“Your voice. You sound like Don Corleone.”
“Don Corleone?” I pull at a strand of hair that’s somehow made its way into my mouth.
“The Godfather. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it.”
“Oh, right. Sure.” With great effort I heave my leaden torso up to lean back against the headboard. “I am totally fucked.”
Gwen chuckles. “Yeah, iSkate is heavy. But you’ll get used to it. What are your plans for tonight?”
“Plans?”
“Yeah. Oh, no no no… Shit.” In the background I hear something clatter to the floor. Gwen curses. “Mom and her stupid Yankee Candles! Why are they in glasses on top of it all? They’re everywhere. A new cloud of scent greets my every step.”
“Well, they’re nice.”
“I guess. Anyway, we were talking about plans. What do you intend to do?”
“Nothing,” I reply, without being able to hide the disbelief in my voice. “I feel like I went through bootcamp with Rocky Balboa today. How can you still walk?”
“Like I said, you’ll get used to it. I’ll pick you up. Be downstairsin ten, yeah?”
“What? Gwen, really, I…”
“See you soon!”
I want to protest, but she’s already hung up. For a moment I sit there motionless, staring at my phone. I consider simply sending her a message telling her not to come, but somehow, I just don’t manage. We just got to know each other, and I don’t want to screw things up.
Exhausted, I crawl to the edge of the bed and shake my limbs. What the hell. If I’ve already made it this far today, I’ll manage this, too.
I don’t make the effort to put on makeup again. Instead, I fish my dirty training clothes out of my bag and toss them into the laundry basket that Ruth put in my room. Pulling out my wallet, my fingers graze the folded iSkate contract. My heart skips a beat, just like before when Polina put it in front of me and my eyes got caught on the astronomical sums. That’s right. Sums. Plural. Three, to be exact. Membership fees to iSkate, Polina’s training fees, and the remaining costs for a choreographer. Before I’ve proven myself and won championships, I’m on a probationary period and have to pay for everything myself. That’s the disadvantage. At some point, they’ll be the ones to pay, but I’ve got a long way to go before that happens.
While signing I thought that, with every stroke of the pen, I was signing my own doom. I really need a job if I don’t want to have to sneak out of town, bankrupt, in the dead of night.
“Paisley,” Ruth says over the clacking of her knitting needles. She is one of those women whose dimples turn red when they smile. It automatically gives her that tender expression that I otherwise only know from little Christmas elves. “You weren’t at dinner. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, absolutely. Sorry, but training…” Instead of finishing, I put on a suggestive expression.
Ruth nods. “Got it. Well, there’s still a bit of apple cake on thesideboard. In case you’re hungry…”
“We’ll get something at the fair,” Gwen interrupts, standing up from the sofa and stretching. “Mom’s blueberry cheesecake is to die for.”
“Fair?” I ask as Gwen puts her fingers around my wrist and tugs.
“Yeah. Today is the half-pipe show, a little foretaste of the X Games. The town fair today is a tradition.”
I pull my cap farther down over my ears as we step outside the B&B. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Gwen shrugs. “Forgot.”
As if. She hid it from me, knowing that in my current state I never would have had the strength for something like that. My new friend is pretty clever.
We take Gwen’s military-green Jeep to the Aspen Highlands where a considerable crowd is waiting.
“Wow,” I say as I get out of the car, closing the door behind me, my eyes directed toward the many stands and the half-pipe behind them. “Were these folks hiding all day long? Where did they come from all of a sudden?”
Gwen laughs. Her boots crunch in the snow as she makes her way around the car to me. “Those are tourists. They want to see the show.”
She grabs my arm, which triggers a feeling of well-being in me, and with her other hand points to the different little huts and stands. “Souvenirs and all that. Ridiculously overpriced. Every year I ask myself what kind of person pays twenty dollars for a magnet of a green-haired troll on a snowboard. Totally whack. Oh, back there’s where Malila knits her beloved bracelets. She lives near the Colorado River and only comes here for the fairs.”
