Chapter 40 2010
Esma and I ran to the rink, holding hands, certain our dream to skate together in an international competition was about to come true.
I was going to turn thirteen in three months, which was three months before the age cutoff for the Junior World Championships.
I would likely be the youngest skater, but finally I’d join Esma and Heinrich, who were one year and two years older than me, on the international stage.
Four skaters would represent the institute—two boys and two girls—and Esma and I were shoo-ins.
Esma was pure grace and elegance on ice, while I leaped higher and spun faster than anyone.
Heinrich was in a tougher spot. There were three boys all equally good.
So mostly we were thinking about him as we charged to the bulletin board to see the team roster.
Heinrich had made it. Esma and I high-fived.
“Patch.”
“What?” I said, my grin still stretching out my cheeks.
She pointed to the list, and it took several seconds for my brain to register what she was looking at. Below Esma’s name, where my name should have been, was Nicolette’s. I stared, not understanding and my heart pulsing hollow between my ears.
Esma set her hand on my back. I shook it off and ran to the coaches’ lounge.
Meryl stood when I charged in.
“Why?” I cried.
“Let’s talk outside.”
I followed her from the arena into the snowy winter day. The air was brittle, and my angry breath frosted in front of me.
“I know you’re upset, and this wasn’t what you were expecting.”
“Why?” I repeated.
She looked past me, toward the trees, before returning her gaze to mine. “You’re not ready.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she got there first and corrected, “The world isn’t ready.”
She reached out to touch my shoulder, but I pulled away.
“I wish things were different. But you need to trust me on this. When we break you out, it needs to be indisputable.” Her eyes slid to my nevus. “You’re good, but when the world sees you, it needs to be when you’re undeniably great.”
My nevus pulsed and itched, and I wanted to scratch it from my face.
I’d done everything to make it to that point.
I’d skated until my feet bled, done squats until I could no longer stand, trained harder than anyone.
And none of it mattered. All that mattered was that I had a clot of malformed blood vessels on my face.
I whirled and ran to the animals, needing to be alone. A few cows stood in frozen slumber in the pasture. The rest of the animals were in the barn.
I sat on a log, which is where, several minutes later, Botan found me.
“She’s only looking out for you,” he said.
His hair was deep magenta that day. He changed the color regularly depending on the season and his mood.
“I don’t want her looking out for me. What I want is to skate.”
“And you will. Just not at this year’s Junior Worlds.”
“If she’s not going to let me compete, then why am I even here?”
He took a minute before answering. “Because someday, you’re going to prove them wrong.”
I looked at him and was surprised to see deep emotion in his eyes. Normally Botan did nothing but joke.
“Someday, Patch, you’re going to blow up the skating world.”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“There’s never been a skater like you. Meryl knows it. I know it. And we agreed. It—”
“You agreed?” I said, betrayal piercing my heart. I considered Botan one of my closest friends.
He nodded, and I saw how much he wished his answer was different.
“Do you know why I didn’t make it?” he asked.
I didn’t know the whole story, only that he’d been a juniors’ phenom but then never won a competition as an adult.
“Because I’m fat.” He made quote marks in the air.
I tilted my head, not understanding.
“I grew wide, not tall, which means basically I ended up built like a box. And the simple truth is that judges prefer to see spins and jumps performed by a long, lean rectangle.”
It made me feel terrible for him. I’d heard he was amazing.
“It shouldn’t be about that,” Botan went on, “but it is. I was good, but not good enough for them to see past it. But you . . .” He smiled his wonderful wonky grin. “Like I said, you, Patch, could blow up the skating world.”
I didn’t feel like I could blow up anything. I couldn’t even make it to Junior Worlds.
He blew out a heavy breath that frosted between us and said, “The triple axel.”
I tilted my head, unsure what he meant, but only for a second.
“Oh,” I said as my pulse ticked up.
He nodded.
The triple axel is the hardest jump in women’s figure skating, the only one that takes off from a forward glide, which means a skater needs to generate far greater power and speed to pull it off.
It requires enormous height off the ice for the skater to manage the three and a half rotations, and the timing is incredibly difficult.
Only four women had ever landed it in competition, and no junior had ever pulled it off.
“Master the triple-A,” Botan said, “and next year, no one will be able to say you don’t belong at Worlds.”