Walk on Water

by Laura Peyton Roberts

  With all the changes we’ve been through, things are just going to be weird for a while, she reassured herself. We’ll get back to normal. Eventually.

  Squeezing lemon into hot tea, Lexa racked her brain for a subject that might not start a fight. “So, you and Adam,” she said at last. “How’s that going?”

  “Fine,” Jenni replied suspiciously.

  “I thought he’d have left for college by now. Is he not going or—”

  “He’s at City.” Jenni’s expression dared her to say anything negative about junior college.

  “So he’ll be in town all year, then.” Not that Lexa expected Jenni to stay with him that long. She was amazed they had lasted four months.

  “I’m quitting skating.”

  “What?” Lexa’s spoon clattered to the table. “Wait, I . . . What?”

  “I’m done. I’ve had enough.” Jenni spoke as if she were talking about a cheeseburger instead of the sport she’d been perfecting since the age of four.

  “But sectionals are two weeks away! You qualified!”

  “And we both know that won’t happen again.”

  “No we don’t! It’s a clean slate, Jenni. You have a great shot at making nationals.”

  “And then what? Let’s say by some miracle I make the cut. Then what?”

  “What do you mean? You skate, that’s what.”

  “Yeah.” Jenni shrugged. “Okay. But there’s no way I’ll be standing anywhere near the medals when it’s over. Wait.” She held up a finger as Lexa opened her mouth. “Be honest.”

  Lexa hesitated. Even at her best, Jenni had always been a dark horse, and the way she’d been training lately, she wasn’t at her best. If she were to rededicate herself, though, and practice with total commitment, who could say what she’d achieve?

  “Maybe you won’t place this time,” Lexa conceded. “But you don’t want that regionals performance to be your last skate ever, do you? Go to sectionals. Find out where you really stand. And then decide if you want to quit. I can’t understand why you’d even consider quitting now.”

  “Because it’s senior year! You obviously don’t care about school, but I do. I don’t want to waste any more of my life when I could be doing normal things with normal people. I want to have fun for a change.”

  “Skating’s not fun anymore?”

  “No! Duh!” Jenni took a long breath. When she spoke again, her tone was pleading. “You know how in interviews the winners always say all the sacrifice was worth it? That you can be whatever you dream? Well, that’s a load of crap. You don’t think the losers had dreams too? You think if they were interviewed they’d all be glad they sacrificed? Or could they maybe name some better ways they wished they’d spent their time? That’s what I’m looking at here. Do you ever think about that?”

  “No, not really.” Lexa shook her head. “Skating’s not sacrifice to me. I can’t even imagine not skating.”

  Jenni rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s got to quit sometime. Even you, Lexa.”

  —51—

  “I brought you something,” Eric said, producing a pair of scarlet wax lips as he and Lexa walked out to the parking lot. “Nice, right? The perfect accessory for a Halloween date—or any date, for that matter.”

  “Thanks. You shouldn’t have.” Lexa smiled and stashed the lips deep in her parka pocket.

  “Got big plans tonight?”

  Jenni was going to a college party with Adam, her new reason for living and—Lexa felt certain—the real reason she’d quit skating. Darci was throwing the Halloween party Bry was going to. He’d tried to make her promise she’d come, but . . .

  “I’ll probably just stay home. You?”

  “I have a few options.” He waggled his eyebrows in what he probably hoped was a mysterious way.

  Lexa’s phone rang.

  “Just a sec,” she said, checking caller ID: IAN WILDE. Her pulse jumped. “I have to take this. Have fun tonight, okay?” Waving distractedly, she set off alone through the parking lot. “Hello?”

  “Hey. It’s Ian. Happy Halloween.”

  Despite his on-and-off-again texts, Ian had never called her before. Lexa’s heart raced with the hope that this change might signal some new level in their relationship. “Yeah, you too,” she said, a little breathlessly.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, I’m just running across the parking lot. It’s freezing out here.”

  “Literally. The lake’s already icing over. At this rate, the ponds will be solid.”

  Reaching her car, she let herself in. “So what’s up?”

  “I thought maybe we could hang out tonight. If you don’t already have other plans.”

  “No. I mean, yeah. I mean, no other plans,” she said, wincing at how lame she sounded.

  “I know this street where everyone tricks out their houses like movie sets. People drive their kids in from all over to trick-or-treat there. It’s fun just to walk around, if you like that sort of thing. Do you want to check it out?”

  “Okay. Sure.” It seemed like an odd invitation—especially coming from Ian—but she still jumped at the chance to see him again.

  “Are you in Mentor now?”

  “Just leaving.”

  “It’s four o’clock, so by the time you hit town, it’ll be plenty dark. Do you want to just meet me there?”

  Lexa took the address he gave her and hung up in confusion. Was this a date? It didn’t feel like one, but it also wasn’t as if she and Ian were in the habit of hanging out together. Ever.

  She had plenty of time to mull it over on the drive to Ashtabula. Should I go home and change first? she worried. She’d showered at the rink, but she wasn’t dressed for a date—or Halloween, for that matter. On the other hand, if she went home and got dressed up and it wasn’t a date . . . No, that would be worse. It would make her late, too, and he might not wait. Passing the off-ramp for Maplehurst, Lexa drove straight on.

  Night had already fallen when she finally found the right street. Jack-o-lanterns leered from house windows, peered through porch railings, and lined otherwise dark walkways. Trick-or-treaters were starting to venture out too—a tutu here, a cowboy hat there. Off in the distance, a diffuse orange glow seemed to rise up out of the ground. Just as Lexa realized that must be her destination, Ian appeared in her headlights, gesturing for her to park against a short stretch of empty curb.

  “You won’t find anyplace closer,” he said as she got out of the car. “You’d just end up driving in circles.”

  He was wearing jeans and a parka with its hood thrown back, a green glow stick around his neck his only nod to the holiday. Lexa zipped her own parka, filled with gratitude that she hadn’t gone home to change.

  “What made you think of coming here?” she asked as they walked down the pavement together. What she really wanted to know was why he’d invited her, but she had to start somewhere.

  “I stumbled onto this place the first year we moved to Ashtabula. I was getting too old to trick-or-treat, so I went out just walking around. Watching the younger kids made me feel like I wasn’t completely missing out.” He smiled nostalgically. “Man, I loved trick-or-treating. I’m still bummed I got too old for it.”

  Lexa laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Wait. You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not even a little. Come on.” Tugging her coat sleeve, he hurried their pace toward the glow down the street.

  Traffic became congested quickly, both on and off the pavement. Cars full of masked faces cruised for parking spots while kids on foot swarmed sidewalks and yards with pillowcases slung over their shoulders. The orange light ahead grew until Lexa made out a corner followed by the first large house in an elaborately decorated block.

  “Wow,” she said.

  Ian smirked. “Told you.”

  Enormous greenbelt trees stretched in a single-file line as far as she could see, every bare trunk, branch, and twig wrapped in orange twinkle lights. Their combined illumination cast a
n eerie glow over houses draped with masses of cobwebs and shredded black gauze that swayed in the slight breeze. Fresh graves crowded front lawns. Decayed hands reached up through raw soil. Hollow eyes peeked from behind headstones. Creepy music played through hidden speakers, wailing notes punctuated by blood-curdling howls. The entire block was packed with gargoyles, candelabras, fanged spiders, mechanical bats, and decrepit skeletons, while costumed adults moved through the crowd as every type of ghoul, eliciting squeals and screams from unsuspecting victims.

  “They could charge money for this,” Lexa said, hunching her shoulders to avoid brushing anything scary. “It’s, like, professional.”

  “I think the displays get better every year, although I would have said that was impossible the first time I came.” Ian flashed that grin again. “Maybe someday I’ll own a house here. That would be cool.”

  “I never would have guessed you were so into Halloween. Don’t take this the wrong way, but most of the time you seem pretty serious.”

  “I’m dead serious when it comes to Halloween.” He snickered. “Dead serious—get it?”

  “No, let me think about that one.” This was a whole new side to Ian, one with which she felt far more at ease. They walked down the block side by side, pointing out the best costumes, checking the decorations, and laughing when a psycho dad with a chain saw startled them right off the sidewalk.

  “We should have worn costumes,” she said at the start of the second block, “seeing as how we’re revisiting your childhood and all. What was your favorite thing to dress up as? Wait, let me guess: Olympic gold medalist.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “That was one time. No, I was into the scary stuff: werewolves, zombies, vampires. I loved being a vampire.”

  “Hence your obsession with black. It’s all becoming clear now.”

  He gave her a blank look. “What obsession with black?”

  “Are you kidding?” she asked, laughing. “When do you skate in anything else? What color are your competition costumes right now?”

  “Black,” he admitted sheepishly. “But that’s a coincidence! I like how black stands out on the ice.”

  “If you say so. But don’t expect me to keep believing that the day you show up to skate in a cape.”

  “Ooh, a cape!” He laughed at her expression. “Now I’m kidding. Probably. Okay, maybe just for exhibitions.”

  “Save me a ticket for that performance. I can’t wait to see Blake’s face.”

  The unexpected mention of Blake wiped some joy from both of their faces.

  “Have you talked to him at all?”

  “Why? Is he okay?”

  Ian smiled ironically. “Define okay.”

  “I just heard his hair is really short. And he’s still not smoking? That doesn’t feel right to me.”

  “What do you mean, you heard? You saw him at regionals, didn’t you?”

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

  His look said more than words about how disturbing he found the whole situation. “You two need to get over yourselves and talk to each other like human beings. It’s getting ridiculous.”

  “I know. Oh, look!” she said, seizing a passing distraction. “A whole pack of French maids!”

  Ian shook his head at a quartet of teens in thigh-high stockings, all brandishing pink feather dusters. “I don’t get that costume. Do you?”

  “Have you been talking to Jenni?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  “It’s just, what’s scary about cleaning toilets?”

  “Ha! You’ve obviously never cleaned the toilets at the rink. Bring in a packed public session and those stalls get plenty scary.”

  He laughed. “Scary is relative, I guess.”

  “You have no idea.”

  At the end of the block they stopped to examine a particularly gruesome tree with animatronic crows in its bare branches. Picked-over human bones chattered in the breeze.

  A group of first- or second-graders ran over the lawn to confront them. “Trick or treat!” the kids shouted.

  “Do I look like I’ve got candy?” Ian patted his flat pockets. “You have to hit up the houses.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Lexa added. “Go knock on the door.” She pointed and they ran off, high on excitement and sugar.

  Ian smiled. “Good times.”

  “Oh, I do have something,” she realized. “But not enough for everyone.” Pulling the wax lips from her pocket, she stripped off the cellophane and slipped them between her teeth. “How do I look?”

  “And you said you didn’t have a costume.”

  “It’s not scary, though.” She batted her lashes at him, pushing her red lips forward like a cartoon femme fatale.

  Ian laughed. “I’m out with my hard-ass coach’s hot-but-crazy underage daughter and hoping he never finds out. Scary is relative.”

  —52—

  Bry looked down at the items arrayed on his bedspread: a week’s worth of clothing for in and out of the rink, competition costumes, and way too many shoes for a few days on the road. His skates were packed in a nearby bag on the floor. “I think I’m going to puke.”

  “Will you stop stressing?” Lexa said. “What is it with your nerves this year? You’re acting like you’ve never been to sectionals before.”

  “I haven’t. Not at this level.”

  She flicked an impatient wrist. “Senior men? Yes, you have.”

  “Not in contention. There was nothing to lose before.”

  “And there still isn’t. It’s not like you’re defending the title.”

  “Yes, and thanks for reminding me.” He sat on the edge of his bed, looking frazzled and washed-out. “I still can’t believe Jenni quit! I wish she’d change her mind and come after all.”

  He didn’t bother mentioning that Lexa wasn’t coming either, but she couldn’t blame him. She might have risked Beth’s wrath to show up for Bry at regionals, but Jenni was the one who had been at the rink supporting him every day.

  “I wish she was going too. But you know Jenni. Once she makes up her mind, she thinks it’s against the law to change it.”

  “She could at least come help me pack. You did.”

  And Lexa couldn’t help wondering if her presence explained Jenni’s absence. They were still working on getting their friendship back to normal, and Jenni’s decision to abandon skating hadn’t made that easier. Lately it felt like there were more things that weren’t safe to mention than things that were. She sighed. “Have you double-checked your checklist? You do have a competition checklist?”

  Bry brightened. “Always.”

  He’d been making them for years, adding and refining categories until he had packing down to a science. Grabbing a printout off his desk, he handed it to Lexa.

  “Socks,” she said, reading his first heading.

  “Skating, ten pairs. Athletic, five pairs. Street, five pairs,” he rattled off, reciting the sub-categories from memory and checking his socks at the same time.

  “Shorts. Whoa, this is getting too personal,” she joked, setting the list on the arm of his chair.

  Bry rolled his eyes. “I’ve been over it five times anyway, and my mom will check it twice more before she puts it in a suitcase.”

  “So packing is basically done, then. We could get out of here.”

  “We couldn’t get out very far. It’s already nine and I’m leaving at dark o’clock. Ice cream, maybe.”

  She shivered. “It’s too cold outside for ice cream.”

  “We won’t be eating it outside.”

  “You should be a lawyer.” Lexa heaved herself out of his comfy chair. “All right, ice cream, if that’s what you want.”

  “You know you’ll have some when we get there. Order hot fudge—that’s warm.”

  “Ooh! Hot fudge!”

  He laughed as they left his bedroom. “You’re so easy.”

  Mrs. Nichols intercepted them at the front door. “Where are you going,
Bry? It’s late. Your dad will be home from work any minute, and we still have to—”

  “Lexa’s demanding ice cream. I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

  His mother checked her watch. “All right,” she said reluctantly, “but it’s icy out there. Drive carefully, you two.”

  They took Lexa’s car. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we were heading to sectionals right now?” she asked as she drove down his street. “Just you and me—road trip.”

  “You really ought to be going, if only to see the other pairs compete. It won’t be the same without you there.”

  “No.” Although he had inadvertently hit on the only upside: At least she didn’t have to worry about an awkward encounter with Candace and Boyd. He was back to skating with Ashley, or so she’d heard, and she would happily pass on running into Ashley, too.

  “I couldn’t ride with you regardless, though,” Bry said. “My dad’s coming with us this time.”

  “He’s flying to sectionals?” Lexa asked, surprised. Lost time at work and additional travel expenses meant that Bry and his mother usually attended the lower-level competitions without Mr. Nichols. “I’d have thought he’d wait for nationals.”

  “You keep saying that like nationals is a sure thing.”

  “And you keep pretending it isn’t.” Lexa turned the last slushy corner before the strip mall. “Explain to me the completely unbelievable set of circumstances under which you don’t make the cut.”

  Bry gave her a dark look. “Jenni almost missed it at regionals.”

  “Jenni didn’t train! You can’t compare the two of you.”

  “It happens,” he insisted.

  “It’s not going to happen to you.” The Explorer’s headlights angled up a driveway into the parking lot. Lexa parked in the empty stretch of spaces in front of the ice cream shop.

  “Wait,” she said, grabbing Bry’s arm as he moved to get out of the car. “What’s really going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never seen you sweat competitions this way before. What’s got you so wound up this year? And don’t say Ian, because Ian’s not new.”