Breaking the Ice

by Gail Nall

  Miyu swipes at her eyes. “I’m just as responsible. I helped come up with the idea.”

  I shake my head. “If it wasn’t for me, this wouldn’t have happened at all. I have to say something so they don’t kick everyone out.”

  “Kaitlin,” Miyu says, but I don’t let her finish.

  I step forward and clench my hands to stop them from trembling. Svetlana’s voice echoes in my head. You think you are shy girl. But you are not.

  I can do this. I was the one who told the judges exactly how I felt at Praterville. I told off Braedon, too. Besides, even if I have to confess, I can tell Greg why we threw the party, and maybe at least he won’t toss me out of the club. I don’t know where I’ll get the money for the room, but I’ll figure something out. The most important thing right now is to let everyone compete.

  I look the assistant manager straight in his eyes. I clear my throat and say, as loud as I can, “I have to tell you something.”

  The room quiets. Greg tilts his head, as if I’m the last person he’d expect to speak up right now. “What is it, Kaitlin?”

  “I . . .” My voice shakes. I take a breath and start again. “The party was my—”

  “I did it. The whole thing was my idea,” Braedon blurts out as he pushes past me.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “I thought it would be good for everyone to let off some steam, and we wanted to show the other skaters that we’re just like them,” Braedon says. “I’m the one who got Addison to ask Christina for the room. I’m the one who used the TV and the stereo and brought in the outside food. I’ll pay for the room. Just don’t kick anyone else out.”

  Everyone stares at Braedon. I can’t let him pay for something I did. I want to speak up, but Miyu tugs on my arm. Let him, she mouths.

  I step back and wait in stunned silence as Greg finally says something. “Braedon, where are you going to get that kind of money?”

  “I’ll withdraw from the competition. Get a refund.”

  Withdraw? He can’t do that. “Braedon—” I start to say.

  “And then I’ll ask my mom to use the rest of the money she had set aside for my coaching fees and competition videos.”

  “If that’s not enough, I’ll cover the rest,” Greg says to the assistant manager. “And you can pay me back, Braedon.”

  “I suppose that’ll work. Just make sure this room is spotless.” The assistant manager hands a card to Greg before he leaves with the other employee.

  Greg shoves the card into a pocket. He scans the lot of us, his eyes landing on Braedon. “I don’t know what you were thinking, doing this on a competition night without asking me or your parents. But at least you stepped up and did the right thing.”

  Karilee snaps her fingers. “All right, everyone. Let’s get this place back into shape.” They all slowly move toward the tables. But I hang back.

  Braedon shifts his weight. He actually looks uncomfortable, which I didn’t even think was possible. “I’m sorry I wasted your time preparing for Regionals, and now I can’t compete,” he says quietly to Greg.

  “This behavior needs to stop, Braedon. Immediately. There’s only so much I and everyone else can put up with. You nearly cost the entire club this competition.” Greg looks dead serious. I swallow hard, knowing Braedon’s only hearing this because of me.

  Braedon nods but doesn’t say anything.

  Greg and Karilee leave, probably to tell all of our parents about the party. As soon as they’re gone, everyone starts talking again.

  I march straight to Braedon. “Why did you do that?”

  “I don’t mind not competing,” he says with a shrug. “I thought you would be really upset if you couldn’t skate here, so I took the blame. I was just as much a part of it as you and everyone else, anyway.”

  Tears sting my eyes. I squeeze my eyelids shut to make them go away. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Don’t get so worked up,” he says, grinning. “It’s okay. Besides, I have a reputation to uphold. I couldn’t let you upstage me.”

  I let out a short laugh. “I guess we’re even, then.”

  “By the way, I’m going to tell Greg about the Zamboni, too. Maybe we can work the skate rental together to make up for it?” His hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it out of the way.

  I wrinkle my nose. “The skate rental? Yuck.”

  “Or maybe we’ll have to clean toilets.”

  “Ugh, that’s not funny!”

  “Friends again?” He holds out a trash bag from a box Miyu must’ve remembered to bring.

  “Friends. But if you want to do anything stupid, you’re on your own.” As I start filling the bag with dirty cups and napkins, I remember how he was hugging Addison on the bleachers back home. At least we can be friends, even if he likes her in a more-than-friends way.

  “Hey, Kaitlin,” Braedon says. “Skate great tomorrow, okay?”

  “I still can’t believe he did that. I never expected Braedon to be so . . .” Miyu trails off, searching for the right word.

  “Gallant?” I supply. That’s the word my dad used to describe Jack at the end of Titanic, when he put Rose on a piece of furniture floating in the ocean while he stayed in the cold water to freeze. Even though Regionals is hardly life and death, I kind of feel like Rose right now.

  “That’s it. He’s just always been so selfish.”

  “Yeah.” I retie the laces on my left skate for the third time. First they were too loose, then too tight. “I just wish the party had worked. Having it end early probably made everyone mad at us.”

  “Girls! Your warm-up is next.” Mom bursts through the doors as I stand up to shake out my left foot. I got a good, long lecture from her about wasting my potential by going to parties when I should be resting for competition. But no grounding this time, because she has no idea I masterminded the whole thing.

  At least I get to compete, thanks to Braedon. It’s weird how he was the one getting me into trouble, and now it’s my idea that made him withdraw from the competition.

  Miyu and I duck through the doors and hop onto the ice when our warm-up is called. We both made it through the qualifying round yesterday, scoring well enough to get into the championship round, along with Addison and Ellery.

  “I’m glad we’re in the same group,” Miyu says as we hand our guards to Karilee and Greg. “Moral support and all.”

  I grin at her and then take off around the rink, trying not to think about how much is riding on my performance today. The ice is a little rough from the first group of girls in our division. But it’s good ice—smooth and not too bumpy. I move through my spins and jumps. Everything was a hundred times better in qualifying yesterday and in my morning ­practice than it was before the party on Friday. In the qualify­ing round, I got just over 23 points for my technical score. But just 9.06 for my program components, which is only a teeny-tiny bit better than Chicago. Whatever it is the judges are looking for, I still don’t have it.

  As I glide off the ice, I can tell Greg isn’t happy.

  “Kaitlin, listen,” Greg says as I wait for the announcer to call my name. “You have to stop thinking about what you think you can’t do. Dig in deep and find that girl who isn’t afraid to show everyone who she is.”

  “I don’t know . . . ,” I say to Greg. I feel all jittery, and for the millionth time, I wish I’d stuck with Swan Lake.

  “You wouldn’t have picked this music if it wasn’t right for you,” he says. “You can do this. Show them how badly you want to go to Nationals.”

  The announcer calls my name and I glide toward center ice, raising my arms. Braedon and everyone from the club cheer for me from somewhere high up in the bleachers.

  But there’s more. More cheering than usual. Someone yells, “Go, Kaitlin!” and it’s not from the Fallton clump at the top of the stands.


  Why would people cheer for me after our party got busted?

  I stop, and the scraping sound from my blades echoes through the rink. I do a little turn, not wanting the music to start yet.

  This is it. This is my only chance to qualify for Nationals this year. I know I don’t stand a chance, not if the judges think I can’t interpret my music. But if I skate the best I can, at least I’ll know I couldn’t have done any better. Maybe Mom will let me go to school. Dad will be proud. Greg will be happy he’s my coach, even though I’ve made some stupid decisions lately.

  And I have to do it for Braedon, at the very least.

  The music starts, and I look straight out at the audience. A few last-minute cheers die out. I give my best flirty smile and launch into the first steps of the program.

  “Yeah, Kaitlin!” Braedon shouts from the bleachers.

  People in the front row echo him. I don’t even know who they are.

  The music pounds out a rhythm that reaches into my soul. I never realized how fun this music is. The beat moves into my body and stretches my arms out as I reach toward the judges before I start the footwork.

  I don’t even have to think about each individual jump and spin. Instead they flow out of the music as I leap and turn across the ice. I feel like I did on Friday night, as I wove through the crowd at the party, talking to people I never would’ve even said hello to before. I stretch into the spread eagle that I chose for this very moment in the program. ­People are cheering as I hold the long edge with both my feet turned out, but I can barely hear them over the pounding of the music in my head.

  The rhythm of the music stays the same, but the tone changes. Instead of flirty, now it’s angry. I charge down the ice as I remember exactly how I felt when I got my scores at Prater­ville. How I felt when I saw Braedon sitting with Addison. I attack the double axel like it’s the last time I’ll ever do one.

  And land it perfectly.

  I want to laugh and yell and cry at the same time, but the music is telling me what to do. I’ve let it carry me through the entire program. Before I even realize it, the last notes echo through the rink. I stop and toss my head as if I can’t possibly spare the time for anyone in the audience. Then I give them a sly smile.

  Applause erupts all around me. Everyone is clapping and shouting—not just my friends and family. I spin around and curtsy to the judges, then the audience. And only then do I let the smile take over my face.

  “You got it!” Greg says the second I jump off the ice.

  “I didn’t think about the elements. I remembered how much fun I had at the party, and how I felt when I got my scores at Praterville. And then it just happened!”

  “All you had to do was let go and let the feelings take over. And it worked. You had the audience the entire time.”

  “Wow, Kaitlin! That was amazing!” Miyu grabs me into a hug.

  I go from her hug into Mom’s. “Perfect. It doesn’t matter where the judges put that, I’m so proud of you.”

  “You looked like you were having so much fun,” Dad says from over Mom’s shoulder.

  “I was.” I don’t remember competing being fun before. I did it more for the results, not because I liked it.

  I hate to admit it, but maybe the judges were right. Maybe there was something missing from my performances before this. I just never understood it because I’d never felt it before.

  Now if only the judges saw what I felt as I skated.

  Mom’s holding one of my hands, and Miyu has the other as we wait for my scores to be announced. I cross my toes inside my skates. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to qualify for Nationals.

  “Come on, come on,” Dad says from behind me. I turn around, and he’s tapping his fingers on either side of his coffee cup. Dad never gets this worked up about my skating.

  The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. “The scores for Kaitlin Azarian-Carter are . . .”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Mom grips my hand harder.

  “The technical elements score is 24.75. The program components score is 18.02. The total segment score for Kaitlin is 42.77. She is currently in first place through seven skaters.”

  I can’t move. Did I hear it right—42.77? First place? Me?!

  Greg propels us all into the lobby. Miyu drops my hand and flies into me so hard I almost fall over.

  “Kaitlin! You did it!” She’s squeezing me in a hug and jumping up and down at the same time. She’s squealing, and it finally hits me.

  I got a good score. Not just a good score . . . a great score! A Nationals-qualifying-type score. I scream and grab Miyu back and jump up and down with her.

  “You’re going to Nationals!” she shouts.

  Mom’s wiping tears from her eyes, and Dad’s grinning and patting me on the shoulder.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Greg says, but he’s smiling like crazy. “There are still five more girls left to skate. Including you, Miyu, so you’d better go find Karilee.”

  Miyu gives me one last hug and runs back into the rink.

  Greg puts a hand on each of my shoulders. “No matter how everyone else does, I’m proud of you. You put every ounce of yourself into that program, and it showed.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I can’t stop smiling. I’ve done everything I could. Now I just have to wait and see what everyone else does.

  “Hey, nice score!” a girl I recognize from the party last night says as she walks by. “Maybe I’ll see you in Denver, at Nationals.”

  “That was awfully nice,” Mom says.

  “Huh . . . it was. . . .” Greg watches as the girl disappears into the crowd.

  I guess she didn’t mind that the party ended early.

  Mom and Dad go back in with me to watch Miyu’s program. I’d never noticed how graceful she is. She sweeps up and down the ice like a ballerina. Her program isn’t perfect; she misses a couple of jumps. But no one can beat her in sheer beauty. When she finishes, I scream and clap as loud as I can. And so does everyone else, not just the kids from ­Fallton. When her scores are announced, they won’t get her to ­Nationals, but she’s happy.

  “It’s okay,” she says, completely out of breath from her skate. “I messed up those jumps something awful.”

  “Excuse me, I have to get to the ice.” Ellery bumps by us without a second glance.

  I watch her step out and hand her blade guards to Hildy. I can’t believe I ever thought of her as a friend. I didn’t know what a real friend was, I guess.

  “Who cares about the jumps?” I say to Miyu. “You looked beautiful out there. It was like ballet on ice.”

  Miyu smiles at me, and we grab seats near our parents to finish watching the competition.

  Ellery skates a near-perfect program and knocks me down a place.

  “But just barely,” Miyu says.

  “She outscored you on program components,” Mom adds. “No one can touch your technical score.”

  “No one else has a double axel,” I finish for her in my best imitation-Mom voice.

  “You bet,” Mom says.

  Addison is the last to skate, and by that time, my score has been bumped down to fourth place. But fourth place is okay. It’s more than okay, actually. Fourth place means I still get to go to Nationals.

  Fifth place, however, doesn’t.

  I clap and cheer for Addison along with everyone else.

  “Everyone’s really enthusiastic today,” Mom says. “I don’t think this many people cheered for you guys in Chicago.”

  “I’m pretty sure they didn’t,” I say. Mom looks at me like she’s waiting for me to explain, but I don’t feel like talking about the party again. I’ll only end up with another lecture.

  Addison’s music starts, and I sit on crossed fingers. I don’t know what I’m hoping for. As much as I do
n’t like Addison, I don’t want her to fail. But I really want to go to Nationals. Her Phantom of the Opera program is dramatic and strong, and she lands all her jumps. She finishes with a smile.

  It seems like forever until Addison’s scores are announced. When the announcer finally comes on, I don’t hear anything until, “42.01.”

  “Wait, is that lower or higher than me?” I ask.

  “Addison is in fifth place,” the announcer answers for me. “This ends the juvenile girls’ division. The next event will begin in thirty minutes.”

  “You finished fourth,” Dad says.

  “Fourth!” I echo.

  I did it. I snagged the last spot to Nationals! I beat out Addison by one place.

  “Kaitlin!” Mom screams. She jumps up from her spot on the bleachers and snatches me in a bear hug, practically crushing my lungs.

  Dad is grinning from ear to ear, and Greg comes running across the mats.

  “You qualified,” Greg says. “You’re going to Denver!” He slaps me on the back and almost knocks me over before leaving to find his students in the next event.

  On our way out of the rink, we pass Addison and . . . is that her mom? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smiling. Like really, truly, actually smiling. She’s even hugging Addison, who looks like she’s going to cry from happiness.

  “I guess fifth place is good enough for Addison’s mom,” I say to Miyu.

  “She’s probably secretly hoping one of the top girls comes down with a nasty flu, so Addison can take her place at Nationals,” Miyu replies.

  “Hey, Kaitlin!” Braedon’s voice calls over the crowd in the lobby. I spot him next to a table full of new colorful blade guards. “That was amazing! You’re going to ­Nationals.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes and gives me a warm smile.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I wouldn’t have been able to skate without what you did.” I glance at Mom to see if she’s about to stomp over and make Braedon leave. But Miyu’s steered her toward a table of skating keepsakes.