“Sounds about right.”
“So come and live with me. Wait!” Beth held up a finger before Lexa could reply. “Hear me out. I know I must seem ancient to you, but I haven’t forgotten a minute of what it’s like to be a girl. I can help you with things that Blake will never understand, and that includes skating pairs. Move in with me and I’ll take over your training. You can skate at Cleveland Ice Arena with Candace Zaharian. I’ll pay for everything.”
Lexa’s heart leapt so hard it hurt. Candace Zaharian was a former Olympian and top pairs coach. No one in the Midwest had a better reputation for molding competitive teams. For a moment, teetering on the edge of a completely different future, all Lexa could hear was the blood roaring in her ears.
Then reality intervened.
“Zaharian isn’t taking new students, and she’d never agree to take me. Not this late in the game. Not considering . . . everything.”
Beth’s eyes gleamed with an almost predatory sparkle. “Never assume,” she said. “Your father may have been the skating star, but he’s not the only one who knows how to work the system. How do you think he became a star?”
It was true, Lexa realized. Beth had managed Kaitlin’s and Blake’s skating careers right up to the day they’d run off to Atlantic City and become Walker and Walker. Maybe she could pull it off. Except . . .
“You know Candace and Blake can’t stand each other. They don’t even make eye contact.”
Beth laughed. “You don’t have to talk her up to me, kitten. I’m already sold!”
Lexa’s mind reeled. Was there any actual chance Candace Zaharian would take her on? Could she get herself back and forth to Cleveland Ice Arena? It was over an hour’s drive each way, longer in bad weather. But if I wasn’t working at the rink anymore, I could use that time to commute.
“School would be a problem. More of a problem.”
“I’ve considered that too,” Beth said. “What makes the most sense is to pull you out. There’s only a few weeks left of this year anyway, and you can finish it off with the tutor. It’ll be much easier not working around a school schedule.”
“It would be. Much easier.”
Beth swung her legs off the sofa, smiling happily. “Wonderful! It’s settled, then. I’ll start making calls in the morning.”
“What?” Lexa blinked away her confusion. “I mean . . . no.”
“But, kitten, you just said—”
“I can’t do it, G-mom. I’d love to, but . . .” Lexa shook her head. Leave Blake’s house, his rink? Skate with another coach? Skate pairs? “Blake would never forgive me.”
She wasn’t sure she’d even blame him. “I appreciate the offer. I do. But I can’t.”
—13—
“I have a feeling I’m going to be sorry we came,” Bry said.
Lexa nodded. “I already am.”
Jenni was at the center of the gym with Jacob Larimore, her white formal hiked over her knees, dancing like a pole should be involved. Everly Brooks and her top-ranking sidekick, Emmi Wallace, glared from a gang of cheerleaders as if they’d like to poison the flask Jacob and Jenni were obviously drinking from. Lexa and Bry were already forgotten on the sidelines. And the prom had barely started.
“Her mom will kill her if she gets suspended,” Bry said.
“She’ll talk her way out of it. She always does.” It was impossible to understand what Jenni was thinking, though. She finally had the school audience she’d always wanted, and the show she was giving them was one she could only regret in the morning.
“Do you think she even likes him?”
Lexa shrugged. “She likes having his attention. Do you want to dance or something?”
“We could. We’d lose these chairs.”
Neither of them moved.
The Erie Shores High prom committee had put a lot of effort into decorating the gym. Ten-foot potted palm trees flanked the photo booth. Smiling couples posed for their pictures before a blue cloth backdrop of a painted waterfall. More palms and birds-of-paradise dotted the gym floor, and the DJ booth had been decorated to look like a grass shack, complete with bamboo, palm fronds, and electric tiki torches.
“We could get our picture taken,” Bry offered.
Lexa smiled. “We do look fine.”
“You know that’s right.” Grinning, he pulled her up onto her feet.
They mugged for the camera, not remotely trying to get a flattering shot.
“Say cheese,” the photographer told them.
“Cheesy!” they called back, mashing their faces together.
The man shook his head and snapped the picture.
Their chairs were taken by then, so they decided to dance after all. Years of skating-related dance lessons had run more to ballet and ballroom than pop and hip-hop, but the musicality they’d imparted enabled Lexa and Bry to pick up any style fast. They danced three or four songs together, having a great time. When the DJ switched to a slow song, Lexa went into Bry’s outstretched arms.
“It’s getting crowded in here,” she said as he turned her in a slow circle. They scanned the gym over each other’s shoulders. “I don’t see Jenni. Do you?”
“Unfortunately.” He nodded toward a dark corner.
Jenni and Jacob were making out under a potted palm, Jacob’s hands in all the wrong places. Jenni not only didn’t seem to care, she was matching him grope for grope.
“Classy.”
“If she’s just going to suck Jacob’s face the whole night, why did she want us to come?” Bry complained.
Something in his tone caught Lexa’s ear. “Jealous?”
“No. Well. Not specifically.” He jerked his head toward the exit. “You want to get some air?”
A concrete slab behind the gym was the only place students were allowed outside if they wanted to come back in. The prom committee had roped it off with track hurdles and blue crime scene tape, saving their budget for indoors. Couples stood talking around its edges, avoiding the harsh security lights and chaperones near the door. Bry and Lexa claimed a spot to one side.
“It’s not that cold out tonight,” he said. “The weather’s finally heating up.”
“Yeah, well, it’s May. Bring on summer vacation.”
“Double practices—woo-hoo!” he returned with a wry grin. “It’s like summer camp, with yelling.”
Lexa laughed, not at all offended on Blake’s behalf. “I think you mean bellowing.”
“Your dad was even harder to please than usual this week. I’m seriously busting my butt out there and sometimes he acts like . . . I don’t know. Do you think he even likes me?”
“He doesn’t like anyone. Don’t take it personally.”
She’d meant to be funny, but Bry drew back, wounded.
“Bry! I . . . That was a stupid thing to say. I know he likes you. Blake just doesn’t do touchy-feely.”
“I’m obviously not as good as Ian,” he said, still upset. “Or as experienced. But I work just as hard.” He shrugged. “I skate more hours, anyway.”
“That new job of Ian’s is making Blake crazy. He acts like every missed minute of training is taking a year off his life.”
“You think that’s why he’s so edgy lately?”
“Maybe.” Lexa fidgeted with the orchid at her wrist, looked away from him, looked back. “My grandmom offered to set me up with a pairs coach.”
His mouth fell open. “No!”
“I didn’t tell Blake,” she hurried to add. “I mean, not that part. He knows I want to skate pairs, though, and it’s really pissing him off. It’s kind of an issue right now.”
Bry’s favorite new song started in the gym. He ignored it. “A pairs coach? Blake won’t even let you guys in the rink!”
“Obviously. New rink, too.”
“But . . .” Bry gripped her shoulders and searched her face. “You’re not considering it?”
She shrugged.
“Lexa! Forget Blake’s meltdown. You’ve got a shot at being national
champion next year!”
“Not a good shot.” She held his shocked gaze, desperate for someone to understand. “Pairs is my dream and that clock is ticking. If I’m ever going to do it, I need to do it now.”
“Be serious,” he begged. “You would seriously jeopardize a singles championship just for the chance to skate pairs?”
“In a heartbeat. But how can I? Life as I know it would be over.”
He stared another moment, then pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? It’s not your fault.”
“No. But I know how you feel. It’s not pairs for me, but . . . I get it.”
“Really?” she asked past the lump in her throat.
His head nodded against hers. “Don’t we all just want to believe that somebody out there will catch us?”
—14—
“Sloppy!” Blake shouted from the boards. “Put some effort into it, for crying out loud!”
Like you do, Lexa thought resentfully. He hadn’t shaved again that morning, his hair looked especially slept in, and Zamboni grease stained his red parka. Everything about his appearance suggested a raging hangover, right down to the Big-Gulp-sized coffee mug clutched in both hands. Another rink probably wouldn’t even let him on their ice like that, she thought, skating around for her fifth pass at double axel, triple toe loop, double toe.
Her next combination was perfect—clean edges, full rotations, no deductions. Lexa held her third landing with relief, thinking that at last he’d move on.
But Blake still wasn’t satisfied. “The axel was okay, but you had zero height on the triple. Don’t make the judges hold their breath to see if you’ll squeak out that last double.”
“I didn’t ‘squeak’ anything,” she said, sliding into a hockey stop ten feet away. “That was a good combination.”
“It was all right. You’d get points. But you wouldn’t impress anyone.”
“It felt good,” she insisted.
“Who cares how it feels?” He gestured with his mug, sloshing coffee onto the ice. “How it looks is all that matters, and that triple looked low.”
“I’d like to see you throw a triple anything!” she shot back, losing her temper. A few early regulars were stretching at the rail, but she didn’t care who heard. “Feel free to demonstrate anytime. Come out here and show me how it’s done!”
Blake’s jaw tightened ominously. He shuffled closer in his wrecked Sorels. “Anything else you want to get off your chest?”
“You’re never satisfied. All you do is criticize.”
“Excuse me for trying to make you better!” he said, sloshing more coffee. “You want to be a soul skater, Lexa? You want to glide around in your own little world grooving on how things feel? Or do you want to win? Because I thought winning was why we’re here.”
“It’s always winning with you! Yes, I care how things feel. Remember when you did too? Or is that too far back?”
He shook his head angrily. “Here’s what I remember: feelings come and feelings go, but winning pays the bills.”
“That’s it. You don’t even try to understand what I want.” One strong push carried her to the boards. Grabbing her skate guards from the rail, she stalked off the ice, leaving Blake behind her.
“We’re not done here!” he shouted.
She paused only long enough to yank the guards on over her blades. “We’re totally done here,” she muttered.
—15—
Lexa stood at the end of her bed staring down into two packed suitcases. She’d stuffed in as many clothes as she needed, and her coats and skating equipment were already in the car. Now the magnitude of her actions was finally sinking in.
She walked around her bedroom, trying to imagine never seeing it again. This was the house Blake had bought for them when he’d finally started functioning again after Kaitlin’s death. This was the room he’d brought her to as a five year old, ending Beth’s hopes of making Lexa’s long stay with her permanent. Blake’s mother had planned to live with them, too, but had lost a fight with cancer before she could move in.
Lexa lifted a framed photo of herself with Blake off her dresser. She’d been eight and the medal around her neck was the first she had won that mattered. Blake stood beside her, smiling for the camera, somewhere else with his eyes. Her eight-year-old self grinned obliviously, but at sixteen Lexa could no longer pretend not to see her father’s lack of attachment.
Setting down the photo, she picked up one taken of Kaitlin in the last week of her life. She was wearing a bright pink parka, her cheeks flushed nearly to match, laughing as she aimed for Blake’s camera with a basketball-sized snowball. Deep snow all around made her coloring even more remarkable, a splash of pink and blond against brilliant white. Lexa slipped that picture between some shirts and forced her first suitcase shut.
Was she really going to do this?
She thought about calling Bry to ask if she was making a huge mistake. She checked the time; he would still be at the rink, possibly even with Blake. With a sigh, she zipped her second suitcase and grabbed the pillow off her bed.
She was pretty sure she had everything she couldn’t live without, but uncertainty still nagged her all the way down the stairs. The feeling drove her from her packed car back up to her bedroom. Her closet stood open and half empty, the first thing Blake would see when he walked past. As Lexa closed its doors, she spotted the box of videotapes stashed at its back.
Headed downstairs again with the box tucked under her arm, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking out of her own life. She wedged the videos into her passenger seat, then got into the car and sat staring at her home with one hand on the ignition. If she went through with this, she might never be welcome there again.
A tear started down her cheek. Wiping it away angrily, Lexa turned the key.
—16—
Lexa hesitated in the empty school hallway, filled with paralyzing doubt. First bell had just rung, but instead of sleeping through history beside her slacker neighbor, she was lurking outside the principal’s office, battling an emotion she couldn’t quite name. She had expected to be thrilled about leaving high school, but standing there for the last time, she was having second thoughts.
Missing the next few weeks meant nothing to her, but did she really want to forfeit the next two years? Skip seeing Jenni and Bry as seniors, never wear a cap and gown herself? There were plenty of aspects of school she’d be happy to leave behind, but there were things she’d be giving up too, normal rites of passage she might regret missing all her life.
More things I might regret all my life, she amended, ducking into an alcove between lockers to avoid being noticed by an approaching janitor.
Beth had been ecstatic to welcome Lexa and her carload of baggage. “You’re making the right decision,” she’d said, folding her granddaughter into a reassuring hug. “The hard part is over, kitten. It’s all sunshine and lollipops from here!”
Lexa had laughed through her tears, knowing that couldn’t be true, needing to hear it anyway. She was still unpacking when Beth got on the phone, chasing down old skating contacts, calling in favors, pulling strings. Lexa had listened to snatches of one-sided conversations drifting up the stairs while she hung her clothes, still not able to believe she was there. Then she’d heard Blake’s name and her lungs had jerked into her ribcage. She didn’t want to talk to Blake. What could she possibly say?
“Just calling to let you know Lexa is here, she’s safe, and she’s staying,” Beth had gone on, leaving a message. “If you have questions, call back, but I hope we can agree that she’s a young woman now, she knows her own mind, and she wants more than you’re willing to give her. If so, there’s not much to discuss.”
Blake had not called back.
Lexa was pretty sure he wasn’t going to.
Beth had arranged things with the school too. There had been a little paperwork, but the fuss Lexa had dreaded had never materialized. While relieved, she also felt s
trangely let down, like they should have cared more about keeping her as a student.
Just sign whatever they want and get out, she told herself now, still lurking. She had already missed three days of classes. The only thing left was to inform the principal’s office that she’d cleaned out her locker.
The janitor’s trash can rumbled nearer. Hiking her pack up her shoulder, Lexa took a deep breath and walked into the office. “I’m Lexa Walker,” she told the secretary. “Here to withdraw? I just cleaned out my locker and returned my books.”
The secretary shuffled some papers and selected one. “You got a library clearance for me?”
Lexa handed over the stamped card.
“Sign here,” the woman said, pointing to a line on her paper.
Lexa scrawled her name.
“Okay, then. Best of luck to you.”
Lexa hesitated. “That’s it? I don’t need to see the principal?”
“What for?”
“I don’t . . . So. I can just leave?”
“Yep. Thanks for stopping by.” She said it as if Lexa’s entire long experience at that school had taken place in the past five minutes. As Lexa walked out of the principal’s office, the surreal feeling that gripped her again made her barely aware of her last-ever trip down her high school’s main hall.
—17—
This is probably a really bad idea, Lexa thought as she slowed the Explorer on the street in front of Ashtabula Ice. The sun wasn’t even up yet, just near enough to rising to shed a little light. Leaning forward over the dashboard, she glimpsed the tailgate of Blake’s black truck poking out from behind the building. She parked on the street and waited.
Jenni arrived first, swinging out of her Lexus looking like a pint-sized biker. Her pixie was extra spiky that day and a black leather jacket fell to the hem of her practice dress. Knee-high Doc Martens and tights took the place of warm-up pants, the rink’s first harbinger of summer. Lexa jumped out and ran to intercept her friend before the front door. A week had passed since she’d left Blake’s house, but she didn’t feel any more relaxed about running into him. Even standing in his parking lot was closer than she wanted to be.
Walk on Water Page 5
