Life on the Edge (6 page)

laughed. “I think you have a short memory. At Nationals,
I
was the one teaching
you
the moves.”

Drew stepped into the aisle and pointed at
me
. “You keep thinking that, Butler. But you’ll see who the real master is.” He waved to
my
parents. “It was nice meeting you.”

Mom’s big brown eyes widened as she watched Drew bound up the concrete steps. “He seemed very friendly . . . especially towards you.”

“We’re just friends, Mom. We’ve kept in touch through email.”

“Doesn’t he live in California?”

“Yes.”

Mom’s brow wrinkled before she shifted her gaze to the ice.

I’d
been constantly reminded that boys would serve as a troublesome distraction.
But
what happens when the distraction is someone I can’t escape?

****

“Would the following skaters please take the ice for the warm-
up.
From the United States, Emily Butler and Christopher
Grayden
.
From Russia–”

Chris and
I
took off across the ice, and I tuned out the public address announcer. The
six minute
warm-up didn’t give us much time to practice our short program elements, so every second required concentration.

Having met Sergei’s triple twist challenge at practice, we ramped up speed for the element. Chris tossed me up, and I wound myself into a tight coil, but without enough
air
I couldn’t finish the third rotation.
I
came down with my back to Chris instead of facing him, and he stumbled to keep his footing as he locked his arms around me.

“Get the bad one out of the way now, right?” he said.

attempted a laugh to cover up my concern, but the sound came out like a wheeze. Dodging the traffic of the other three couples, we completed the side-by-side triple jumps and rushed into practicing the throw triple Lutz.
My
mind was two elements back on the twist, and I landed the jump on two scratchy blades instead of one smooth edge.

Chris placed his hand on the small of
my
back, and I wiggled my arms and legs, as if I could shake out the anxiety. We motored by Sergei, who was leaning forward with his palms pressed against the boards.
I
recognized it as his I’m-not-pleased-with-what-I’m-seeing stance.

, we transitioned into easy stroking around the ice. Our red and black costumes sparkled like gemstones under the bright lights of the arena. Chris held
my
hand and hummed along to the blaring pop tune, immune as always to any worry.
I
fidgeted with my halter neckline and played “Capriccio
Espagnol
,” our program music, in my head.

Time expired, and we followed Sergei backstage to await our turn to skate. On cue, the muscles in
my
legs twitched more violently, and my stomach did a gymnastics routine.

paced the narrow, gray corridor while Chris relaxed in a folding metal chair. The click-clack of my plastic skate guards on the cement floor echoed off the
stone walls
. Sergei watched
me
walk in circles before putting his arm around me. At the touch of his hand on
my
bare shoulder, my insides went from doing back flips to slowly melting like the last snow of winter.

“
Em
, remember what we’ve talked about. Your body knows what to do. Relax into
it,
let it feel the energy of the music.”

The clarity in his eyes spoke of confidence, but the six minutes I’d just spent on the ice weren’t making me very sure of myself.

“Imagine the perfect program,” he said. “Keep that picture in your mind through each step.”

I
couldn’t
help thinking about worst-case scenarios, though. “But if we miss the twist . . .”

“Don’t think about missing it. Think about nailing it. But if you make a mistake, remember to move past it and focus on what’s ahead.”

He spoke so calmly and with such assurance. Before
I’d
moved to the Cape, my career had stalled at the junior ladies level because of my competition anxiety. I could do the difficult jumps with ease in practice, but when I stepped on the ice to compete, my entire body would
tense
and my mind would fill with doubt. Sergei had worked with
me
on freeing my mind of negativity and visualizing a flawless program.

Those techniques
didn’t
eliminate all the jitters, however.
My
nerves, plus the nearness of Sergei, sent my pulse on a sprint.

An event volunteer signaled us, so Chris and
I
marched through the tunnel and waited near the ice door for Claire and Brandon to finish their program. The moment they exited, we claimed the ice and circled the rink while the scores
were read
.

Moments before our introduction, we stopped in front of Sergei to take final sips of water. He smoothed the jacket of his dark blue suit and fed us a string of reminders.

“You’re trained and ready for this.”

“Take one element at a time.”

“Have fun out there.”

Before
I
left him, he gave me a smile and one final nugget of encouragement. “You’re stronger than you’ve ever been.”

returned his smile and nodded, inhaling and exhaling a measured breath.

The audience treated us to a warm ovation but silenced as Chris froze in his starting pose. Taking deep breaths,
I
skated around him and tapped my
toepick
into the ice, positioning myself next to him. He gave me a subtle nod, his comforting sign of reassurance
I’d
come to rely on.

The powerful beats of the Spanish-flavored music guided us through our sharp opening movements. Approaching our first element, the triple twist, I thought,
Quick
and tight.
Quick and tight.

I soared above Chris’s head and spun three times, but I
couldn’t
pull my arms out fast enough.
My
elbow crashed into Chris’s shoulder, and I slid down his silky shirt. He grasped
my
waist and held onto me to keep us upright. Muted applause recognized our valiant attempt.

Chris
must’ve
seen a dazed look in my eyes because he squeezed my hand extra hard. Reminding
myself
to stay positive, I looked ahead to the side-by-side triple
Lutzes
and envisioned the perfect jump.
I
stabbed my right
toepick
into the ice and went straight up into three rotations. Chris matched
me
, and our blades reconnected with the ice on the same beat. That time, the response from the crowd came at a much higher decibel.

The tension in
my
muscles eased a bit as we moved into our circular footwork, and I let myself settle into the music.
But
when the throw Lutz loomed, my body tightened and I saw the image of my botched landing during the warm-up.

flushed the warm-up from my head and pictured Chris throwing me across the ice into three revolutions, followed by a clean run-out on one foot. I thought of it
again and again
as he pressed his hands against my hips and sprang me into the air.
My
body responded instinctively, spinning the way I did countless times in practice and landing upright, one blade on the ice.

Chris grinned at
me
, and we sailed into our overhead lift. A boost of energy flowed down
my
limbs, carrying me through our final elements and to the end of the program.

hugged Chris and exhaled, but the mistake on the twist soon came back to me, diminishing my smile of relief. As we took our bows, stuffed animals flew from the stands and landed near our feet. Tiny sweeper girls in pink dresses scooped up the gifts.
I
picked up a multi-colored stuffed snake and twisted it in frustration as I skated to the Kiss & Cry, the sitting area to wait for the scores.

Sergei greeted us with quick hugs.
“Very good start.”

continued to squeeze the furry snake between my fingers. “I should’ve had the twist. I opened up too soon.”

“You did great.” Chris swung his arm around
me
as we sat on the small bench. “You got the full rotation.”

“Thanks for helping me keep my head on straight before,”
I
said to Sergei.

“I just gave you a few reminders. You’ve come a long way.”

The announcer’s deep voice droned the scores–5.5, 5.4, 5.5 . . . Out of 6.0, those were good marks, but
I
still wanted a do-over on the twist.

At the end of the evening, we were in fourth place behind the Canadians, a Russian team, and our American rivals, Claire and Brandon. Once we finished our media obligations, we shared a few minutes with our parents and then sought out empty seats for the Original Dance competition.

Aubrey and Nick were one of the first couples to skate. Chris whistled at our friends, and through
my
cupped hands I cried, “Go Aubrey and Nick!”

With her blond hair curled and slinky black dress showing off her trim figure, Aubrey was the picture of beauty, and Nick’s dark good looks made him the perfect match. His black tie and tails completed the sophisticated image for their foxtrot program.

clutched the arms of my seat and tapped my heels as Nick led Aubrey through the dance. They floated around the rink, their intricate
hand-holds
not hurting their speed. I watched their blades closely, and my eyes
didn’t
see any missteps. Chris and
I
jumped up as soon as the program ended.

While we waited for the scores, Chris asked, “How bad do you think they’ll get screwed this time?”

mouth curled downward. “They’d better get some five-twos or five-threes.”

“They won’t. The judges won’t give them the marks they deserve because they’re young and they have to ‘wait their turn.’” Chris made air quotes.

Since ice dance
didn’t
include jumps, the judges could be more subjective with their scores. I often asked Aubrey if the system frustrated her, and she said she
couldn’t
worry about things out of her control. That was a lesson
I
was still trying to learn.

A line of 4.9’s and
5.0’s
lit up the scoreboard.

“
Pfft
” was
my
response.

Later at the hotel, I was showered and in my pajamas by the
time
Aubrey returned from the arena. Snug under two blankets,
I
looked up from my paperback and started to say, “Great
jo
–” but Aubrey’s moist eyes and quivering chin halted me.

“Are you okay?”

She sniffed and dropped her rolling bag on the carpet with a thud.
“Just Viktor being Viktor.”

I slipped my bookmark between the last pages
I’d
read. “What did he say? You guys did so well.”

“He said I didn’t give enough energy to the program.”

“What? The crowd loved you. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

She hunted through the pile of clothes on the dresser and yanked out an extra-large T-shirt. “Well, he thinks he’s right.
As always.”