Chapter Thirty-One
It was no surprise that Mel had insisted we have a watch party at her house for my episode of The Score. She’d invited Sarah and Zoey over as well, and tricked out her finished basement with all the pillows, cozy blankets, and
snacks we could want, like we were thirteen-year-olds at a sleepover. My guess was that she was providing as much physical
comfort as possible, just in case things went sideways with the show.
Despite Ben’s assurances that I’d be happy with it, the trailers had gotten under my skin. The only bright spot was that my
mom had texted me to complain about the way she looked in it, probably because they showed clips of her fuming at me in Switzerland.
I had to assume that someone in the edit bay was on my side, because they zoomed way in and she did look like her Botox needed a touch-up in the old footage.
Mel settled on the couch next to me. “I told Danny that the door is locked and I want zero interruptions until it’s over.
Not a peep unless someone is bleeding.” She reached over to give my hand a squeeze. “It’s going to be great. Stop worrying.”
Zoey was nestled in on the other side of me. She held up her phone. “Lots of interest on social media. With all the shipping going on between you and Ben they’re all going to be watching for signs
of flirting. Which, duh. It was constant.”
I hid a smile and gave her a little kick in the thigh. “Stop.”
“Sorry, but I saw it, too,” Sarah said as she grabbed a blanket and plopped down next to Zoey.
“We all did,” Mel said. She reached for the tray on the table in front of her and held it out. “Crudité? You guys better have
some because all my boys are in an anti-veg stage right now and I can’t eat all of it by myself.”
“Oh, and I made kale chips.” Sarah jumped off the couch and ran to her bag to grab the Tupperware container.
I snorted out a laugh. “In any other universe a watch party has alcohol and greasy food. We have vegetables.”
“No, hold on,” Zoey said. “My mom sent her famous ginger chews, which are basically candy.”
She pointed to the stack of parchment-wrapped squares on the table and I immediately grabbed one. Mrs. Chen encouraged us
to eat them when we had a sour stomach, which was all but guaranteed for me as I watched the show.
“Everyone ready?” Mel asked as she reached for the remote. “Let’s go.”
My entire body tensed as the theme song came on and the host intro videos flashed on the screen. The announcer intoned, “with
special correspondent Bennett Martino” as his handsome face came up and we all hooted in unison.
“Lookin’ good, Martino!” Mel cheered.
When he smiled it felt like it was just for me, and in a way it was. What we were about to watch was his gift to me.
The program began like always, with all the hosts gathered on a blue-and-white set to give their impressions about the story to come. My heart thudded in my chest with sympathetic nervousness for Ben even though it wasn’t live.
“He’s so damn good,” Sarah said as Ben fielded questions from the other hosts. “What a natural.”
It was like he was born to be in front of a camera. He was obviously hot as hell in person, but good looks didn’t always translate
to the screen, which was where charisma came in.
Ben had both. If his episode—our episode—was as good as he claimed, his future on the show was set.
The image on the TV shifted and then there I was, alone in the middle of the ice, doing a Biellmann. Everyone squealed and
clapped but of course I zeroed in on how I lost my grip on my blade and hastily came out of the spin as a way to cover up
my mistake. I glanced at Mel but she seemed too enthralled to notice.
There were so many ways to begin the episode, but Ben had opted to keep the camera at a distance like a voyeur as I skated
over to chat with Zamboni Frank while his voice-over described my morning ritual. Thankfully, I’d remembered to wear the pink
tie-dye legwarmers that day so a certain little fan would be pleased. The footage of me laughing at Frank’s jokes was adorable,
then it cut to a close-up of Zoey looking gorgeous.
Another cheer. She squealed and covered her face.
“You look stunning,” I assured her.
She peeked through her fingers. “Actually, I do,” she replied with awe in her voice.
“Ben’s going for the community angle,” Sarah said. “It’s not just about your comeback, it’s about your connection. He’s going to interview all the people around you before diving into your story, so the audience can see how loved you are. Supersmart way to reframe it.”
Zoey talked about our early years together, and the show flashed photos of us as kids, which I had no idea they were going
to do. She went on to talk about how she considered me a big sister and mentor, and managed to slip in some mentions about
her own career.
More cheers as Sarah’s interview came on, which was intercut with footage of us working together, then finally Mel. As the
show rolled on we downshifted into quiet observers, so we could take everything in.
“This is amazing,” Mel whispered to me. “He’s telling a beautiful story.”
I nodded, but I still didn’t feel like I was out of the woods yet because there’d been no mention of Switzerland. Then, as
soon as I thought it, the image on the screen cut to me crying.
“Fuck,” Sarah said.
“It’s okay, we knew it was coming,” Mel replied in her reassuring mom voice. “Let’s watch how it plays out.”
After seeing the trailer I was expecting the worst, but what made it to the show was factual, blissfully brief, and bookended
by footage that showcased the difference between then and now. A few minutes of pain, and then it moved on to clips of me
kicking ass at competitions in the years since.
“You’ve been officially shipped,” Zoe said as the show’s focus shifted to the one-on-one interview with Ben. “People are already
doing fan edits of you guys making fuck-me eyes at each other.”
“Zoey Chen,” Mel mom-scolded. “Watch your mouth!”
We were at the halfway point and I finally felt like I could relax, until the show shifted to a tight shot of Ben.
My heart did its own joyful Biellmann when he smiled.
It was as if I couldn’t fully fill my lungs from the heat in his eyes. He looked smolder-y because he was looking at me. That appreciative, roving meander around my face made me want to blush, because it felt like he was letting the world in
on the Blizzard Clause we’d executed the night before.
I could finally see what everyone was making a big deal about, because if I didn’t know better I would’ve sworn that he was
in love with me.
But I did know better. Ben was just being Ben.
“Damn,” Sarah exhaled when the show cut to us both laughing about something. “Get a room!”
“Shh, guys, listen to how freaking insightful he is in this part! He talks about what he thinks my ‘Movement’ program means,”
I said.
“I see it as a story of self-discovery, told in three parts,” Ben was saying. “The first section feels like you’re waking
up in your body. Like, coming to terms with your gifts. The power you have within you. The second part, after the chorus,
is you enjoying that power. Harnessing it. Starting to seduce your audience with everything you’re capable of.”
I’d blushed when he’d said it, but he was right.
“The final act, when the music gets more intense, is mastery. Ownership. Triumph. It’s you stepping into your full glory and loving every second of it. Your smile during that section . . .”
He’d stared into space for a few seconds, like he was trying to find the right description. “It’s the most difficult part
of the piece because you back-loaded all those jumps, but your smile makes it look like you’re taking a Sunday stroll. Like
those jumps and flips are no big deal.”
I’d been dumfounded by his accuracy. “How did you figure that out?”
Ben had looked wounded by the question. “I mean, it’s obvious if you just open your eyes and watch. It’s all right there on the ice.”
I knew that wasn’t the case for everyone. A good performance told a story, but sometimes subtext didn’t register with audiences.
Or judges, for that matter, since a few had called it “sexy and flirty,” which was almost an insult to the depth of the message
running through the performance.
But my goal on the ice was to evoke emotion in my audience, so there was no wrong answer to what my performances meant. As
long as they felt something, I’d done my job.
The very interview that I’d been dreading had actually been the perfect epilogue to our time together. Ben had been right;
waiting to do it until the end of the week had changed the shape of our relationship as well as the resulting sit-down. If
we’d done it earlier I would’ve been guarded. Skeptical. It would’ve hobbled our conversation and translated as me coming
across as bitchy. Instead, the interview had felt like the two of us connecting on an even deeper level, with a couple of
cameras along for the ride.
I leaned back and considered how far we’d come. Four years prior Ben had promised that he’d be there for me.
Now I finally believed that it was true.