Hunter skates in a circle around me, but his eyes never leave mine. “When nobody answered, I took the liberty of coming around to the back. I read about your skating pond in one of the profiles of you online, so I had this sneaking suspicion I’d find you here. Even though I thought it was a little weird, since it’s like thirty-five degrees out.” He looks around. “This place is beautiful.”
I look around us too, up at the trees glowing in the dim light and the stars high up in the center of it all. “I know. My mother does this for me every winter — with a little help from her friends, of course. She’s done it ever since I was a little kid and fell in love with figure skating.”
Hunter’s blue eyes are sincere. “That’s kind of amazing.”
“My mother is a pretty amazing person,” I say, trying to ignore the twinge that hurts my heart at the thought of having to say good-bye to her on Monday. We start a big loop around the edges of the pond. “This used to be one of the only places where I could get on the ice, but ever since I started training for real with Coach Chen, it’s where I come to skate just for fun, or to remember why I love what I do, or sometimes a little bit of both.” I sigh, long and loud, without meaning to. “Not to be melodramatic or anything.”
“It’s not easy being the youngest person around,” Hunter says, taking a pair of gloves from his pocket and putting them on.
“Right. And don’t forget I’m also the new person.”
“Being new can be fun. You’re like the shiny new toy for the press.”
“I am not a shiny new toy. And I definitely don’t need the press on my back. They like to make stuff up. Cinderella stories and fairy tales and all of that.”
Hunter looks over at me as we head into the curve at the back of the pond. “So it’s just a rumor about you and that hockey guy?”
My eyes widen. “There’s a rumor about me and Danny Morrison?”
“Uh, yeah.” Hunter laughs. “More than one. You didn’t know?”
“My coach won’t allow me online until after the Olympics.”
“Seriously?”
I nod. The two of us slow until we come to a stop and face each other on the ice. Teeny, tiny snowflakes are actually starting to fall, and I almost want to laugh. “She doesn’t want me to get pulled into any drama,” I explain, trying to ignore the fact that this setting is only getting more goofily romantic by the minute, like we’re two people in a movie and not in real life. “She also doesn’t want me to get upset if and when people say mean, awful things.”
“Wow. Your coach is strict.”
“Or maybe smart?”
“Well, no one is saying anything bad about you. At least not that I’ve seen. But there is a lot of talk about the ‘Rhode Island Romance on Ice.’”
“Oh no! Really? That’s so cheesy!”
“The press loves the cheese.”
I pull my scarf a little tighter. When we’re not moving, I start feeling the cold. “I worried that might happen. People keep shoving Danny and me together.” I groan in frustration. “Why do they have to invent stories like that?” I shout into the darkness. “Don’t they know it’s not real?”
Movement off in the distance catches my attention suddenly. There are people streaming into my backyard.
Swarming, really.
People with cameras.
Real live paparazzi.
“Uh-oh,” Hunter says, watching them now too.
They are getting closer. Approaching the pond. It’s like I called them to us.
“How do they know we’re here?” I ask, perplexed, my heart hammering as they stream around the edge of the pond, like they all got together and came up with an attack plan. It’s a little bit like the beginning of a battle scene in those Lord of the Rings movies Mr. Chen is always trying to make me watch.
“ESPI! HUNTER!” they call out as they run toward us.
“Uh, it might be my fault,” Hunter says sheepishly. “I’ve been trying to shake the press all day. They like to follow me around, especially pre-Olympics.”
“ARE YOU A COUPLE NOW?” One yell emerges above all the others.
“What are we going to do?” I ask, deciding to ignore that question for the moment. “This has never happened to me before.”
“Well, I’ve got plenty of experience. Just follow me,” he says, skating off toward the very back edge of the pond.
I skate after him, my head turning side to side as the press follows us around the edges of the ice, right toward the place we’ll end up. With every passing second, they only get closer. “I’m not sure how this is going to help.”
“Trust me,” he says. “Now wait for it,” he adds as they come closer still, cameras poised and at the ready. Then, “Come on!”
Hunter grabs my hand and we fly toward the other side of the pond as fast as our skates can carry us, straight toward the protective safety of my house. I glance back when we are halfway there. The paparazzi are already on their way toward us again, but on foot and with all that gear, they’re no match for Hunter and me. We run straight off the ice and put on our guards as quickly as we can manage before grabbing our stuff off of the tree stumps and running up the path toward the door to the kitchen. We might have a good lead, but not enough to change into our street shoes. The press is still coming around the pond, stumbling along in the snow, when we are already up the back steps and tumbling inside.
I slam the door behind us and lock it.
Then I collapse to the floor with Hunter, our backs against one of the cabinets. The two of us catch our breath. In between heaves, I start to laugh and so does he.
“I can honestly say that has never happened to me before.”
Hunter looks over and rolls his eyes. “Welcome to my life.”
We undo the laces of our skates and set them by the door. Hunter pokes around a bit in the living room and down the hall. “Is anybody home?”
I shake my head. “My mother’s at work.”
“The bathroom … ?”
“Oh! Down the hall, second door on the right,” I tell him, hoping the bathroom isn’t too much of a mess with girly things like nail polish and curling irons everywhere.
My heart is still pounding from our run.
Or maybe also because of Hunter Wills’s presence in my house.
I can hear the press people clamoring just outside the door. I totally forgot he was a gossip magnet. And a paparazzi magnet. That he’s basically one giant boy-shaped magnet.
And I am now apparently tangled in his magnetic pull, whether I want to be or not. Which means I may end up being gossiped about too. Even if I already was before, now it will certainly get worse.
Dios mío.
I must have a panicked look on my face right now, because when Hunter returns to the kitchen, he takes one look at me and says, “Esperanza, it will all be okay.”
“Will it?”
“Sure,” he says, like this happens to him every day. Because it probably does. “This is just a normal part of an elite skater’s life. You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t know if I can. It’s definitely not normal for me.”
Hunter peeks out from behind one of the curtains, then he checks the time. “I should go soon, and it might as well be now. I don’t want to be late to meet Jason, and the press is going to camp here until I come out, regardless of how long I take. We both need our rest before tomorrow anyway.”
I scramble to my feet. “Don’t they ever get tired?”
He shrugs. “Not really.”
“Well, good luck with that,” I tell him, glad it isn’t me who has to fight my way through all those people with cameras.
Hunter has a strange look on his face. “At least the rumors about you and Danny Morrison will go away after tonight.”
When he leans toward me for a second, I think he might be going to kiss me.
And he does kiss me, but on the cheek, which, honestly, is just as surprising since I am not expecting any kissing action this evening
. I am not in the business of expecting kissing action from boys in general ever, since yes, it’s true, I am sixteen and I’ve never been kissed.
So sue me! This kind of thing happens when you’re a really serious athlete. Or so I hear. It’s not a big deal. Not at all!
“See you tomorrow, Espi,” he says as he pulls away. Then he grabs his bag and his skates, like it’s no big deal that he just kissed me on the cheek. Like he’s been planning it all night or something.
And maybe he has.
“See you,” I croak, all flustered and blushing.
He opens the door and heads out into the cold and mayhem, like this is just another evening in the life of Hunter Wills.
Well, let me tell you: This is not just another night in the life of Esperanza Flores, which is why I immediately have to conference Joya and Libby in on a call so I can analyze every single detail of every moment of the evening with their assistance, and also why I absolutely cannot get any sleep, even though I really need it.
What with the Olympics coming up and everything.
Apparently, I do get some sleep, because I wake up to a surprise.
Coach Chen is sitting at the foot of my bed. She’s all in blue today and her hair is tied back in a neat bun.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Am I dreaming?”
She sighs. “I wish.”
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”
“You had an adventure last night,” she says.
She states this, really. No question marks in sight.
I sit up. Hug a pillow tightly as I try to stay calm. “Maybe,” I say, drawing out each syllable.
“Esperanza, you have to be careful what you do and who you are seen with now. You are going to the Olympics as a figure skater, and by definition, people are fascinated with you.” Another big sigh. “No one can ever get enough of young, pretty figure skaters.”
I raise the pillow until it’s level with my eyes, as if hiding might make whatever is about to happen go away. “What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, my words half muffled.
She blinks. Then blinks again. “There are rumors about you and Hunter Wills.”
I lower the pillow a little so I can talk better. “You didn’t tell me about the Danny Morrison rumors, so why are you telling me about the Hunter Wills ones?”
“Because this time it’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because Hunter Wills is a famous playboy, and now you’re linked to him.”
“So? It’s just another rumor.”
“That may be,” Coach Chen says, though from her tone it doesn’t sound like she totally buys that claim. “But this rumor is going to change your day-to-day existence.”
“How? Why?”
“Espi, there are press people camped on your doorstep.”
“What? Still? But they were here for Hunter, and he’s gone.”
Coach Chen gets up and goes over to the window. She peeks out the lilac-flowered curtain. “Well, now they’re here for you.”
I get up and join her there. She moves aside so I can see.
Dios mío. The reporters are like a swarm of bees who got confused about which season it is.
“Your mother can’t even get out of the house for work. And Betty gave up trying to get in.”
“Oh no. How are we going to get out?”
“You’re going to have to go through them so they’ll follow you and your poor mother can head to work in peace.”
“My poor mother? What about poor me?”
Coach Chen steps away from the window. “This isn’t her fault.”
“And it’s mine?”
She crosses her arms. She might be tiny, but it’s an intimidating kind of tiny sometimes. “Well, Esperanza, no one else had a romantic skate on a starry night all alone on a pond with Hunter Wills other than you, am I right?”
I swallow. “How do you know that part, exactly?”
“There are pictures all over the place of you online!”
“Maybe you should have an Internet ban too?” I ask sheepishly.
She exhales with a groan. “The moral of the story is the following: You don’t need this kind of distraction. I don’t want you online for a reason, and that reason is because I don’t want you getting caught up in more drama than the experience of competing at this level provides. This is a dream come true for you and for me! I knew you could do this, and here you are.”
“I know,” I say in a small voice.
“Then I’m sure you also know that spending time with Mr. Phenom” — Coach Chen rolls her eyes — “is not going to help you. He eats up the press like they’re breakfast. He loves it. But all hanging out with him is going to do for you is hurt your focus.”
“But he’s helping me with my jumps,” I say in a smaller voice, as if this makes up for anything.
“Leave that kind of help to me,” she says. “I wish you’d never told him about the quad, Espi. Hunter Wills is not out to help you. Trust me.”
“How do you know that?”
Coach starts grabbing the things I need for today and shoving them in a bag. “Well, for one, isn’t he dating Jennifer Madison?”
I look at her with surprise. “You got that on the gossip sites.”
“I read them like everyone else,” she says, like this should be obvious. “Just tone it down on the Hunter Wills drama until after the Olympics. Okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“Not try. Do.”
“Yes, Yoda.”
Coach Chen ignores this remark. “Now come with me. You can shower and get ready at my house, but at the moment, my job is to get you through that storm of press outside so your mother can get to work in peace.” She beckons when I hesitate. “Don’t forget, Espi, I have a little experience with this from back in the day. I’ve got the exit down, and I’m going to start teaching you this morning.”
“Okay,” I say, then take a deep breath and follow her lead.
My first and also most important lesson of the morning:
It’s one thing to do press, when they invite you somewhere for an interview, or you open up, say, a private ice skating rink to them for a special segment, when there are producers like Run-on-Sentence Jenny, and there is organization and structure and calm, even amid the nervousness-producing parts.
It’s a whole other thing when the press just shows up uninvited.
Then they are like a pack of animals.
Wolves.
Their existence, their persistence, or dare I say, persecution, is overwhelming. It is also unbelievable. They try to lure you in with very transparent methods, but it’s obvious that the second you come close, they’ll pounce.
“Excuse us — no questions today,” Coach says as she expertly pushes through the clamoring swarm of arms and microphones and camera flashes and all the shouting. She has a permanent smile on her face, yet her arm is up and out and making room for us.
“Hello, everyone,” I’m saying as we move forward little by little toward Coach’s car, where Mr. Chen is in the driver’s seat with the engine running. I have a smile on my face, just like Coach said I should. “I’ll be happy to answer your questions after I take home the gold,” I sing, like I do this every day, just as she instructed.
Be nice, she said.
But be firm, she also said.
And above all else, keep moving.
“I counted a total of forty-five press people,” Mr. Chen says once we’re both in the car.
He takes us back to their house, where he gets in his car to head to school and Coach runs around to the driver’s side. Within moments we are off to Boston, mostly without being followed, we think. Yet the press is everywhere when we arrive at the practice rink too.
By the time lunchtime rolls around, my big plan is to hide out in a corner of the stands. In fact, I might never leave here again.
Coach Chen refused to give me the particulars of what people are saying, but between overhearing Stacie and Meredith gossipi
ng this morning (they weren’t exactly keeping it down), and from the kinds of things the reporters were shouting as Coach Chen maneuvered me through the throngs, last night I was apparently “cozying up to Hunter Wills,” and he and I were “stargazing on a wintry night” as well as “hoping for some alone time, away from the prying eyes of Jennifer Madison’s two best friends” — aka Stacie and Meredith. The worst one, though, was the “America’s Hope for Gold Is Hoping for Some Action.”
Really? Seriously?
I wonder if Danny Morrison is aware that the speculation around our made-up relationship is dying down due to my brand-new made-up relationship with Hunter Wills.
If he knows, he’s probably relieved.
Then I wonder why I’m even thinking about Danny Morrison at a time like this. I mean, what is my problem? Coach Chen is right: I don’t need this sort of distraction right now. I have other things to attend to. Olympic-sized things, for example.
My stomach grumbles from hunger.
“I brought you a sandwich.”
I look up. Tawny Jones is standing there in all her willowy beauty, a toasted veggie panini in her outstretched hand. Like she has read my mind. Or heard my stomach from across the rink.
I take it from her. “Thank you.” Suddenly, I feel a little starstruck. Ice dancing gets a bad rep because they don’t do big jumps or lifts, but I like it. And it’s hard. All that fancy footwork? They may make it look easy, but it is not. And Tawny Jones and her partner are unparalleled on the ice.
Tawny sits down next to me. “I figured you weren’t going out there again today with all those paparazzi after you.”
“No way. Not until I go home for the night.” I sigh. “And maybe not even then.”
She unwraps her identical sandwich. “Don’t worry. It’ll die down. You’ve just got to ride it out.”
I open my panini. “You sound like you know from experience.”
“Most of the skaters here have gone through what you went through this morning at some point. Some of us more than others,” she says, nodding in the direction of Hunter, who is talking to his coach over in the corner. “My moment was during the last Olympics when my old partner and I did abysmally, which disappointed everyone I knew and apparently half the country. And then we broke up, both as a team and as a romantic couple. It was a PR disaster, a career disaster, and a personal disaster all rolled into one. Try that one on for size.”
Gold Medal Winter Page 12
