Chapter 7
CECILIA
Rodrigo is halfway through pulling on a hoodie I don’t recognize when he looks up at me, like something just occurred to him.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, face serious and eyebrows scrunched like he does right before hitting the ice at a competition.
“That’s never a good start with you,” I say with a laugh from my seat on the small couch we have in our shared living room. But I sigh regardless, because I still want to hear what insane thing he has come up with. “About what?”
He shrugs, like this is casual. “You know how people call Isabella ‘Princess’?”
I don’t answer.
“I think I should have something like that,” he continues, completely serious. “A totally kick-ass nickname.”
I stare at him. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“You’re not getting a nickname. It’s ridiculous.”
He ignores me completely as he heads to the mirror behind the door to the apartment.
“Obviously, king and queen are taken,” he says, ticking it off on his fingers.
He’s watching me from the reflection as he arranges his hair, running his free hand over the strands in wispy, controlled movements.
“That’s her parents. And in any case, it has to be something specific to me. ”
“Oh my god, who are you and what have you done to my sweet, humble athlete?”
Rodrigo laughs loudly, then turns to face me.
“Think about it, Ceci,” he says, casually again. His eyes are shining and there’s a small crinkle at the corner of his right one. It’s something that happens only specifically when he’s trying to rile me up. “Everyone important has one.”
I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath.
“What about… Quad God?” he offers. “Or, no. Triple Jump Master.”
“Quad is more than triple.”
“But it has to be in English,” he adds, warming up now. “So it has more of an… international appeal.”
“You are not branding yourself.”
He grins. “It’s not branding, Ceci. It’s presence.”
He says the word in English, with a slight mocking tone. I imagine he’s picked it up from hanging out with the other athletes, probably making fun of us coaches collectively as a form of entertainment.
A knock hits the door before I can respond, followed by Katia’s voice from the hallway.
“Master, if you’re not out in ten seconds, I’m leaving you behind.”
He lights up instantly and chuckles under his breath.
“Okay, I hear it now,” he says. “Maybe I need to workshop it a little more.”
He grabs his phone from the table and turns, already halfway out the door.
“Have fun tonight,” he says and winks at me with that sparkly right eye. He laughs, loud and easy, and then Katia is dragging him down the hallway and into the elevator bank, her voice overlapping his as they disappear down the corridor.
The door closes behind them, and the room is quiet again.
I sit there for a second longer, before looking down at my phone again. Sandra’s name is still pinned at the top of my messages. We haven’t spoken since we got here. Not properly, at least. Just a few short exchanges to let her know we got in and were settled and starting training.
I hesitate because the moment I call her, she’s going to come down hard on me. I wouldn’t expect less of my friend of more than twenty years, who also happens to be my sort-of, kind-of boss in this whole skating thing.
“Tell me you didn’t wait a full week to call me because you’re busy,” she says instead of hello. She picked up on the third ring, just like every time I call her, because she loves to leave me hanging like that.
I walk to my room and sit on the edge of the bed, pulling a leg underneath me.
“I have been busy.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Also that.”
She huffs, and it sounds like it might be a laugh. I hear the click of something on the other end of the line that sounds suspiciously like the ancient lamp on her desk at her office.
“So?” she asks. “How is it?”
I look around the room like the answer might be written somewhere in it. From where I’m sitting on the bed, I can see the side of the rink right outside my window, and I hear the faint peals of laughter from the kids attending the disco night planned by some of the staff.
“It’s…” I trail off, searching for a word that doesn’t sound like I’m complaining or impressed or completely out of my depth.
Sandra waits.
“It works,” I say finally. “Everything works. The schedule is held by everyone. The ice is absolutely perfect, even better than Prague. Remember that time? There’s someone for everything, Sanchi.”
“That’s what funding does,” she replies with a dreamy sigh. “And that ice was fucking spectacular, best I ever had.”
I press my lips together.
“There are too many people, though,” I say. “Three coaches on one single correction. Specialists for things that don’t need specialists. It feels—” I stop.
“Like you’re not needed?” she offers, reading the situation so well.
“No,” I say immediately, faster than normal. “Not like I’m used to.”
Sandra hums softly.
“And him?” she asks.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“He’s… good,” I say. “Better than good.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, Ceci,” she says. “It’s clear he’s ready for what’s coming.”
“He’s absorbing everything,” I continue. “Faster than I expected. He doesn’t wait for me the same way he used to, back home. Remember when he started? He just… goes.”
There’s a long pause on the other end. A shuffle and the ripple of fabric moving. Maybe she’s putting on her coat to head home after a long day at the office, juggling budgets and resources and people just so that a few skaters can get something. Anything.
“That’s the whole point,” Sandra says.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I exhale through my nose.
“This place—” I start, then stop again, recalibrating. “It runs on something else. It’s not just money. It’s… proximity? Attention. Who’s in the room when the decisions are made.”
Sandra doesn’t dare to interrupt.
“And everything here moves around her,” I add, completely unnecessarily because… I don’t even have to say Isabella’s name. Sandra just knows.
“Of course it does,” she says. “It’s been this way since forever.”
“She doesn’t even have to do anything,” I continue, and I want to laugh because I sound so resentful. It’s not funny, though. “She just stands there and people adjust. Coaches, staff, everyone. It’s like the shots are already called before anyone speaks.”
“That’s influence,” Sandra says. “You asked for him to be seen. This is exactly what that looks like.”
I close my eyes briefly.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“We’ve been talking about more access for him for at least three years,” she corrects. “This is the version of it you get, unfortunately for you but fortunately for him.”
I lean back and lie flat on the bed, looking at the textured ceiling. The paint is pristine white, as if the walls were painted the minute before we got here, in preparation for my star athlete.
“Escuchame,” she continues, voice steady. “You don’t have to trust the system. You just have to decide how close you’re willing to stand to it.”
My gaze drifts to the window.
“I’m not building his career on someone else’s attention,” I say.
“Then don’t,” she replies simply.
I take a deep breath, centering myself again. There’s a long pause, and I hear the snick of a door, a set of keys locking up.
“How does she look?”
“Sanchi,” I warn, and I can immediately picture the smile forming on her face. It’s sneaky, tilted, and every bit mischievous. But I sigh, ready to give in to my best friend. “Fucking amazing. It’s like time has done nothing to her.”
“Oh, boy.”
I groan. “I know.”
“Reminds me of Worlds in Nice.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, too fast for my liking. I close my eyes and internally cringe, because I absolutely do. That was before she said what she said, before she minimized my technical prowess with just a few careless words.
Sandra huffs a quiet laugh.
“You were obsessed with her.”
I open my eyes. “I was not.”
“Cecilia.”
“She’s an excellent skater,” I say, pushing myself up and sitting at the edge of the bed again. “I was trying to pick up things from her jumps.”
“Okay.” My friend laughs. “Whatever you say.”
“Please, Sandra, don’t get it twisted.” I shake my head once, and I laugh with her.
We end the call, and I sit there for a second, pressing my palms into my knees, steadying myself before I have to move to her orbit again.