Walk on Water

by Laura Peyton Roberts

  “I think we’ve peaked for today,” Candace said. “My next pair looks warmed up, so let’s quit before we start reinforcing bad habits. Give me an extra fifteen in the weight room, and I’ll see you two tomorrow.” She skated off toward a younger set of students, leaving Lexa and Boyd to exit in the other direction.

  “I didn’t work out nearly this much before,” Lexa confessed as they headed for the locker room. “I had some conditioning classes and Blake was always on me to use the weights in our spare room, but mostly I trained on the ice.”

  “That’s a good way to get injured,” he said, parroting Candace. “You can’t build lower leg muscles in boots. Pairs need more back and arm strength too.”

  “You’re the one doing all the lifting.” But she knew he was right. So far they had only practiced lifts on the floor, but balancing in those positions was harder than it looked. Her muscles had to make dozens of tiny adjustments just to keep her aloft.

  Boyd flexed a bicep with more pride than warranted. “That’s why these guns are hitting the gym. See you there.”

  In the locker room, Lexa wiped down her skates and put on cross-trainers. She was closing her locker door when a slight noise behind her made her neck prickle. She turned to see a tall brunette leaning against the opposite row of lockers, her glossy hair swinging past her waist and her hostile gaze fixed on Lexa.

  “How much longer are you hogging my boyfriend today?”

  “Um, hi, Temp,” Lexa said, rising to her feet. Why did all of Boyd’s women ambush her in the locker room?

  “Tempeste,” the girl corrected, looking every inch her name. “You’re holding him back, you know. If he’d stayed with Ashley, they could have won in juniors this year.”

  “I guess that’s not what Boyd wanted.”

  “Boyd doesn’t always want what’s good for him.”

  Lexa lifted an eyebrow. “I see what you mean.”

  They stared each other down.

  “Dangle a new car in front of a guy, and there’s no telling how stupid he’ll get,” Tempeste said.

  Lexa blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Boyd was doing just fine with Ashley. Nobody needed your grandmother swooping in with fancy new blades and a paycheck to make him partner you.”

  “A . . . what?” Lexa said, stunned.

  “Call it what you like, princess, but we all know what it is. His parents were talking about letting him have their old Toyota when he turns sixteen. Now it’ll be a new Camaro. You do the math.”

  She already had. “Wait, Boyd’s fifteen?”

  “For three more months,” Tempeste said impatiently. “Did you miss the part about your grandma buying him a car?”

  Lexa shook her head, at a loss. There was only one explanation that made sense, though. “You mean she’s paying his expenses.”

  “Except that his parents are paying his expenses, so that leaves a whole lot of extra cash for Boyd.”

  Despite the fact that Lexa’s parents had started the same way, despite the fact that she’d recently made a similar offer to Ian, this felt different. And wrong. Blake and Ian hadn’t already had partners—or parents able to pay their way. To drop Ashley for no better reason than to buy a nicer car. . . .

  Who would do that? Even an amateur human being wouldn’t sell out his partner that way if he was also a serious skater.

  Which meant Tempeste had to be lying.

  “I’m ranked fifth in senior ladies. My parents were pairs legends. Maybe that’s why Boyd’s skating with me.”

  “Sure it is. Keep believing that, princess.”

  “Are you supposed to be in here? You don’t even skate.”

  With one last scornful glance, Tempeste tossed her long hair and walked out. Lexa leaned back into the lockers, shaken.

  People do change partners, she reassured herself. Boyd was probably already planning to leave Ashley and she just didn’t know it. Grandmom picking up some expenses is simply a bonus.

  The thought got her moving again. Pushing out through the locker room door, she headed for the gym.

  And why the hell does Tempeste care who he skates with? she thought, starting to get angry. She’s not his manager. Maybe Tempeste was the type of girl who showed her claws for sport. Who cares what her issue is? She’s not going to push me around.

  Boyd was doing dead lifts when Lexa walked into the weight room. Picking up a pair of dumbbells, she went to work at his side. “I was just talking to your girlfriend. She’s a peach.”

  Boyd grunted and let his barbell drop. “Why do you think I call her Temp?”

  —23—

  “Maximillian West,” the announcer intoned. A tall guy crossed the football field in his cap and gown, shook the principal’s hand, and received his high school diploma.

  “Woo-hoo! Go, Max!” Jenni shouted, standing to applaud. It was over eighty and humid at the top the bleachers, but she had insisted on coming to watch the Erie Shores seniors graduate.

  “You know that guy?” Lexa asked, still seated.

  “Everyone knows Max. He’s Meg Henderson’s boy toy.”

  Lexa’s blank expression made Jenni sigh.

  “You remember Meg,” Bry prompted from Lexa’s other side. “Bree’s sister? Bree’s in your grade.”

  “Oh.” A blurry face floated into her memory then receded just as quickly. “Right.” She’d only been out of school for a month, but it already felt like a lifetime. She was merely a spectator here now, a casual observer of other people’s lives.

  “Stephen White,” the announcer continued.

  Jenni sat down. “You’re getting sunburned, both of you.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Lexa said, checking one pale arm. “This is the longest I’ve been outside in months. Another week and I’d have matched the ice.”

  Bry tugged the brim of his Browns cap lower. “I’ve got a hat—I’ll be fine.”

  “Tell that to the back of your neck,” Jenni said. “It looks like a boiled shrimp.”

  “We’re not all gifted with your natural pigment,” he retorted, pulling his T-shirt up over his ears.

  “Or my fashion sense,” Jenni added, flaunting her new sundress along with her tan arms and shoulders.

  Lexa nodded toward the stage. “They’re up to ‘Wright.’ This can’t go on much longer.”

  “I want to yell for Adam. Then we can leave.” Jenni stood up again for a better view of the field.

  “Who’s Adam?” Lexa asked.

  Bry rolled his eyes. “Basketball player.”

  “And we care because. . . ?”

  “The beefcake speaks for itself,” Jenni answered, pointing. “Woo-hoo!” she shouted as Adam Yale was announced. “Go, Adam!”

  “What happened to Jacob?”

  “Over him.”

  “Not that he knows it,” Bry said.

  “Will you stop?” Jenni demanded. “It’s summer! No one stays together during summer—that’s why they’re called summer flings. Come on, let’s go.”

  They exited down a staircase at the back of the bleachers and walked through the June heat toward Jenni’s car.

  “Now where are we going?” Lexa asked.

  “Somewhere with air conditioning,” Bry voted.

  “It’s not even that hot,” Jenni said.

  “Maybe not for normal people,” Lexa disagreed. “It’s an oven compared to the rink.”

  “We could go to the rink,” Bry suggested. “See who else is there.”

  “Blake’s rink?” Lexa shook her head. “He’s still not speaking to me.”

  “How do you know? Have you tried speaking to him?”

  “Why? Did he say something?” she replied nervously. “Did he ask you to bring me there?”

  “He never even mentions you. You know how he is.”

  “Exactly,” she said, ending the discussion. The fact that her father still hadn’t called both relieved her and kept her awake at night. Wondering if Ian had ratted her out, though, mad
e her sweat every time. She didn’t want to think about either of them on this rare day off.

  “I have a better idea anyway,” Jenni said. “A bunch of people are headed to Donovan’s after commencement. If we go now, we can beat the rush and get a good table.”

  Lexa sighed, guessing which people Jenni meant. On the other hand, she was hungry. She was hungry all the time since she’d started skating pairs.

  “I’m not eating on the patio,” Bry warned as they reached Jenni’s Lexus. Opening the passenger door, he eased onto a blistering black seat. “Air conditioning—I’m not kidding.”

  The restaurant was already packed when they got there, the tables divided between an early dinner rush and the growing high school crowd. The hostess wedged them into a table for two by bringing an extra chair for Bry.

  “Perfect,” Jenni declared. “We can see the whole place from here.”

  Lexa’s stomach growled at all the forbidden smells wafting through the restaurant. “It’ll be perfect when we get some of those onion rings. If it’s not fried, refined, or made completely of sugar, I’m not eating it tonight.”

  Bry laughed. “Your grandma’s still on you about your bad diet?”

  “I wish! Grandmom’s nothing compared to Candace. ‘Every ounce counts in a lift, Lexa. An extra pound could injure you both.’ It’s not like I was ever huge, but she isn’t going to be satisfied until I look like one of those celery sticks she calls a meal.”

  Their waitress eventually took their orders and brought a brick of onion rings, followed by a burger that dripped grease down Lexa’s wrists. She was about to concede that Donovan’s had been a brilliant idea when Jenni spotted her real reason for coming.

  “Ooh, there they are!” she said. “Act like you don’t see them.”

  “I can act like I don’t want to see them,” Bry said.

  Lexa turned her head. “Who am I not looking at? That intentionally conspicuous crowd of cheerleaders and jocks?”

  “They’re going to sit on the patio!” Jenni moaned, sneaking a glance over Bry’s shoulder. “How am I supposed to accidentally bump into anyone out there?”

  “Isn’t that Everly? I thought you two were buddies now.”

  Bry finally looked. “Ah, but she’s hanging with Hannah, and Hannah is gunning for Jacob. Keep up, Lexa.”

  “I thought we were over Jacob!”

  “You two wait here. I’ll pretend I forgot something in my car.” Jenni took off across the restaurant, pushing dozens of bangles into cuffs up both arms like a warrior princess.

  “I don’t get her lately,” Lexa said. “She’s changed.”

  Bry shrugged. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

  “Not that long. She’s like a different girl.”

  “She’s always wanted to be popular. Hooking up with Jacob gave her a shot and she’s taking it.”

  Jenni reached the patio door, checked her reflection in its glass, then pushed it open.

  “And is she? Popular?”

  “More than’s good for her. She’s been staying out late, skipping practices. She tells Stella she’s got a stomach bug, or a test to cram for, but no one’s fooled—except maybe her parents. Her skating is starting to slip and I’m not sure she even cares.”

  Lexa watched through the windows as Jenni greeted her new friends on the patio, pretending to be surprised to see them. “She always was a good actress.”

  “I wonder if she’s thinking of quitting.”

  “Quitting skating? That’s crazy.”

  He shrugged. “If she’s not serious now . . .”

  He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Every skater reached a point where she had to peer into her future and ask how much farther her talent could take her. Did she have any legitimate shot at nationals? At worlds? Could her body withstand four more years until the next Olympics? Could her funding? The clock started ticking from the first private lesson, and Jenni was nearly seventeen. If she wanted to achieve anything in skating, she ought to be working harder than ever.

  “Maybe she just needs a break,” Lexa said. “People think I’m crazy too, but I know what I’m doing.”

  Bry shrugged again. “I’ll take the Fifth.”

  Out on the patio, Jenni was telling some sort of story, making everyone laugh. Lexa knew that careless flick of her friend’s wrist, the cocky tilt of her head, but she still couldn’t shake the sense that she was watching a stranger. Planting one bangled hand in a boy’s buzz cut, Jenni petted his head like a cat. Then, with every eye on her, she sashayed off into the parking lot.

  “Now what is she doing?”

  “Now she has to pretend to actually go to her car,” Bry guessed.

  The waitress reappeared at their table. “Dessert tonight? We have a warm chocolate lava cake, served with French vanilla ice cream and a drizzle of warm caramel sauce.”

  “Oh, hell yes,” said Lexa. “Bring me two.”

  —24—

  As much as she’d looked forward to having the summer off from tutoring, Lexa’s next two weeks at the rink were no vacation. Every part of her body hurt, from the extra skating, extra conditioning, extra falls. Her new custom boots arrived, bringing hope of eventual relief, but breaking them in covered her feet and ankles with bruise-colored rainbows.

  In an effort to even their skill levels, Candace had Lexa practicing on the ice an hour longer than Boyd now. At first her extra sessions had been spent with the choreographer, honing her half of the programs she’d eventually skate with Boyd, but now she spent that time alone, skating her routines over and over. Despite the long days and the toll they took on her body, she welcomed this solo ice time as a break from the rest of her routine. Released from Candace’s scrutiny and the constant need to constrain her movements to Boyd’s, Lexa flew over the ice, the iPod that was supposed to play program music pouring old favorites into her ears as she worked her new footwork and side-by-sides faster than she’d ever skate them with Boyd.

  The main thing is memorizing the programs, she rationalized this minor bit of rebellion. If I can skate them fast, I can slow them down when I need to.

  Skating alone for the first time since she’d left Ashtabula had reawakened something in Lexa. She was reminded of her dawn sessions at home, the freedom she’d felt while interpreting the music as it flowed, the pure joy of skating from her heart. Soul skating, she thought, recalling Blake’s derisive term for it.

  Defying his criticism, she dropped spontaneously from a spread eagle into a layback Ina Bauer, then lifted into a feather-light double axel. Skating on the fly felt true in a way that skating programs never could. Lexa gave herself two more songs to get the improv out of her system, then launched into a Walker and Walker short program she’d skated many times before, wanting to see if her new pairs skills showed up in her performance. At last she went back to her program music, diligently practicing extra minutes to make up the lost time.

  In the fourth week of summer, her hard work paid off.

  “We’re going to try the platter lift this morning,” Candace announced, meeting Lexa and Boyd at center ice. “We’ve gone as far as we can on the floor—got to pop this cherry sometime.”

  Lexa’s heart thudded crazily. They had practiced a variety of lifts in the studio, but the only ones Candace had let them do on the ice were armpit lifts, beginner moves that kept Lexa vertical and no higher than she could have jumped herself. Three different entries all ended the same way: Boyd’s hand in her armpit, hers on his shoulder, and her torso rising to the level of his head before he set her down again. Mastering those had taught her to take off and land a lift, but they were only the first stepping stone to the more difficult, and dangerous, overhead lifts done at the senior level. The platter lift, the one they were about to attempt, was on the easier end of the spectrum but still a fully overhead lift, one they might actually perform someday.

  “Platter lift!” Lexa repeated, looking to see if Boyd shared her excitement.

  “Try not to kill
us both,” he said. But his smile told her he was eager to pass this milestone too.

  “Step through the approach first, just to be sure,” Candace told them.

  They split up, then skated slowly toward each other. As soon as they were near enough, his hands went to her hip bones. Hers closed over his wrists. She lifted a foot as if to jump, then froze as well as she could, holding the takeoff position.

  Candace clapped once. “Let’s do this.”

  Lexa tried to find the perfect speed as she looped around again. This approach had to be right if they were both to avoid getting hurt. Her pulse rushed in her ears as she skated directly at Boyd, a head-on collision that could only be avoided now by turning it into something else.

  His hands met her hips squarely. Her hands found his wrists as she launched herself. She felt her body rising, forward momentum translating into lift, and the next instant she was aloft, riding in a horizontal swan dive high above the ice. She had never seen the rink from this vantage point before. She could read every rut in their path as Boyd carried her in slow loops down the ice, but far from being frightened, she felt exhilarated.

  I did it! I’m flying! she exulted. Lifting her face into the wind their movement created, she savored her first success.

  Boyd shifted his grip. “Going down.”

  For a second Lexa panicked as the ice flew up to meet her. Then her blades made contact, stuttered, and bit in. She was supposed to land on a single skate, but, back on the ice and unharmed, she wasn’t bothered by that minor error. Lifting her left foot quickly, she glided on her right.

  “We did it!” she cried triumphantly.

  “I’ve done it before,” Boyd reminded her, but he still raised one hand to slap hers. They T-stopped in front of Candace, Lexa still beaming.

  “All right. Not horrible for a first attempt. Boyd, good control. Lexa, leg position—it looked like you forgot your body existed from the waist down.” Candace lifted one skate from the ice, striking a vertical facsimile of the pose Lexa was supposed to have hit overhead. “Remember?”

  “Right. Of course.” Her smile dimmed before she cranked it up again. “I’ll do better this time,” she promised, pulling Boyd along for another try.