Walk on Water

by Laura Peyton Roberts

  2 bad. hoped 2 c u.

  She blinked and read his message again. Now she was really torn. can’t miss 4 days. wish I could.

  so just come for freesk8s. u can miss 1 day.

  Lexa chewed chapped lips. Ian Wilde, the only skater no one had ever accused of slacking, thought she should go to regionals. She wanted to go more than ever now. And it wasn’t as if she trained seven days a week. She and Eric and Weston could have worked something out, if Beth hadn’t been so opposed.

  For the first time it occurred to Lexa to wonder if her grandmother had some other reason for wanting to keep her at home. The way she’d been taking over lately. . . .

  Did Beth have an agenda she wasn’t sharing?

  —47—

  Lexa leaned forward at the top the stands and lowered the program she’d been hiding behind to her lap. Bry was circling the ice mechanically, about to either skate his long program or meet his executioner—his expression made it hard to tell which. He struck his opening pose and wobbled there, his smile quivering, a visible bundle of nerves.

  For Pete’s sake, it’s only regionals! she thought. He’s done this plenty of times! That deer-in-the-headlights look said he’d forgotten all of them, though. The skate toed into the ice trembled as Bry waited for his music to start.

  He and Ian had both done well enough in short program to be placed in the final free skate group, but Bry, with an unlucky fall, was currently in third place while Ian’s perfect performance had him in first. Worse, the random draw within their group had resulted in Bry being first in the skating order while Ian was skating last. Lexa had arrived only an hour before, selecting her seat for the men’s free skate with maximum invisibility in mind and watching the previous men compete through a slot between the top of her program and the brim of her cap. Sighing now, she filled her lungs and reluctantly gave herself up.

  “Go, Bry!” she screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth. “We love you, Bry!”

  Bry’s dull smile caught fire. His chin lifted. At the boards, Jenni’s head swiveled, then swiveled back before she risked making eye contact. Blake had clearly heard her too. Lexa saw his neck stiffen, but his eyes remained on Bry.

  The music started and Bry pushed off, killing it from the very first beat. Lexa followed each move as intently as if she were skating the program herself. She’d seen him practice it so many times she could have skated it herself—with the exception of the triple axels. She’d landed a lucky triple in practice once, but rather than being happy, Blake had bawled her out for risking injury fooling around with a jump she’d probably never compete. Senior men, on the other hand, had to have that jump in their programs, more than once in long if they didn’t have a quad.

  Bry didn’t have a quad yet.

  Lexa held her breath as he stepped into his first triple axel. “Nailed it!” she exulted, whooping.

  Bry’s landing edge drew a clean sure line as he glided backward out of the soaring jump. His smile flashed again. Then his expression became fierce as he entered his first footwork pass. His lack of height was an advantage here, one he had learned to exploit. His compact frame switched and turned with unbelievable speed, blurring his blades into streaks of steel. The audience gasped and cheered, impressed by an element that bored them when presented with less skill. Lexa found herself applauding with tears filling her eyes. Bry’s step sequence had been rechoreographed since the last time she’d watched it, and she saw more than the crowd did—her father’s skating signature was all over Bry’s new moves. Blake “Blades” Walker had passed the baton.

  The implications left her unable to concentrate on the next part of Bry’s program, anxiety reducing her perception to just the highs and lows. He barely got the rotations on his second triple axel and had to downgrade the triple toe that should have followed to a double. The tracing on his combination spin was a thing of beauty, though, centered perfectly. His last jump was a triple lutz combination. An off-balance landing resulted in one hand grazing the ice, but he managed to make that small error look almost choreographed.

  Minor deduction, Lexa thought, watching intently again.

  Seconds later, when he hit his final pose, she stood and applauded with all her heart. She had no doubt he would advance to sectionals, and the four skaters who followed only reinforced her opinion. Their falls and missed elements aside, none of them could touch Bry’s overall quality, his edges, elegance, speed, and level of difficulty.

  The crowd cheered for every competitor, shouting encouragement and waving signs shedding glitter. When Ian was called to skate, though, the noise in the arena surged then dropped to a hush. Ian was a recognized nationals threat. People expected to see something great.

  He entered the oval with confident strokes, his eyes fixed on a distance only he could see. Lexa knew he was running his program in his head, visualizing skating it perfectly. He took his opening pose still deep inside himself, but the moment his music began, his energy exploded outward, sending shock waves through the crowd.

  Ian’s long program was as intense as he was, skated to pounding classical music. His first jump at nationals would be a quadruple Salchow, but there was no need to risk a quad here. She watched him build speed into the pass, expecting to see an easy triple instead. Ian threw the quad. Threw it as if it were nothing, as if he didn’t even know he could fall. A group of tween girls in the row below Lexa’s went insane, screaming Ian’s name as if he fronted a boy band, instantly in love.

  The next two minutes were a fireworks show of triple jumps, triple combinations, and flawlessly executed spins, all performed with unrelenting speed. Then the music changed and Ian began the quieter section of his program. His spirals flowed hypnotically. Sinuous footwork on deeply bent knees fed into a wide-open spread eagle that took him around the end of the rink. And when the beat started driving again, so did he, wowing the crowd with another flurry of flawless triples and triple-triples, more than any mere mortal should attempt on legs that had already skated three and a half minutes.

  He’s a god. Or a machine, Lexa thought, awed silent as the girls continued to scream. Maybe a little of both.

  Ian struck his final pose then immediately skated off the ice, his placement a foregone conclusion. She felt almost sorry for his competitors, who could only be about to despair at the sight of how far Ian’s marks exceeded their own.

  Bry’s not going to be happy, that’s for sure. He had to be sitting comfortably in second place, but from his perspective, she knew, there would be nothing comfortable about it. Ian did seem unbeatable.

  Blake met his future champ at the boards, clapping Ian on both shoulders. He’s finally got the star he always wanted, Lexa thought, overcome by a sudden rush of bitterness. However much of a disappointment she had been, Ian was about to make her and her failures irrelevant. She rose abruptly, intending to flee the arena, just as Blake turned and looked right at her.

  Their eyes met for the first time since she’d left home. She saw the jolt of recognition on his face, read his intention to ignore her. And then, for just a moment, his mask slipped, and she saw something else.

  She saw the pain she had caused him.

  —48—

  Lexa rechecked the time nervously. She should have hit the road an hour ago. Beth would be watching the clock, counting every second. And instead of driving, she was loitering outside the ladies’ locker room, wondering if she was crazy to be thinking of going inside.

  Jenni obviously wanted nothing to do with her. Even Bry hadn’t thought this was a good time to approach her. Lexa could only go by what she’d want herself, though, and if she’d just skated a long program as disastrous as Jenni’s, she’d want a shoulder to cry on. I’ll just go in and let her see me, she decided, pushing through the swinging door. Her reaction will tell me whether I’ve lost my mind.

  Jenni sat facing a corner, her shoulders slumped toward her knees. She was still wearing her sequined competition dress, oblivious to the few remaining girls rushing
to put on street outfits. Even from behind, she looked so dejected that Lexa’s heart squeezed. Sliding onto the bench beside her old friend, she scooted in until their legs touched and assumed the same shoulders-forward position.

  “Rough, huh?” There was no way to sugarcoat a free skate that bad. Lexa knew better than to try.

  Jenni shrugged miserably, blinking back tears.

  “We all have bad skates. It happens to everyone.”

  “That does not happen to everyone!” Jenni said in a voice thick from crying. “I fell on a stag leap!”

  And a double axel. And the triple lutz. But crashing on a stag leap added an extra layer of humiliation. That jump was a filler step, a nothing little pop-up kids mastered at six years old.

  “You still made the cut.”

  “Barely! And this is only regionals!” Jenni finally met her eyes. “Who knows what I’ll screw up at sectionals? Crossovers, maybe.”

  Lexa couldn’t completely hide the smile that flicked across her face. Jenni’s flair for drama had obviously come though the experience unharmed. “Like you said, it’s only regionals. You’ve got this skate out of your system now, so leave it where it dropped and move on. You’ll do better at sectionals.”

  Jenni shook her head. “The competition will be tougher there.”

  “And so will you.” Lexa eased a cautious arm across her friend’s shoulders.

  Jenni tensed, then leaned up against her. “I missed you.”

  “Yeah, same here. Sorry I wasn’t there for your birthday.”

  “Sorry I didn’t invite you.”

  They laughed to cover the lingering hurt, trying to put the past behind them.

  “You really think I’ll do better at sectionals?”

  “Definitely. You just have to train harder, that’s all.”

  Jenni stiffened. “I already train hard.”

  “Right. I didn’t mean—” Lexa groaned inwardly as Jenni pulled away from her. “It’s just . . . Everyone can always train harder, right?”

  “Can you? Would you say that you’ve been slacking?”

  “No one said anything about slacking. I’m only saying—”

  “I know what you’re saying, Lexa.”

  Lexa opened her mouth, then shut it again. Jenni might be right this time. “I wasn’t trying to judge you.”

  “No. Judging me comes naturally for you.”

  They sat in unhappy silence, the reconciliation of a moment before already in jeopardy. Lexa forced herself not to check the time. Beth was going to be angry either way, but if she left now, things between her and Jenni could only get worse.

  “You should get dressed,” she said at last. “Your parents are waiting for you out there and probably getting worried.”

  “Let them wait,” Jenni said, but she roused herself enough to begin unlacing her skates. “I’m not in any hurry to face their disappointment.”

  “If they’re disappointed, it’s only because they know you will be. They’re not disappointed in you.”

  Jenni made a face. “You haven’t been around much lately.”

  Lexa wondered what that crack meant all the way back to Ashtabula.

  —49—

  “I knew it!” Beth said, smacking her hand down on the stone counter. The kitchen window behind her framed maples at the peak of fall color, blazing red and orange leaves that filled the room with golden light. “I told you not to go to regionals! I knew once he saw you he’d try something like this.”

  “You knew Blake would submit my statement of intent?” Lexa asked dubiously.

  “Not that,” Beth said impatiently. “I was just certain he’d try to talk to you, or intervene, or mess us up somehow.”

  “We don’t even know when he sent it. It could have been months ago.”

  “So why am I only hearing about it now?”

  Lexa shrugged. No one could expect her to explain why, two weeks after regionals, Beth had just learned from Weston—who’d heard it from one of his many contacts—that Blake had submitted her previously signed statement to the USFSA, protecting Lexa’s eligibility to compete in singles at the upcoming nationals.

  “He’s got things still being sent to his address, going through him as if . . . as if he’s still your coach!”

  Lexa couldn’t even explain why Beth was so upset. “Does it matter?” she asked wearily. “Just because Blake submitted my statement doesn’t mean I’m going to skate. Weston can set the federation straight. Or let them figure it out when I don’t show up. Let Blake have fun explaining that.”

  “It will look bad on you,” Beth insisted. “It’s your statement.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Lexa sighed. “I’ll handle it.”

  “How? How will you handle it?”

  “I’ll talk to Weston, I guess. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “It is a big deal!”

  Only because you’re making it one. Seeing Beth so worked up about Blake’s perceived interference was actually pretty ironic. It only served to showcase the fact that she called most of the shots now.

  “I’ll handle it,” Lexa repeated, “but I’ve got homework now.” She walked out of the kitchen just to end the conversation. Heading for the staircase, she noticed the loaded coat tree. Grabbing a jacket with one hand and the doorknob with the other, Lexa kept on walking, right out the front door.

  “Kitten?” she heard Beth call. “Kitten, where are you going?”

  “Nowhere. Back in a minute.” She strode off down the long private drive, shrugging on her coat as she went.

  The sun was shining brightly but there wasn’t any heat riding its rays. Light filtered through russet trees, illuminating the blond tendrils around Lexa’s face and giving them the illusion of glowing from within. She trudged with her hands in her pockets, blind to the beauty around her.

  Kitten. Her grandmother’s pet name for her echoed in her ears. Lexa had cherished that nickname her whole life, but something about the way Beth had just spoken it, her voice thick with anxiety, had crystallized a fear that until that moment Lexa hadn’t been able to articulate.

  Kitten. Kaitlin. The words were almost interchangeable, as similar as the people they named. She and her mother looked alike. They skated alike. And now that Lexa was skating pairs, skating with Kaitlin’s old coach, getting closer and closer to the age Kaitlin had been when Beth lost her . . .

  Does she even still know the difference? Lexa wondered. Am I still Lexa to her, or have I become some sort of replacement?

  Even when things were at their worst with Blake, she had never felt like he was trying to turn her into Kaitlin. If anything, he’d gone out of his way to make sure she and Kaitlin had as little in common as possible.

  And I resented him for it. I thought it was because he didn’t love me as much as he did her, that he didn’t want me stepping all over her memory.

  Now she didn’t know what to think. Beth was acting as if Blake were trying to steal her daughter all over again. And Blake . . .

  What the hell is he thinking? He knows I won’t be skating singles. Is he really trying to sabotage me?

  Beth obviously thought so, but Lexa couldn’t believe that. Blake was a lot of things, but he wasn’t passive-aggressive.

  More like aggressive-aggressive.

  Still, he had to have some sort of motive.

  I could just call him and ask.

  But all the way down to the gate and back, her phone stayed in her pocket.

  —50—

  The first snow fell a week later, early enough to inspire predictions of a long, bitter winter. Those flakes didn’t stick around, though, melting into a dirty slush that mixed with the fallen leaves to form decaying drifts. Lexa picked her way through the mess in her oldest boots, following Jenni along a downtown street decorated for Halloween.

  “What is it with French maids?” Jenni asked, nodding toward a costume in a store window. “I get the sexy nurse, and the sexy schoolgirl—hello!—but what’s sexy about being a maid
? Do people not know what maids do all day?”

  “Probably not as intimately as you do,” Lexa said, edging around an icy puddle.

  Jenni stopped so abruptly that Lexa walked into her back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just . . . you’ve had a lot of maids, Jenni. More than most people, all right? You can’t take offense at the truth.”

  Jenni tossed the long tassels of her new cap, offended anyway. “Like you don’t have staff at Maplethorpe.”

  “Maplehurst,” Lexa corrected tightly. Jenni knew what the estate was called; she liked saying it wrong on purpose, to make her jealous point about the fact it had a name. “And you can’t compare the part-time help my grandmom needs to maintain that place to the countless live-ins your family has had.”

  “I can if I want to.”

  Lexa bit her bottom lip. They were trying to be friends again, but things were definitely not the same. “Are you going to a Halloween party?” she asked to change the subject.

  “Probably. You?”

  “I don’t know.” Nobody had invited her to one, including Jenni just now.

  Gathering her faux fur collar in both fists, Jenni tucked her hands under her chin. “It’s freezing out here. We should have gone to the mall.”

  “It was your idea to come downtown!”

  “Let’s go in there,” Jenni said, pointing to a Beans & Things on the corner.

  The coffee shop was packed. Jenni snagged a tiny table against the wall and stood to one side holding their drinks while Lexa wiped up spills with napkins like one of Jenni’s maids. “Why did we come downtown, anyway?” she asked irritably when they finally sat. “When you suggested it, I assumed you wanted to shop somewhere in particular.”

  “I just thought it would be something different. You could have said no.”

  Lexa had been so happy to get Jenni’s call that morning that she would have agreed to a trip to the landfill. Between the nasty weather, awkward silences, and outright hostility, though, she was starting to wish she had asked more questions.