Walk on Water (21 page)

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.”

Bry pulled against her grip as if to escape, then slumped back into his seat. “I just want to win, okay? I want to win, or at least kick ass, and the clock is running out.”

“What are you talking about? You’re seventeen. That’s not even old for a guy.”

“Yes, but . . .” Bry slumped even lower. “I want my parents to be proud of me. They both work so ridiculously hard. I want to give them that moment.”

“They
are
proud, Bry. They’re already proud.”

“Not as proud as they could be. Not the way they’d be if I were national champion.”

“You’re crazy. Do you honestly think that matters to them?”

Bry regarded her sullenly through a diagonal shaft of light. When he finally spoke again his voice was full of pain. “We’re not going to be able to live in this bubble forever. They’re going to find out, sooner or later.”

“Find out what?”

“Who I am. Who I
really
am.” He exhaled shakily. “I just want to give them something great first, a moment to look back on when they were completely proud.”

Lexa’s heart nearly broke with the realization of what he was trying to say. “Oh, Bry.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “That’s not going to matter. Your parents love you.”

“They don’t know me,” he insisted. “Not all of me.”

“You don’t think . . . maybe they’ve guessed? I mean, figure skating—it’s not unheard of.”

He shook his head, dislodging a tear that caught the light as it slid down his cheek. “How could they know something that hasn’t even happened yet?”

“
You
know, Bry.”

“That’s different.”

Pulling his heels onto the seat, he hugged his knees to his chest as if to fend off future pain. Lexa touched his shoulder, her eyes filling too. She had no idea what to say, but when Bry turned his head to meet her gaze, the words tumbled out.

“You know
I
love you, right? You can skate in a feathered tutu and fall flat on your ass—I’ll be there cheering my heart out. I will always,
always
be your friend.”

Bry sniffed, then smiled through his tears. “Feathers are so eighties.”

“Pull up! Posture, Lexa!” Weston yelled.

She was deep in a death spiral and had drifted so far out of position that she couldn’t rise back up. Wrenching her wrist against Eric’s, she tried to leverage herself back to standing, but even with his help she couldn’t get her edge beneath her. She collapsed onto the ice, sliding around her partner in an undignified heap.

“Olé!” Eric cried, stomping out a matador-like flourish as if the move were part of their routine.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That one got away from me.”

Waving off her apology, he yanked her back onto her blades. “Bound to happen once in a while when you fly so low.”

Weston was less forgiving. “Low is no excuse. You got sloppy, Lexa. You weren’t concentrating.”

She nodded unhappily, knowing he was right.
At this rate, I’ll never see sectionals again—forget about nationals,
she thought. She seemed to have taken a giant step backward that week, messing up easy elements, falling out of unison, and just generally stinking up the rink.

Weston waved them over to the boards. Lexa went apprehensively, fearing whatever well-deserved criticism was about to come her way. He gave them both long appraising looks before finally speaking.

“It’s not unusual to lose a little ground here and there,” he said. “Especially when you’re pushing ahead as hard and fast as we are.”

Lexa’s eyes dropped to her skates. Eric wasn’t losing ground. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me this week.”

“I do. Physical stress makes a body tired, but mental stress wears a person out. You’re putting too much pressure on yourself, Lexa, thinking too far ahead, obsessing over a timeline that only exists in your head.”

Her gaze rose combatively. “Olympics only happen once every four years. That’s not in my head.”

Weston smiled, the lines in his cheeks folding into pleats. “Lord, if you only knew how much you look like your mother right now.”

“My mother?” she echoed, surprised.

“You didn’t think Blake was the only hardhead in that pair, did you? No one could tell either of them anything once they’d set their minds. Lucky for them, they always set them the same way.” He smiled again. “Lucky for you, too.”

An answering grin crept onto her face. “Stubborn, huh?”

“Lord in heaven! Ask your grandmom. And don’t think I’m spilling secrets here. I loved Kaitlin like the daughter I never had—she wouldn’t have wanted you growing up thinking she was some perfect, pliant princess. She had backbone. She had spunk.” Weston laughed fondly. “That girl was stubborn as sin.”

“Go figure,” Eric said with a teasing grin. “Our Lexa’s such a sweet little angel.”

“I
am
sweet,” she said, punching his arm.

“Ow! Oh,” he moaned, rubbing his biceps where she’d tapped him. “I can’t do any lifting
now
. I’ll have to knock off early.”

“Exactly what I was about to suggest.” Weston turned to Lexa. “Take the afternoon off. Watch TV. Read a book. Text those friends at sectionals you can’t stop thinking about.” He laughed at her stunned expression. “Oh, yeah. I’ve been coaching since before the flood. You think I haven’t seen this before?”

She glanced up at the stands. Beth was knitting by herself, the picture of innocence. Had Weston really deduced the source of her distraction, or did he have inside information?

“Go clear your head,” he said kindly. “Give your expectations a rest. Then come back fresh tomorrow and we’ll pick up from there.”

Lexa apologized to Eric again as they headed for the locker rooms.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “I’m tired too, don’t worry. I’ll probably just go home and sleep.”

“You’re not tired because of me, are you? I mean, all of my screw-ups aren’t making you crazy?”

He stepped into her path, blocking forward progress. Looking into her eyes, he made sure she heard every word: “You are not screwing up. You’re doing everything I could want and more. I am not tired because of you. Okay?” He smiled. “I’m tired because our schedule’s a ballbuster and I stayed up until two a.m. playing a new video game.”

Even Beth was understanding. “You’ve been working so hard,” she said in the car on the drive home. “And I know you miss your friends. Let’s treat ourselves this afternoon. Should we bake a carrot cake?”

“Carrot cake?” Lexa smiled wryly. “Even your treats involve vegetables.”

“Cream cheese icing,” Beth wheedled.

“Put that icing on a pan of brownies, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Diving over her unmade bed, Lexa grabbed her phone off the nightstand.

“Should I just tell you?” Bry’s voice was loud and cheerful—Bry at the top of his game. “Or should I beat around the bush? Draw out the suspense.”

“Oh, definitely beat around the bush,” she said, pacing in her excitement. “Also, do yourself a favor and never take up poker.”

“I killed!” he exulted. “Two nearly perfect programs!”

“So you’re through to—”

“I murdered everyone but Ian and he crushed the quad Salchow. Man, I hate that quad!” He didn’t sound as if he hated it. At that moment, he didn’t sound capable of hating anything.

Constrained by the cluttered floor in her bedroom, Lexa paced through the bath into the wide-open spaces of Kaitlin’s museum. “So, Ian—”

“First again. But if he’d fallen on that quad, or missed an element somewhere else . . . I mean, obviously other guys are throwing them too, but scoring’s not
all
about quads. I could still have an actual chance! And by next season, Olympics season, I’ll have a quad myself.”

“That’s fantastic, Bry.” She felt guilty saying so, as if rooting for him was rooting against Ian. If she was forced to choose sides, though, she’d take Bry’s every time.

Even though Ian did call me hot,
she remembered with a pang.
Hot but crazy . . . Does that mean he likes me or not?
She still wasn’t even sure if Halloween had been a date.
Now if he’d tried to kiss me on those wax lips . . .

“Lexa!” Bry said impatiently.

“What? I’m listening.”

“Obviously not. I just said I have to go. My parents are waiting. There’s this sort of party. I’ll try to call back later.” He was gone the next instant, leaving her ear pressed to empty air.

Lexa found herself alone in her mom’s childhood room, a dead phone in her hand, wondering how she’d gotten there. She knew she ought to be thrilled that Bry and Ian had both skated well, but instead she found herself thinking about all the things that should have been. She should have been there to cheer them on, and to congratulate Blake. She should have been there to encourage Jenni.
Jenni
should have been there.

Would she have quit skating if I’d stayed at Ashtabula Ice?
It felt conceited to even wonder that, but her absence had to have helped clear the way for the perfect storm of senior year, newfound popularity, and Adam that had dropped training to the bottom of Jenni’s priorities.
She should at least have skated at sectionals. I should have skated with her.

That thought pulled Lexa up short. Skating with Jenni meant skating singles. And even though pairs was her sole focus now, she reluctantly had to admit that there were aspects of singles she missed. The freedom, mostly, the ability to cut a new line or improvise an arm movement with no thought to unison. She missed not worrying about dragging her partner down every time she made a mistake. She had expected being half of a pair to lighten her burden, but having a partner, even a great partner like Eric, had actually increased the pressure. She didn’t rise or fall on her own anymore—other people were counting on her.

The phone vibrated in her hand. Ian:

wish u’d been here tonight

Lexa sighed.
Me too.

“And . . . up!” Eric said, timing his press perfectly to Lexa’s approach. She levitated into an effortless star lift. Balanced overhead on her side, one of Eric’s hands securely under her hip, she rode in easy circles down the ice, back, head, arms, and legs all exactly where they should be. To the extent her rigid boots allowed, she even pointed her toes.

“Beautiful!” Weston called from the boards. “Gorgeous, girl!”

“Right. You’re gorgeous and I’m the wallpaper,” Eric teased beneath her.

Weston overheard. “Poor Eric. You’re gorgeous too. Better?”

“Yes, actually.” He rolled Lexa down through the dismount and set her gently on one blade, grinning the whole time.

Lexa returned his smile, wishing she felt it more inside. Star lift was a move she had literally dreamed of doing for years, and the lift they’d just done had been textbook. Eric and Weston were clearly thrilled. Beth was clapping in the risers. So why did she feel . . . nothing?