“Okay, well, then why does it feel like I’m in trouble right now?”
“I also know when McKnight comes in.” Oh.Shit.Again.
“And?” The snark in my response is heavy.
“Rhodes is a good kid.” She doesn’t elaborate.
“Okaaay,” I respond, not following where she’s going with this.
“I’m happy for you…if you’re spending time with him.” Elsie looks physically pained by this interaction.
“Oh my God, Elsie, there’s nothing going on between us.”Lie.But the last thing I need is her telling my dad that Rhodes and I have some kind of thing happening.
“Mm-hmm,” she grunts. “Anyways. That’s all I wanted to say.” That’s about as sentimental as I’ve ever heard her.
“Thank you, I think?”
“All right,” she finishes. Thank God. “Go home, Mo.”
“I’m not finish—” I start.
“Focus on getting ready for the clinic. I don’t want you scrubbing my floors anymore. Your dad thinks it’s character-building.” She shakes her head. “Go home, work on your school stuff and get ready for the clinic.”
I exhale a heavy sigh and nod. At least I don’t have to clean toilets anymore.
It’s not even six a.m. when I make it back to my Jeep.
And though I have been practicing getting more comfortable on the ice again, I’ve been putting off planning my clinic. I used to build these in my sleep, but I’m out of practice—and out of touch with the version of myself who used to live for this kind of thing. In a few weeks, there will be twenty-four ice skating hopefuls on the ice, waiting for Rhodes and me to lead them.
And I’ll be out there trying like hell not to embarrass myself. Thank God Elsie gave me the youngest group this time around, because I definitely don’t feel confident teaching an advanced class. This group will have very little ice experience, and I barely feel qualified to teach that.
The pit in my stomach grows at the thought.
When I get back to my apartment, I drop onto the couch and open my laptop. My old lesson plans are still pulled up from earlier, the titles staring at me like a challenge.
“Precision, Power & Performance—Competitive Figure-Skating Clinic with Monroe Abrams”
I click on another tab and scroll through the overview of the clinic coming up. Four-week intensive. Two-hour sessions. Twice a week. That’s it. I can do this.
When I did the more advanced clinics, I ran this like a boot camp for skaters aiming for county and state competitions. No shortcuts. No excuses. My students were always talented, always motivated. Theyhadto be. They weren’t signing up for a clinic with Monroe Abrams if they weren’t.
I go back to my other document and glance at the date on my screen. Three years ago, almost to the day.
I skim the focus areas, the ones I’d bolded back then like gospel.
Edge work—deep knee bends, blade control drills
Jump technique—toe jumps vs. edge jumps, takeoff drills
Spin control—centering techniques, exit flow
Choreography & performance mindset
I’d structured every clinic meticulously, layering skills so the girls would peak just in time for competition season. I had them filmed every week for playback review. I broke down their posture, transitions, facial expressions—every tiny detail. Those were longer clinics, more hours, more days a week.
I’m reading through when it hits me like a punch to the gut—
None of this matters if I can’t even do the skills I need to teach them.