“Now what’s going on?” Jenni didn’t look very glad to see her. “Are you coming back?”
“No.”
“I still can’t believe you dropped out of school.”
“I didn’t drop out.” They’d already had this argument, more than once. “I’m still going to graduate.”
Jenni shook her head. “You’ll just get a stupid certificate or something.”
“Thanks for your support.”
“What do you expect, Lexa? I’m never going to see you now. You’re not at school, not at the rink. You might as well have dropped off the face of the Earth.”
“I’m still in Ashtabula.”
“Barely. Just tell your dad you’re sorry and come back.”
“Yeah. I’m not that sorry.”
Jenni rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m going in now. I don’t need Blake pissed off at me too.”
Lexa watched her walk away with a sinking feeling. Jenni had seemed like a different girl since the prom, hanging on Jacob in the halls and befriending the growing number of social elite who didn’t mind seeing Everly bumped down a peg. And she was right about one thing: with Lexa gone from both school and the rink, they’d see even less of each other.
Bry’s mom dropped him off as Lexa walked back to her car. “Did you change your mind?” he asked, running over to meet her.
“No.”
He nodded ruefully. “I didn’t really think you would.”
“At least you understand. Jenni is being impossible.”
Bry grinned. “Which is different because. . . ?”
Lexa laughed. “You know you love her.”
“I do. That doesn’t make her low-maintenance.”
“Too true.”
“So what are you doing here? Are you going in?”
“No. I just came by to say hi to you guys.”
He squinted suspiciously. “In the parking lot at dawn o’clock? Did you forget how to text?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“I’m flattered, but . . .”
A wreck of a red Jeep drove past them into the lot. Lexa’s eyes tracked it even as she tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Bry followed her gaze.
“Okay,” he said, laughing. “Suddenly I feel a lot less special. Good luck with that seduction.”
She winced. “That’s not what—”
“Whatever you say!” He waved as he headed for the front door, where the top edge of the sun was just creeping over the roofline. “When you wish upon Blake’s star. . . ,” he sang as he went, making Lexa want to slug him.
Deal with Bry later, she told herself, turning toward Ian as he climbed out of his Jeep. There was no way to pretend she had just bumped into him this time. Gathering her shredded nerves, she headed straight for him. “Hi, Ian.”
“Hi,” he said, clearly surprised. “Are you—”
“No, I just want to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
He glanced at the rising sun. “More like a second. What’s up?”
The direct light in his face was harsh, making the circles beneath his eyes as dark as bruises. His chest and biceps looked hard enough to crack eggs on, though, and he was still a foot taller than she. “How are things at the gym?” she asked, diverted from her real question by all the new muscle filling his UnderArmour.
Ian shrugged. “I work out for free and they finally moved my shift to nights. Can’t complain.”
“It’s got to be tough, though, losing so much time from training. At least you’re not going to college, too.”
“Yeah. I didn’t have much choice about that.”
Lexa sensed that she might have stepped wrong, but she plunged ahead anyway. “I just left school myself.”
He looked her up and down as if starting to suspect an agenda. “I heard.”
“I’ve got a new tutor who covers all the subjects. I’m going to be skating in Cleveland, so I’ll need the extra time.”
Ian’s brows rose. He obviously hadn’t heard that part. And now Blake was certain to hear it too.
He’d have found out anyway, Lexa told herself, trying not to panic. He’ll know everything, sooner or later.
“Cleveland, huh? That’s a long way to go when your dad owns a rink right here.”
She nodded and took a breath. “I’ll be training with Candace Zaharian.”
“Holy crap!” He didn’t even try to hide his amazement. “Does your dad know? I mean . . . you’re not skating pairs?”
She swallowed nervously. “That’s the plan.”
“And Blake is letting you? I don’t believe it! What about your invitation to nat—”
“My grandmom is letting me. Blake is not involved.”
“Holy crap,” he said again.
“So I won’t be skating this nationals—not in singles, anyway. But there’s a chance my new partner and I . . .” She read the unbridled skepticism in Ian’s eyes. “Okay, maybe not this season. But next season for sure.”
He shook his head. Grabbing his skate bag, he slammed the Jeep’s door. “I’ve got to go,” he said, walking away.
Lexa had never felt more dismissed in her life, and she still didn’t have what she’d come for. “I need a partner,” she called to his back. “I came here to ask you.”
He turned toward her in slow motion, as if he might have misheard. “Ask me what?”
“I want you. To skate with, I mean.” She rushed ahead, the words she’d rehearsed tumbling out. “Candace Zaharian is a top coach, way more respected than Blake, and Cleveland Ice Arena puts this rink to shame. You and I are perfectly matched physically, plus we skate with the same techniques. My grandmom’s paying for everything. All of your expenses would be covered: coaching, off-ice training, skates, costumes, travel—everything, and all the best.”
The expression on Ian’s face wasn’t the delighted one she’d hoped for.
“You could quit your job!” she added, sounding desperate. “You could be on the ice full time again. You could—”
“Let me get this straight. You want me to abandon my coach—your father—and a legitimate shot at U.S. Champion because your grandma’s setting you up in pairs? You want to take advantage of everything Blake’s taught us, but cut him out of the picture? Am I that pathetic to you? You think that just because I’m struggling now I’ll—”
“What? Ian, no! You don’t get it!”
“I get it perfectly. You think that because my family’s not rich, I’ll give up everything they’ve sacrificed for and throw in on an easy ride with you. I’m poor, but I’ll never be that poor, Lexa. I’ve worked my whole life to get this far, and I’ll make it the rest of the way or I won’t, but I’ll do it on my merits and not your grandma’s money.”
“You make it sound like I’m trying to buy you.”
“Aren’t you?” His tone drew a blush up her neck. “Look, Lexa, I don’t know what went wrong between you and your father. I don’t even know you, really. But when I skate at nationals, I’ll determine my own fate. If you ever even get there in pairs, you’ll always rise or fall by what your partner does. Someone skates perfectly, someone chokes—end of two stories. Why do you want to put your future in a stranger’s hands?”
She’d made a huge mistake, obviously. Not only had she offended him, Ian didn’t understand pairs at all.
“I’m sorry I asked,” she said, meaning it. “But it was a compliment, not an insult. You ought to take it that way.”
She was walking off when he called out to her. “Lexa? Really. Why are you doing this?”
Was there even a way to explain it? To reduce the beauty of two people skating as one to words he’d understand?
“Because on a good day nobody chokes.”
—18—
All the way back to Maplehurst, Lexa battled tears. Ian’s refusal hadn’t been a total surprise, but the way he’d essentially accused her of being spoiled, selfish, and disloyal made her feel like bawling. He didn’t even know her—he’d admitted as mu
ch himself—but that hadn’t stopped him from judging her.
It’s your own stupid fault, she told herself, trying to muster enough anger to keep her eyes dry. Thinking Ian might want to skate with her had been nothing short of delusional. She should have just let Beth and Candace find her a partner, like they would now anyway.
Lexa’s new tutor was waiting for her when she finally entered the house. Clara Mendoza was a former high school teacher who had retired early only to discover that her bills hadn’t retired with her. To hear Beth tell it, Clara had been delighted to get her call, but in the days they’d worked together so far, Lexa hadn’t seen the same enthusiasm.
“You’re late,” Clara said as Lexa walked into the ground floor guest room turned schoolroom. It was a comfortable space, with large windows and long views of the estate’s sloping back acres. The bed had been removed to make room for a big work table and chairs, while a tiny antique desk was mostly decorative.
“Sorry. There was something I needed to do.” She didn’t feel like explaining what, and Clara didn’t ask.
They had just begun a new set of quadratic equations—an easy step back from the pre-calc Lexa had left behind—when Beth bustled in, dressed to go out in a cream-colored suit. “So? What did he say?”
“He said no,” Lexa replied quickly, before she could choke up again.
“Aw, kitten, I’m sorry. Are you very disappointed?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” If Ian didn’t want to skate with her, then she didn’t want to skate with him either. But that didn’t make his words sting less.
“I understand it’s not what you wanted, but you’ll see it’s for the best. At this point, at your age, you’ll be far better off with an experienced partner. Two green singles skaters would only double the learning curve.”
Lexa nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Do you two need me here?” Clara asked with a meaningful glance at the clock. “I could go get some coffee and come back later.”
“No, carry on. I have a spare coffeemaker somewhere. I’ll find it and set you up in here.” Beth paused in the doorway on her way from the room.
“Don’t you worry, kitten—G-mom has a plan. Give me a few more days, and you’ll be skating pairs.”
—19—
Lexa tried to remain calm as Beth pulled into the parking lot at Cleveland Ice Arena, but she was already a bundle of stress and the sight of her new skating home nearly pushed her over the edge. Everything about the rink’s exterior was clean, modern, and imposing. Even its parking lot put Ashtabula Ice to shame. “Wow,” she said, heart racing. She had competed at a lot of rinks, but she hadn’t previously been to this new ice arena.
“Best facility in Ohio,” Beth said proudly, parking her Mercedes right up front.
Following Beth inside through the two-story glass facade, Lexa tried not to gawk like a tourist. Centered in the entry was an enormous fire pit ringed by curved benches. On its right was the office and a shop stocked with an inventory of skating and hockey equipment that Blake could only dream of carrying. On the left were a snack counter and a glassed-in restaurant with a prime view of the ice. Risers dominated the rest of the space, enough to seat huge crowds for competitions and matches.
“Wow,” Lexa said again.
“You’re going to be so happy here. They have a members-only weight room, dance studio, locker rooms, lounge. It’s everything you need, right here in one place.”
“Do they have a dorm?” Lexa joked.
“Everything you need to skate. Clara and I wouldn’t dream of missing your company in the evenings. You’ll get used to commuting, kitten. It won’t be that bad.”
Lexa nodded. Considering what she was about to embark on, the drive from Ashtabula was the least of her concerns.
A fire-haired woman emerged through a doorway marked PRIVATE and waved when she spotted Beth.
“There’s Candace,” said Beth, waving back. “Come on.”
Lexa walked forward to meet her new coach in a state of disbelief. She had seen Candace Zaharian at competitions—Candace was hard to miss with her not-remotely-natural hair color and trademark full-length furs—but she had never spoken to her, not even to say hello. Not only did Candace coach exclusively pairs, she and Blake still nursed some kind of grudge from the days Zaharian and Gibson had been pitted against Kaitlin and Blake at nearly every competition.
“Beth!” Grabbing Beth by both shoulders, Candace laid up air kisses as if greeting an old friend. She was wearing a short white rabbit fur jacket, purple yoga pants, and—to Lexa’s delight—skates. “And you’re Lexa, of course. Are you ready to work harder than you’ve ever worked in your life?”
“Definitely.” She swung her skate bag off her shoulder. “Should I lace up?”
“Yes, go ahead. Might as well see what we’re working with before Boyd gets here.” Candace checked her watch, then turned to Beth. “I’ve got a pretty full day planned. Do you want to pick her up at four?”
Lexa heard her own gasp and hoped Candace hadn’t. “I’ll go get my skates on,” she said to cover her lapse.
“I planned to stay and watch,” Beth said as Lexa hurried off to the nearest riser.
Seven hours! she thought, trying not to panic while she put on her skates. She wasn’t opposed to working so long; she just didn’t know if she could. With Blake, her training had always been broken up by school and her job at the rink. Conditioning classes and dance lessons were things she’d traveled to, allowing for rests on the road. Shrugging off her jacket, Lexa stretched down to touch her toes, then placed her palms flat on the mat beneath her blades, praying she’d be equal to whatever Candace dished out. She came out of her stretch to find Beth standing beside her.
“What’s the verdict?” Lexa asked.
“I’m staying.” Beth pointed to a spot at the top of the stands. “I’ll be up there, watching, and at lunchtime, you and I will eat in the restaurant.”
Lexa smiled at the belated realization that there would have to be a lunch break.
“Well, get out there. She’s waiting.”
With a start, Lexa spotted Candace already at center ice. “See you later!” she said, rushing through a gap between boards. There were at least twenty other skaters practicing in the oval. Lexa stroked through them directly to Candace, pulling up with a long two-footed hockey stop.
Candace glanced down at the snow Lexa had accidentally sprayed onto her pristine latte-colored boots. Her upper lip twitched with irritation, but the next moment she was smiling again. “So. Blake has coached you your whole life? You’ve never trained with anyone else?”
“Only Blake.”
Candace shook her head. “And no pairs training at all?”
“No,” Lexa said, embarrassed.
“Beth told me as much, but I still barely believe it. What was he thinking?”
“He was thinking I’d break my neck,” Lexa answered honestly, hoping to put a permanent end to questions about Blake.
Candace took the hint. “Well. What’s your warm-up routine?”
Lexa described the sequence of stretching, stroking, and warm-up jumps she usually began with.
Candace nodded. “Good. Start getting here earlier and run through that without me. For today, just skate until you’re loose enough, then show me your programs.”
“My singles programs?” She hadn’t expected to skate those routines ever again.
“They won’t be any use to us now, but we have to start somewhere. Think of this as an exhibition.”
Lexa’s mind raced as she stroked around the ice, pushing gradually faster, so deep in her own head that she was barely aware of her legs. This must be what going to college feels like, she thought, throwing a warm-up axel. A brand new place, all new faces, nothing but possibilities.
She rushed through a few more easy jumps, then got off a sky-high double axel and a clean triple lutz, triple toe loop before skating back to Candace, proud to have kept her feet beneath her with s
o much first-day pressure.
“You can jump,” Candace said. “But we already knew that. Let’s see your short.”
“I didn’t bring my music,” Lexa apologized. “I didn’t think—”
“If you’ve been practicing enough, you should hear that song in your sleep. Just skate to the music in your head and I’ll fill in the blanks.”
Skating a program with so many other people on the ice required a different sort of concentration than skating in the clear: less choreography, more collision avoidance. If she’d had her music playing, the other skaters would have realized what she was doing and yielded out of courtesy. Now she’d have to rely on luck and reflexes. Taking her opening pose, Lexa drew a deep breath, and launched into her short.
Despite her clean jump combo in warm-up, she bobbled the outside edge on the entry to the triple lutz, turning it into a flutz. Her superficial stretching showed up in the spiral, where she couldn’t achieve her usual extension. Her combination spin could have been faster, but her layback felt perfect. She milked it a few extra revolutions, hoping to save a lackluster performance.
“Nice layback,” Candace remarked when Lexa had finished. “Good arch. Pretty arms.”
Lexa glowed. “Thanks. Layback’s my favorite spin.”
Candace smiled ironically. “Time to find another favorite, then.”
“What? Oh. Right.” Very few men skated laybacks, which meant that Lexa wouldn’t be skating them either—at least, not in the way she was used to. “I like other spins too.”
“Your sit spin could be lower. A lot lower.”
“I can get lower. I’m still kind of tight.”
“All right, then. Let’s see your long.”
Lexa was still breathing hard from her short. As she took her second opening position, she thanked Blake’s relentlessness for her ability to skate back-to-back programs.
Walk on Water Page 6
