miss the smell of BO and burnt popcorn from my dorm room. I roll onto my back and pull out my phone, staring at all my muted social apps and deserted text threads.
Dying for some stimulation, I open my schedule. I’m supposed to be here for three more hours… Then back to campus for a dance studio session and studying till bedtime.
My thumb lingers over the block that designates this half hour. A break. What a novel concept. Thirty minutes where I don’t have to push myself or try to contain my more unpleasant traits. Thirty minutes for myself. What the fuck do I do with that? I can’t stand the idea of wasting this time.
The door opens, saving me from being alone with my thoughts for one more second. I sit up. Maude greets me with a sour expression.
I tell her, “They said I could go on break.”
“Yes. How are you relaxing?”
“Can you… choose to relax?” Sounds like putting effort into what is meant to be effortless. I stare back down at my phone.
“I know I told you we need to work on your stamina, but we’ve taken things far enough. You need to breathe.”
I toss my phone onto the couch cushion. “I need something to do.”
“No—”
“Yes!” I huff. “There’s too much going on right now! If I don’t focus on what’s in front of me I have to think about what comes next and that will stress me out and if I’m stressed out, I open myself up to failure.”
“The pressure of the games gets to everyone—”
“It’s not the games! The games are the easy part, I know what to do there—I just have to do what I’ve been doing for months. But after that?” I croak. “What do I do after I’ve done the thing I’ve wanted all my life? What if I don’t have a life after the games?”
The words are all mine, but I feel like a witness to someone else’s breakdown.
Maude sits next to me. “Of course you’ll have a life. You’re at a tough age. Everything is so close but so very far away. It’s okay not to know, Roderick.”
“Okay—” I roll my eyes. “But you get that I need to know… something. Like what am I going to do after Millan? After I graduate college? Should I pursue a relationship?”
Her voice drops. “Relationship? You’ve been lying to me about boy trouble.”
I mutter “Because he’s not a boy…”
“As your coach, I will tell you not to get distracted.” She waves a hand. “But clearly, we’re past that point. This… man. Is he kind to you?”
“Way kinder than I am to him.”
“If he heard you say that, would he agree?”
“No. Like I said, he’s kind. Maybe too kind.”
Maude gives me a knowing smile.
“I used to say the same thing about Garth. Then one day I realized, when I was cruelest to myself, he was gentle in return. It’s in your nature to scrutinize.
” Her face hardens. “I don’t like that you didn’t tell me about this.
” I open my mouth to argue, but she continues,“Let me guess, he’s older, maybe some new TA or the parent of a friend? ”
I’m shocked into silence but the growing heat in my cheeks speaks for me.
“Uh-uh. Well, regardless, I can’t decide anything for you, Roderick. Even in figure skating, you have the final decision. You want something? Demand it. Fight for it.”
She stands, heading for the door. With her hand on the knob, she looks back at me. “It’s my job to support you, Roderick. And I do support you.”
“What if I make the wrong decision?”
“Stop expecting there to be a wrong or right choice. The world doesn’t work out so neatly.” She opens the door. “Now, relax.” She steps into the hallway. “Take a breath.” The door is halfway closed, her head poking back into the dressing room. “And do something.”
The knob turns with a click, and I’m back to being alone with my thoughts.
I can’t believe I ever considered being a philosophy major. Like I’d ever survive ruminating like this for a grade. I’d tear my hair out—which might not be a bad idea.
I grab my phone and give Alex a call. “Hey, are you busy? Do you want to help me do something drastic?”
It’s like my scalp is being prodded with needles as Alex pours cold water over my head. She drags her nails through my hair, making sure the creamy pink dye is all washed out.
Alex says, “Okay, I think the water torture is over.”
I flip my head, deep pink hair wet and flat against my head.
A wave of dread should hit me any second now, my gold medal dreams washed down the drain like the hair dye.
My head swivels from side to side, noticing the tips of my ears are a bit pinker than usual and there is a pink splotch on my neck.
The longer I look, the less I worry, and the more I remember why I wanted to do this in the first place.
Pink is fun. It’s striking, so much more striking than my natural brunette or even the blond.
It’s the kind of attention I do want. The sort of statement that tells people I’m flashy, comfortable, and fem. “I look good.”
Alex puts a triumphant hand on her hip.
“Yeah, you do.”
There’s a squeak in the next room. “Yo!” Terrence announces. “You uh… busy?”
I poke my head out from the bathroom. His brows raise.
“What’s with the pink?”
Alex steps out of the bathroom. “He looks good, right?” She ruffles my hair.
“Uh, sure?” He twirls his lanyard around his finger. “Hey, some of the guys were going to come over to pregame, you cool with that?”
It should be easy to tell him no, I have to work on an essay—or say, sure, I’ll go do work at the library.
Things between us are still weird with Terrence really only talking to me to ask for stuff: drives to the grocery store or if he can use our dorm room for a hang session.
I’ve been going along with it because I miss my friend, but my amenable condition doesn’t seem to be moving him.
Alex crosses her arms. “Can’t you get drunk literally anywhere else?”
“I was asking Rod.”
Her response is like the crack of a whip. “And I’m asking you.”
Terrence ignores her and peaks into the bathroom. “How bad did you fuck up the shower?”
“Didn’t you piss your bed?”
Terrence’s neck turns so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t snap, his face already turning a bright red. “Dude, what the fuck, why’d you tell her that?”
“That was years ago!” I say, hoping that will get them to both knock this off.
“Yeah!” Terrence face is now the shade of a strawberry. “I got drunk, it's not like I wet the bed or anything.”
Alex titters, a smirk on her lips. “Sure.”
“Would you both stop!” I face Alex, who, while I love her, is the problem. “You don’t have to argue on my behalf.”
“Yeah,” Terrence shrugs. “Rod is the one who was being shady all last semester.”
I snap at Terrence. “Not helping! And giving me the silent treatment then only talking to me when you want something is way more immature than wetting the bed.”
He grimaces. “If we’re talking about being immature, lying is like, so immature.”
“Wow,” Alex does a little golf clap. “So persuasive.”
“Do you really want to know what was going on last semester?”
“Yes!” Terrence opens his arms. “Yes, dude, I would love it if you could just admit you were lying so we can move on.”
Alex steps to him, shoving a finger into his sternum. “You’re the one who won’t move on. You're prodding him like a cheap tampon.”
I can’t let this continue, they’re getting loud enough that someone down the hall or an RA is going to hear. So, I admit it.
“I was lying!”
Terrence stares at me without any smug expression.
“You should sit down for this…”
We sit on the floor across from each other like we used to do Freshman year. He stares at me with one cocked brow. It’s too late to lose my nerve, but my mouth is suddenly dry. I clear my throat.
“You were right. My flight landed the day before. And all those times I said I was going to the library to study, I was at Christos’ place.”
His brows furrow and I brace for more yelling.
“Who?” he deadpans.
We’re both shocked into dumbfounded silence. Alex’s muffled giggles are the only sound till I finally shake myself from the stupor. “
Coach Chris.”
Terrence’s eyes bulge out of his head and he rears back, his head hitting the bottom board of his bed “Wha–OW!” I move towards him, but he holds a hand out to stop me. “Hold on, for how long?”
So, without getting into the juicy details, I tell him everything. About the texting, the initial agreement to not sleep with each other, the buildup, the breakdown, and the kinda-sort-of-breakup. Terrence sits there, his knees pulled up to his chest like a kid at story time.