CHAPTER 118
Ana
PIPPA COLLINS JUST printed her headlines for the Milan Winter Games.
Ice Princess Ana Petrov reclaims her title.
Skating’s Golden Girl is a total fraud.
Maybe I’m bitter, but seeing Pippa’s praise, after so many years of feeding her ridicule and shame, reading every piece she shouted to the world about me, at how I’d lost my “spark” or no longer had that “magic” that younger Ana once had, seeing her twist her tune now that I won again, means absolutely nothing to me anymore.
It seemed it was just a few months ago where she couldn’t stop kissing Violet’s ass, yet now she’s decided that Violet, her golden girl—her old golden girl—is a fraud.
Heading into the rink just a week after the Games to resume practicing for Worlds next month, the news is all over the impressive building.
In every other conversation among the figure skaters, older and younger.
Coaches retelling the whole story, still in disbelief at what happened.
The Campus Radio going absolutely nuts over the turn of events.
And social media just about exploding.
All of them, slowly at first, then very quickly turning on Violet Dupont.
It was so bad, even the Hummingbirds were gossiping about it, the hockey team who never pays attention to our academy’s figure skating drama unless they’re the ones causing it.
And neither Ethan nor Violet have been seen at the rink since Milan.
Even though the Board all happily returned, acting like nothing had even happened, Violet’s family—Marion, Sylvie—have been quiet, meanwhile the rink’s front door has been swamped with paparazzi and reporters since we all flew back and returned to the rink.
Violet and Ethan were also banned from Worlds this year as their punishment, Marion apparently able to move their hefty community service hours to the town’s country club.
And at the huge change in tide, all their backlash, all her backlash, it warmed my chest a little.
That karma still exists.
Until I saw more of the headlines.
“A New King and Queen Sit at the Figure Skating Throne.”
“A Court of Disappointments for Skating’s Golden Girl.”
“Is Violet Dupont’s Short Figure Skating Career Over?”
And then some of the social media comments.
“I always had a bad feeling about Violet, she seemed too perfect.”
“What a fucking bitch”
“Ana is way better than Violet and she has a hot boyfriend”
“So we can all agree that Ana was the actual star this season, right?”
And then the Campus Radio:
You’re on air with the Faerieladle Waves Pod!
Tessa: I knew Ana and Troy would win, I’m so happy for them.
Philip: Yeah, apparently Troy knew Violet was trouble for a while now, and that’s why he ditched her to skate with Ana.
Jess: Well that paid off big time.
Corey: How do you know?
Philip: An insider told us
Yeah, the same “insiders” who said I’d lose, that my figure skating career was over, that for a second made me believe it so well that it nearly drove me away from what I loved most.
And unfortunately, people tune in. A lot of people listen to the Faerieladle Waves Pod, and just for some accurate outcomes, people just run with what they spill out until it’s wrong and damaged anyone involved.
Their latest rumor in fact is related to Violet, The Academy extending an invitation to one new figure skater, an up and coming singles skater from Norway—I forgot her name—but apparently Marion is releasing the invite to her earlier to distract from Violet’s absence from the competition.
All this just for Violet, and while I’m scrolling through the comments, I barely see a thing about Ethan.
Mentioning that he’s at fault, that they both are “frauds,” all the negativity is toward Violet, which I know I should be happy for, except the pain from all the hate I received before was so cruel, I’d never wish it on my worst enemy.
The chuckle from a certain hockey co-captain rattles into my neck as Carter Reid bumps into my back by accident, apologizing with a wink that makes me squeamish inside before he walks away with their physical trainer exactly like they’d never understand.
Because men, in every alternate reality or supernatural form, still have it the same. Better than women.
They age out, but no one notices.
They gain a little weight and no one cares.
They could turn out to be a total fraud but the bitch gets burned every time.
And there’s no amount of alchemy that could change that.
_________
A sunlit flicker of fresh snow coats the edges of the Country Club, the vines and Wisteria flowers lined around the spacious heart of the town.
Folding table cloths outside on the front patio, I walk up to the blonde when I see her.
“If you’re here for an apology from me,” Violet says, focusing on the cloths, “you’re not going to get one.”
“I’m sorry.” I stare at her, expressionless.
Her gaze darts right to me.
“I shouldn’t have said those things that I did at Sasha’s party. I shouldn’t have called you a bitch.” Her face shoves back down at the fabrics, angry. “I shouldn’t have tried to hurt you back. It just felt kind of nice to have that power that you always had.”
She scoffs. “Power?” She tosses the cloths away, glaring up at me in a disappointing kind of frustration. “Did your mom ever ask you why you didn’t skate like me after a competition?”
My brows crease by the very random question.
“No, why?”
“My mom did,” Violet snaps. “Every time. She compared me to you every fucking time I stepped on that ice.”
I swallow at what I always suspected.
That something was terribly off about her mother.
“When Troy and I won the Gold at the last Olympics,” she goes on, “do you know what she said?”
I shake my head, growing nervous.
“She congratulated me for all of one second and spent the rest of the night telling me how I should have skated better to be as good as Ana.”
She laughs, livid.
“You’d think she’d stop with skating, but it was everything. ‘Why don’t you stretch more to have a better figure like Ana’, ‘I wish you were a little taller like Ana, your legs are too short and not long and perfect like Ana.’ Everything was about you.”
Violet swallows, every word she’s sharing with me twisting my chest in hurt and at the deep blink in her eyes I’m reminded of the hint of regret I saw in them after she took our free skate at the Winter Recital.
“So,” she says, her voice sad—really sad—all of a sudden, “I thought the only way to prove her wrong was if I could beat you and Troy together. The only way my mother would stop comparing everything about me to you.”
“I’m so sorry, Violet,” I say, questioning why I’m the one dishing out an apology when I didn’t do any of those things to her. But no one apologized to her for the damning words and that doesn’t feel right.
And when Violet tries to give me a scoff, I can still feel the pain in her hoarse voice.
“I don’t need your pity apology, Ana.”
“Why aren’t you at the rink?” I divert because last I heard that was the one place she wasn’t still banned from.
Violet eyes me in disbelief as if that was the last thing she expected me to say.
And then just sighs helplessly.
The move is such a one-eighty from the usually powerful girl, a sympathy I didn’t think I had for her rises in my chest.
“I can’t show my face again after all that,” she says. “Have you seen the comments? It’s all anyone’s talking about right now. All anyone will be talking about when they see me.”
“Then give them something to talk about.” I shrug. “If there’s one thing I know, everyone loves a good redemption story.”
Somewhere in the conversation, seeing her so stripped away from the rink, away from her cold group of friends, away from the town’s circus, I see a shiny chip of the girl who used to be my best friend.
And I try and turn it around.
“Do you still want to figure skate?”
She shoots her eyes up at me like the question is absurd.
“Not like this.” She shakes her head. “Not when my reputation is this fucked.”
“The Violet I know doesn’t give up, with or without a cheating scandal.”
“So you came here to give me a pep talk?” She smiles like she’s trying to mock me but I see a tiny spark in her greyish blue eyes—hope. “Is that my consolation prize?”
“No, I came here to give you this.” I hand her a small tan paper bag I brought with me from the ancillary shop. Andrew’s mom’s shop. “No consolation prize.”
Violet eyes me suspiciously like she’s expecting poison or a weapon to pop right out.
And maybe once upon a time.
But,
Her eyes widen in shock.
As she slides a sparkling glass sphere, glitter, fake snow, and a scene of a winter night underneath two small figurines skating across a frozen lake.
“How did you—”
“I know how it feels to have something you worked so hard for be taken away from you.”
I watch as her eyes stay glued wide open, unsure of what she’s thinking.
I almost didn’t give it to her.
After calling Andrew right before the recital for a favor, he immediately put in the order, and the sparkling glass blizzard arrived right after the Games.
She didn’t deserve it, I convinced myself after what she did to me with our routine—the one I worked myself to the bone to perfect—after what she tried to do at the actual competition.
But then I remembered what her mom did.
Remembered how these snow globes meant everything to her when we were little, gutted when I found out her mom destroyed it and right in front of her small face.
That moment shouldn’t have been taken away from her.
The glow resting all over Violet’s features now tells me just how much that must have affected her.
Maybe it’s because Andrew’s daughter Penelope also helped make the snow globe, the magic spark that you have as a kid, the hope from dreams that aren’t crushed yet.
The way I didn’t know Violet’s sort of was.
But we’re no longer the same people as before.
We’re not friends. Not anymore.
So I slip my gloved hands into my coat pocket, holding in any emotion that drifted in the past, turning to leave.
A few strides over the wet pavement, and I stop my steps when I hear the muffled voice of a girl I once knew.
“I hope this doesn’t mean we’re friends again?”
I shift back around, my brows creased.
Violet quickly raises an arm, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, her eyes puffy.
All the memories flood back immediately—meeting each other when we both had no titles or medals, when we skated just for fun, when we leaned on each other as little kids through turmoil and joy, when everything collapsed because of the same sport.
And a tear stings down my own cheek, a conflicting deep kind of pain that I never really got over filling my lungs.
I don’t think I forgive her just yet. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget each low she dragged my heart into.
I want to scream at her for every terrible thing she did behind my back, for every awful comment she wounded me with. None of that can be erased.
But I also want to hug her because underneath the crook she turned out to be, she was my friend first.
“Wouldn’t even dream of it,” I choke out before I finally head back to my car.