by Coco Simon
“Forty-five degrees!” I chirped. Numbers were always easy for me to remember.
“Very good memory! Chest up. Push!”
I did it and went gliding again. It felt so good to be moving along under my own steam, even if I was slow and wobbly.
We were working our way around the outer edge of the rink and began to draw closer to the synchronized girls. They were working on a routine now, and skating all together in rows. It was pretty impressive, actually, and they were beautiful skaters: smooth and fluid and very, very steady. I was gliding well on my one foot, but I looked like a total dork with my arms out. As we drew nearer, I decided I’d make it look like I knew what I was doing, so I put my arms down at my sides and kept doing my dumb push with my right foot and glide on my left. At first it felt okay with my arms down. Sasha and I were silent as we drew alongside the girls. They all turned to look at us during a pause in their routine, and as we passed them, my head turned to look back, and it threw me off balance. I lifted my arms to steady myself, but it was too late. My toes began going in different directions, and my legs got all out of control, and I started to frantically windmill my arms to keep from falling. I went down fast and hit the ice hard on my butt, right in front of all of them. For a moment I wished I could have just disappeared.
I wasn’t down more than two seconds before I felt Sasha’s strong arms flip me up onto my feet, and she began pulling me away from the girls. They were all looking at me in shock, their jaws hanging open.
Haven’t you ever seen a beginner before? I wanted to yell, but if I opened my mouth, I knew I might cry. I could just imagine how they must be laughing now and shaking their heads at my clumsiness.
Sasha pulled me to the other end of the rink and stopped with a big spray of ice shavings, breathless. “We will not go down there again,” she said. “We can stay down here to work, okay?” She tipped her head kindly and looked at me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, willing myself not to cry.
Sasha gave a huge angry huff and pulled back to lean against the boards. She crossed her arms and said quietly, without looking at me, “Those girls, they make fun of my accent—they laugh at how small I am. They are not friendly, not nice. Is okay. I am not here to make friends. But still . . . I am not happy here in beginning, and they are part of problem. Now is better. I see how they are, I avoid them. I don’t know why people are like that. Back home, other skaters help one another. Is like family. Skating is happy for me, but not so much when they are here.” She rocked back and forth on her skates, and two red blotches appeared on her cheeks. “So now we must make you excellent skater. No falling near those girls again, okay?”
I took a deep breath. However mean they were to me, at least I had lots of other friends, and I didn’t need to see those mean girls every time I went to do something I loved. “Okay,” I agreed. “I’m sorry they were mean to you. I . . . actually think they’re intimidated by you.” I realized it was true as I said it.
Sasha gave a little laugh and a shrug. “Funny way to show respect. In my country, we are humble. We ask people we respect for help. Now. We work again!” She pushed off from the wall, and we began the lesson in earnest, with renewed vigor. I understood we both had something to prove to those synchronized skaters, and we needed each other in order to do it.
Sasha showed me how to push and glide using both feet, transferring my weight from one foot to the other by angling the center point of my chest over my toes, alternating from side to side. I’d bend and push, then glide . . . bend and push, then glide. It began to feel good. I kept my arms out to the sides for most of the time, but sometimes I’d lower them, just to look normal for a minute, and Sasha would tsk-tsk me. She said I wasn’t quite ready and “would cause to falling.”
We spent fifteen minutes on learning to stop, which I hadn’t realized was so important until I learned how to glide. Sasha had me hold the wall and work on my snowplow stop, turning one toe in at a forty-five-degree angle and pushing hard on the inner edge of the blade.
By the end of the lesson, Sasha and I were chatting and having a great time. Math was her favorite subject too, and she wanted to be a business major in college, so we had plenty to chat about as I skated (yes, me!). It almost helped to talk while we did it because then I wasn’t too focused on my feet.
At the very end, with five minutes left, I asked if she would show me something cool that she could do. The ice had emptied out, and there were only a few lone skaters still out, plus the girl gang in their corner. The late afternoon had darkened into evening, and the spotlights were humming brightly overhead.
Sasha looked shy all of a sudden. “Is still your lesson time. Plus, I don’t know if there’s space.”
“Please? Just a little jump or something?”
Sasha looked at me with her head tipped, then suddenly she took off like a shot, skating hard around the outside edge of the rink at breakneck speed. The power in her strides was astonishing! She could glide on just one push for half the rink, and fast! She did two fast laps of the rink, and as she came around the final lap, she jumped about three feet into the air, did a double turn, and then landed in that figure skating way, with one leg extended back perfectly and her arms flung out to the sides in a perfect line. Then she stopped in front of me with a sharp shuss! Her eyes were shining happily.
“Oh, Sasha! That was incredible!” I cried, clapping.
She smiled. “Thank you. You can watch rest on YouTube. Clip from Russian Nationals is on there.”
“Oh, I will! I can’t wait! I’ve never seen someone do that up close and in real life. I can’t believe it!” It was like she was another kind of being—more than human. That proficiency and power was awe-inspiring.
Just then, the synchronized team came gliding by, skirts flapping.
“Pretty turn, Sasha!” said Olivia, all worshipful.
Sasha nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment but didn’t say anything. They all passed by, and we were silent for a minute.
“Sasha, I can’t begin to thank you. That was so fun, and I feel so much better now.”
“Yes, was fun. You are good athlete. Very graceful. You can do this. Just little more practice, and no one will know you just started.”
We exited the rink carefully, me clutching the side of the rink like a drowning swimmer, but at least I didn’t fall. Clomping up the ramp, I admitted, “There’s a boy I like, who’s going to be at the skating party on Friday, so . . .”
Sasha turned to grin at me. “Is even better motivation than mean girls!”
I grinned back. “I know.”
My mom was inside the clubhouse when we got to the top, and I introduced Sasha, and they chatted as I untied my skates and returned them. Leaving, we said good-bye to Sasha, who had another lesson waiting, and impulsively, I gave her a hug. She returned it with a tight squeeze.
“Good luck, Alexis. Come back and visit, okay? You will do great on Friday,” she said, holding me by my shoulders and giving me a tiny shake.
“Thanks. It was a blast. I’ll see you soon,” I said.
Walking out, my mom and I fell in with Olivia Allen, which was a major buzzkill.
“You are so lucky,” said Olivia, awestruck. “How did you ever get her to work with you? She’s like . . . a professional. An Olympian.”
I looked Olivia straight in the eye. “I just called up, I told you. But you know what? She’s really nice and really lonely. You should try talking to her sometime.” And then I headed to our car, with Olivia still standing there in the parking lot, biting her lip and thinking.
As soon as I got home, I brought my laptop down to the kitchen, so I could search Sasha’s skating videos and show them to my mom while she made the fajitas. In the Russian Nationals video, Sasha danced in a pale blue velour costume with long sleeves, and she was incredible. Graceful and fast, with tons of tricks and no falls. I would have given her a perfect score if I was the judge, but the video didn’t show the result.
> “What a lovely girl,” said my mom, watching over my shoulder. “So talented, so hardworking.”
“And so nice,” I agreed.
The rest of the evening wound down in a boring Sunday fashion that had me longing for Monday morning. Though the only valentines I had to look forward to were from my mother, at least it was something. But the best part about the day had been the skating and the fact that it had made me forget about Matt for a little while. Which, believe it or not, was a relief. Now if only I could keep it up until Valentine’s Day passed, everything would be perfect.
CHAPTER 6
Much Ado
Happy Valentine’s Day!” my mom trilled as she popped her head into my room Monday morning to make sure I was awake. I was up, of course, having set my alarm so I’d have time to shower and make my hair look slightly better-than-average before school started. So if I did happen to run into Matt at school, at least I’d be ready. After showering and blow-drying and getting dressed in skinny jeans and a cute white sweater with a red heart on it, I hurried down the stairs to see what valentine loot I’d received from my mom.
The table looked really festive with a pink paper tablecloth that was strewn with candy hearts, red napkins, candy-heart-printed paper plates and cups, and a red card and small wrapped red package at each place setting. Even though I was still a little sad about Matt, I had to admit the table looked really pretty.
“Thanks, Mom!” I cried, grabbing the cards I’d bought and distributing one at each place.
Dylan slunk into the room behind me, still in her pj’s, rubbing her eyes.
“Dilly? Are you sick?” I asked. Like me, Dylan is an early bird and always dressed and ready by breakfast.
“Aaaah!” she yawned. “I was studying online for the AP English exam with Alvaro Diaz—and then it turned into just texting about stuff and, well . . . I was up really late. I’m soooo tired.” She smiled a dreamy smile. Who knew AP English could be so romantic?
“Dylan, that’s awful! You’ll be exhausted all day at school. You’d better have some protein powder in your smoothie,” said my mom. She is a health food nut, though she makes exceptions for birthdays and holidays. She did a U-turn to go back to the blender and doctor up Dylan’s smoothie.
Dylan smiled a huge, happy grin. “It wasn’t awful! It was great. He asked me to be his valentine!” She giggled. “I mean, Valentine’s Day is so dorky, but still. It’s nice to be asked, you know?”
I nodded miserably. Yes. Being asked would be nice. Or at least acknowledged in some way, any way. I could feel my mom staring at me, and I refused to meet her eye.
“That’s very nice, Dyl,” said my mom. “But don’t forget it is a silly holiday, and you don’t ever want to make it into more than it is.”
Dylan rolled her eyes and waved her hand at the kitchen table. “Talk about making more of it than it is!” She laughed.
My mom brought Dylan’s protein-improved smoothie over to the table and put it down, then she stood with her hands on her hips. “I do it because I just want you girls to know you’re loved here, so you don’t have to go seeking it from all corners. You can be picky. There’s plenty of love for you right here at home.”
“Oh, Mom!” Dylan laughed again. “Come on!”
I thought it was kind of nice, what my mom said, but I also knew it was a little corny.
My mom laughed. She knew too. “I’m serious. Love comes in many forms. It’s not all romantic.”
“Yes, but the good kind is,” said Dylan, and she took a long gulp of her smoothie. “Mmm. Thanks, Mom. I love it,” she said sarcastically. My mom swatted her playfully on the head with a dish towel.
“Should we open our presents?” I asked.
“Sure!” said my mom.
My dad strolled in, and we all opened our gifts at once. He had bought my mom a pretty red pashmina scarf that she loved. He probably got it from a street vendor in the city, but she was happy. Dylan got red fingerless gloves for texting, a lip balm, and some peanut butter cups in holiday heart shapes. I got a pink ski hat that was soft and supercozy, a lip balm, and some heart-shaped chocolate with nuts. My dad got a red tie from my mom, with little white hearts on it. He took off the tie he had on and swapped it, and it looked really good. Everyone opened their cards, and I was glad I had written a little extra to everyone besides having the preprinted stuff that was already there.
“Thanks, Lex,” said Dylan, dropping her card on the table.
“Lovely, sweetheart,” said my mom, kissing me on the head after she’d read hers.
“I feel the same way about you!” said my dad, beaming at me. (I had told him I couldn’t imagine a better dad in the whole world.)
I beamed back.
My mom stood up again. “Okay, now, let’s move along. I have to get to work, and you girls need to eat so you can pay attention in school today.”
My heart sank. School. Matt. I chewed on the dry “health bread” toast with peanut butter, gulped down some smoothie, and swallowed the omega-3 capsules my mom always gave me. Then I stood slowly and cleared my plate even slower and then went upstairs to bring up my loot, make my bed, grab my book bag, and go back into the kitchen.
I stole one last glance at my e-mail and texts and then tucked the phone away in my bag. No word from Matt. Nada. Zip. Nothing.
And, despite my mom’s advice, that was how I felt too.
I looked up and saw her watching me with a concerned look.
“What?” I said innocently.
She beckoned me into the pantry, and I followed her.
“What? I’m going to be late for school!” I snapped. I knew something annoying was coming, and sometimes I can throw my mom off by invoking school in one way or another.
“I don’t care,” said my mom, and that was when I knew it was something serious. She spun around and looked me in the eye. “Alexis, you are a smart, ambitious, beautiful girl who makes friends easily and has lots of fabulous skills and interests,” she said, staring at me.
“Um . . . so?” I said. Where was this going?
“I saw your face when you checked your texts just now, and I wanted you to know that Sasha mentioned just in passing yesterday that you told her you wanted to skate well to impress a boy at a party.”
“But I—” I protested.
“Shh!” commanded my mother. “She didn’t mean any harm, she was just joking and saying that from her perspective, whatever it took to motivate people, it was good. Which is fine for her purposes, but it bothered me all night. Alexis, there will be many boys in your life, but only one you. I don’t want you seeking satisfaction from impressing boys. You will be forever unhappy if that is the case. Young love is fickle and difficult, and your self-worth needs to be measured by your own skills and accomplishments, not by who returns your texts or gives you valentines. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Is that a yes?” my mother asked sternly.
“Yes,” I said grumpily.
“Matt Taylor is a lovely boy. You know I adore the whole Taylor family. But at your age, you come first. You must remember that. Valentine’s Day or no Valentine’s Day.”
“Fine. I get it,” I said. I sounded bratty even to my own ears, but I couldn’t think of any other way to be. I was more annoyed that my mom had pinpointed the problem and called me out on it than anything else.
She took a deep breath. “Let’s try this again. Alexis first. Boys second, agreed?”
“Agreed,” I said.
I clomped upstairs to get a calculator I’d forgotten.
Dylan was doing her hair in the bathroom mirror.
“Did you just get the girl-power speech?” she asked with a big, annoying grin.
I was surprised. I nodded.
Dylan looked back at herself in the mirror. “Mom’s right, you know. I’ve seen some of my friends go batty for boys, and it is a major waste.”
“I’m not batty!” I protested. “Why does everyone think I’m batty?�
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Dylan looked back at me. “You’re not yet, but you’re on your way.”
“Oh, shush, you!” I said, and I stormed off to school. Batty!
CHAPTER 7
Let’s Do Lunch
Monday just kept getting worse. After the morning’s love lecture, I pulled the most classic embarrassing moment at school that day: dropping a full lunch tray in the cafeteria.
Talk about mortifying. This surely beats falling down on the ice in front of a group of expert skaters.
What happened was, I was walking away from the lunch line, looking for the Cupcakers’ table, when I hit a patch of something slippery on the floor. I skidded, and boom! My tray flipped over, and I couldn’t right it in time, and the whole contents swooshed onto the floor and made a massive crash!
There was a split second of dead silence, then the usual routine: The whole school clapped, I turned purple with mortification and tried to clean it up, everyone laughed and then went about their business.
And guess what I slipped on?
Ice.
Funny, right?
Not really.
All I could think as I bent to gather the soup bowl (plastic, luckily) and smeared food and spilled water was At least Matt isn’t here right now to see this. I wanted to freeze the whole room and look around—I hoped that none of his friends in my grade saw me fall. Ugh. I was shaking and practically in tears as my besties arrived at my side.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you, Alexis,” Emma said comfortingly.
“Here,” said Katie, arriving with a pile of napkins, trailed by the maintenance guy with a mop and bucket. The chicken noodle soup had sloshed over my shoe and my pant cuff, and Katie leaned down to blot it.
Mia took stock of what I had selected and ran off to fetch a new tray of food for me.
It was such a comfort to have such good, kind friends.
“We are going to have to get you some balancing lessons!” someone said. I turned around, and Olivia was standing there with her tray in her hands, smirking. I wanted to hit her tray hard and have all her food go up in her face, but I remembered how Sasha just ignored mean girls, so I did the same and returned to my clean-up attempt.
