“Skating in general. I don’t talk about figure skating, he doesn’t talk about the Dingbats.”
She sits up, perturbed. “Now that’s fucking weird.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Roderick,” she leans over the tub, some water spilling onto the tile and splashing my shoes. “You spend hours everyday skating. What else is there to even talk about?”
“Lots of stuff. Books—”
“Your life doesn’t revolve around books!” I’m about to tell her otherwise, but she cuts me off. “Is it a jealousy thing? Like you think he’ll get upset if he realizes your one true love is figure skating above all else?”
“I wanted him to get to know me outside of figure skating.”
She slinks back into the bath, somehow floating in the shallow water. “Who are any of us outside of figure skating?”
From the way her eyes glaze over I can tell she’s seriously thinking about it.
Even before the injury, Alex has given a lot to skating. I haven’t given up nearly as much. She had tutors while I had public school. Most of her time was spent skating, so most of her friends also skated. My parents always encouraged me to skate but Alex’s parents lived and breathed the sport before she became the center of their world. If she retires, she’ll still have her parent’s love, the skating community will stand by her, she’ll manage school fine; but it will all be in the absence of skating.
I start to wonder how my life would be different if I’d chosen ballet, or been a speed skater like my dad, or if I’d focused on my studies instead of sports. I probably would have gone to a different school not so close to my home rink. I would have never met Alex or Terrence or Christos. Would he have any interest in me if I wasn’t who I am right now? A champion figure skater on my way to the Olympics?
Alex starts pulling the pearls from her hair. “Do you mind?”
Welcoming the distraction I pluck the peals attached to clips from hair. “So… are you retiring?”
“Maybe… Maybe just from competition. I don’t think I’d be happy without skating.”
“Me too.” I pull a pin and a trestle of hair falls past her shoulder. I push it back over the edge of the tub to avoid getting tangled with pond scum.
Alex hums, knowingly. “But you won’t talk about it with your boyfriend. Interesting.”
“Not my boyfriend.” I yank out a pearl, not caring if I tear out a few hairs. “We’re not even talking right now.”
Alex spins her head around, unaware I’ve got one of the last pearls in my grasp. “What—ow!”
I lay my arms across the edge of the tub, not caring if this suit gets wet. “Forget about that, I’m going tolosemy mind without you in Milan.”
“Ugh, I know,” she moans. “Honestly the women’s division will besoboring without me.” She purses her lips, eyes becoming puffy. “They’re allsogood.” Her voice breaks. “I know they’ll push each other but like,” she’s full-on blubbering now, “I would have pushed them harder!”
She hides her face in her knees.
I rub her back, careful to rub down in the direction of her scales. After a few minutes of sobs, she takes my hand and squeezes it tight. “Which is why you better not change your free program. Make those ISU prudes uncomfortable for the both of us.”
I smile and nod, but the gesture feels hollow. I’ve given so much of my life to this sport. Even if I don’t perform in a skirt, it’s still my routine, it’s still a part of me. Only twenty-two individuals have won gold in the men’s singles division. Is my pride worth more than that?
Chapter
Eighteen
My hood istight around my face as Marcus and I walk to the dining hall. From the moment I returned to campus, I’ve been keeping my head down and my hood up, practically living in my old Dual Drakes hoodie. All my other hoodies have either the ISU logo or my home rink plastered on the front, and I can’t have people hounding me on my way to class.
Everyone wants to congratulate me and wish me luck, and everyone seems unaware of the Olympic favorite curse. Considering how much they cared about figure skating the last three years, I’m pretty confident they have no idea.
As we enter the dining hall I tear down a poster of me posing triumphantly in front of various Italian landmarks—none of whichare in Milan.
“I swear I tore down this same poster in the same exact spot yesterday.” I ball the paper in my fist, tossing it in the foyer without a care.
Weirdly, the ice rink is the only place on campus that doesn’t have some photo of me with eye-bleeding comic sans. My guess is the Dingbats hockey team keeps taking them all down. I’m grateful, even if the act is out of spite.