Chapter Two
How the hell had Bennett Martino gone from being a three-time Olympic Gold speed skater, to starring in his own failed reality
series called Skate Fast, Live Loud, to a DUI, to winning Dancing with the Stars, to being a spokesperson for some sort of disastrous crypto thing, to this? A cohosting gig on a well-respected streaming sports program. The man was human Teflon, because nothing stuck to him.
But there was no way I wanted to be a part of his latest redemption arc. Not after the way he’d treated me.
“Wait up!”
I turned to find my best friend, Zoey Chen, running to catch me as I walked out of the arena and into the parking lot. She’d
been on rink two, working on her Four Continents program. I could tell she’d skated hard, because her cheeks were pink and
her black hair was still damp at her temples. Without makeup she looked like a baby, a very young twenty to my absolutely
ancient twenty-four.
It still smarted that I’d made the Olympics team again and she’d been a near miss, because I considered her a stronger skater.
But in typical Zoey fashion, she’d been nothing but positive about it.
Sure, there was probably some envy crouching behind her cheerful smile—the uncomfortable truth of being friends with the very people you needed to beat—but like good faux sisters, we compartmentalized any weirdness and focused on cheerleading each other.
“I nailed it today,” she beamed at me. “Three triples, back-to-back.”
It was my turn to feel a little envy bubble up, because to me it seemed that Zoey could hit effortless triples, all day, every
day.
“Congrats.” I pulled her into a hug. “I hate you.”
“Yeah, you can hate me all the way from Olympic Village.” She laughed. “Don’t start.”
We walked to our cars, which were next to each other in the back corner of the parking lot, so we could avoid the minivans
filled with sweaty boys getting dropped off for hockey practice.
“The Score wants to interview me,” I said as I threw my bag in the back seat of my car.
“Wow, that’s huge,” Zoe said and paused with her hand on the car door. “Can I hang out in the background looking cute when
they’re here?”
“Nope, because I’m not doing it.” I shook my head. “They hired Bennett Martino and they want to send him to interview me.”
She grimaced. “Awkward.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Have you guys spoken since the Switzerland ghosting?”
It went so much deeper than a simple ghosting, and she knew it. I shook my head. “Not a word. And it’s not like I’ve been
keeping up with what he’s doing. I had no idea that he’s a correspondent now.”
It was a half-truth. I’d unfollowed him, but of course I’d kept up with most of what he was doing, because it was impossible not to. He always found a way into the headlines. The man was even more unavoidable than usual with the Games on the horizon, because his final
speed-skating run four years prior was legendary. I wanted to scream and plug my ears every time I heard the words “Magic
Martino.”
“I think you should do it,” Zoey said as she slid into her car. “Show him how incredible you are, and what he missed out on.”
“Yeah, no. I told Mel to see if anyone else can interview me. Total diva move but I’m not subjecting myself to him for a week straight.”
“Good,” she said with nod. “Lean into your diva-hood, you deserve it.” She paused a beat. “See you at home?”
We both did our usual big frowns, because I hadn’t lived with the Chens in years. They’d been my surrogate family when I’d
moved from my home in Connecticut to the Colorado training facility as a young skater. It was with them that I’d finally learned
what a family could be.
“I wish. I’m dying for some of your mom’s jiaozi.”
“Come for dinner,” Zoey insisted. “She’d love to see you.”
My stomach growled at the thought of whatever Mrs. Chen would whip up for me. I’d deprived myself of so much good food during
the dark years, and while I was better at managing my eating thanks to my nutritionist, now wasn’t the time to be gorging
on zhajiangmian. I had a $3,000 costume I needed to fit into that was going to be shot in unforgiving close-up HD. And then
there were the figure-skating Reddit threads that would pick me apart afterward, commenting on any flaw that made me look
human and not like Figure Skater Barbie.
“Can’t. I’m doing an extra session on the bike tonight. Rain check?”
If there was a nonskating word to describe me, “rain check” would be it. My life was a series of missed gatherings and celebrations.
But it would all be worth it.
My phone chimed with a FaceTime call. I glanced down. “Shit. It’s Tricia.”
“Decline it,” Zoey said.
“I’ve been declining her for so long that she’s going to send the police to do a wellness check soon, to prove a point.” I
heaved a sigh. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you back.” Zoey gave me a half smile as my phone continued to ring. “Good luck.”
I got into my car and checked myself out in the rearview mirror. Of course my flyaways were standing at attention on the top
of my head, and I looked pale, so I ran my palm over my head to smooth them down, then pinched my cheeks Scarlett O’Hara style.
I could already hear her commentary. I sat up a little straighter, shifted my expression to neutral, and hit accept.
“Hi, Mom.”
Unlike most people her age, she already had the phone perfectly positioned to avoid an unflattering angle, and the lighting
around her was soft. She was in full glam makeup, with a blowout and sparkly earrings. It looked like she had a filter on
too. My beautiful, always perfect mother.
“Aww, there you are! I’ve been trying to reach you, I was getting so worried. Did you see that I called?”
“I did, sorry, things are intense. I haven’t had much free time. Obviously.”
“Well, I guess so, because you look like an absolute ragamuffin, you poor little thing! Are you even sleeping? You’ve got massive bags, sweetheart.
Do you need me to send more of the hairspray I like so your wispies aren’t so obvious?
Whatever you’re using isn’t up to the job—you look like you got electrocuted. ”
She laughed, and I felt the old familiar tightening in my throat, like my airway was being reduced by half.
I didn’t take the bait. “Nope, I have plenty, thanks. So what’s up?”
“Do I see poppy seeds in your teeth?” she play-scolded, leaning closer to the screen. “Did you eat a muffin, you naughty girl?”
Instead of using my phone to check with her watching, I held it close to my body and leaned to look in my rearview mirror,
even though I knew my teeth were spotless. The last thing I’d eaten was yogurt, hours before.
“Your screen must be dirty, there’s nothing in my teeth, Mom,” I said evenly.
I saw a flash of frustration on her face, because she still wasn’t used to my deescalation techniques. The old me would’ve
yelled at her to stop scrutinizing me. The new me didn’t care what she thought about the way I looked. I knew for a fact that
she hated when I wore dark colors, which was why my practice wardrobe was almost exclusively black and gray now.
“Well, anyway, I wanted to talk to you because someone from The Score emailed me about doing an interview with you. Guess they didn’t hear about the change in your support team.” She sniffed
and focused on something just off-screen.
My break with my former coach and my wanna-be coach mom had definitely made the news, so I wasn’t sure why anyone would’ve
reached out to her for access to me.
“Yeah, Mel told me about the interview. They must’ve figured out that she’s my point person now.”
My mom’s expression went stony again, because she hated that I used Melanie’s nickname. She considered it disrespectful. Plus, I think she was jealous of how close we’d become and what we’d accomplished in just three years.
“I hope you’re not thinking about going on that show, sweetheart,” she continued. She blinked at me, waiting for me to agree
with her.
I never knew what angle she was working, so I was both surprised and not that she didn’t want me to do it.
“Oh? And why is that?”
I fidgeted with the pull cord on my parka, below the screen where she couldn’t see it. Yeah, I had the tools to deal with
her now, but the squirrelly feelings skittered back every now and then.
“It’s a distraction,” she replied, ever the authority on how I was supposed to live my life. “You need to focus. We know what happens when you’re not focused.”
Shots fired.
“No, why don’t you tell me,” I said, smiling pleasantly with my non-poppy-seeded teeth on full display.
It was the baitiest response ever, and not what my therapist would’ve suggested, but I couldn’t resist a little pushback.
“Quinn, stop. Okay? Why do you always do that? Making me the bad guy. Don’t you dare blame me for what happened—”
“Mom, I’m not blaming you,” I cut her off, because it was the same tired script and I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. “Okay?
We’re just having a conversation.”
The idea took shape as we stared at each other in silence. I didn’t want her thinking that the reason I wasn’t going to do
the show was because she thought it was a bad idea. I couldn’t let her believe she had any influence on my decision-making now.
“And yeah, I’m doing the interview.”
It felt good watching her expression shift from placid to silent fury. It was rare that I made her speechless.
I wasn’t going to agree to the interview, even if they found someone other than Ben to do it, but she didn’t have to know that yet.
I could say that there was a scheduling conflict and that’s why it didn’t happen. Anything but let her take the credit for
me skipping it.
The corners of my mom’s mouth turned down. “Fine.” She shifted her focus away from me and started swiping at her screen, squinting
as she poked at it. “Okay, it’s done. You got your way. Happy?”
I heard a faint ringing in my ears, a distant siren. An emergency alert in my head. “What’s done?”
“Well, I just emailed them back to tell them you’ll do it, like you wanted. Right now. You won, Quinn. Happy?”
I watched the color drain from my face on-screen, real time.
No. That absolutely did not just happen.
I finally found my voice again, and not in a good way.
“What do you mean?” I shouted. “You’re not even a part of my team now! Did you really send the email?”
My voice was shrill enough that someone unloading equipment from their car a few spaces over turned to see what was going
on.
“I thought I was helping,” my mom answered in the wounded tone that I was way too familiar with. “I was making things easier on you. What, did I do something wrong again?”
I clenched my teeth together to keep from really freaking out, because that was what she wanted. Her goal was always to neg
me nonstop until I was completely unbalanced, which would then allow her to tell me all the ways I was messy.
And yeah, I was knocked off my axis by my mom yet again. It was less common these days, but she still clung to the last bits of connective tissue between us using stunts like this one.
Deep breaths.
I convinced myself that it was fine. I could recover from her email. I’d have Mel follow up with the production team tomorrow
and say there was a miscommunication. No big deal, mistakes happen. I might wind up looking unprofessional, but whatever,
I’d blame my intense training schedule and they’d have to understand.
“No, it’s fine,” I finally answered, once I’d found my inner peace again. “I appreciate your help, but as we’ve discussed,
it’s no longer necessary. In the future, my team can handle requests like the one you received. Do you need me to forward
Mel’s contact info to you, so if something like this happens again you can send it her way?”
My mom made a strangled noise and rolled her eyes. “I obviously have Melanie’s contact info, why would you think I didn’t?”
I bit my tongue to keep from spewing a half dozen wise-ass answers.
“Okay, great. I appreciate your understanding.” I was now fully inhabiting apathetic customer service mode with the woman
who gave birth to me.
We stared at each other silently, and I braced myself for the next hit. I could tell it was coming by the way she was narrowing
her eyes at the screen, searching, calibrating.
“I don’t know why I let your father talk me out of getting that ear-pinning surgery for you.” She shook her head sadly, like
not subjecting her adolescent daughter to plastic surgery was a tragedy. “When I see you from this angle your ears just aren’t
proportional. Sweetie, I’m sorry we didn’t do it when you were younger. But it’s never too late . . .”
My looks were low-hanging fruit, because they were a major part of my brand that I’d had no part in cultivating.
I looked how I looked, it just so happened that my features lined up in an aesthetically pleasing way.
Every time someone compared me to a Disney princess, which was more frequently than I preferred, my mom was quick to mention that she’d once served as Miss Delaware, so she alone knew what it felt like to wear a crown.
If she could manage to stay out of my way for the next month and a half, I’d know what it felt like to wear a gold medal.