Frankie rapped her knuckles on the door of Charlie’s office. A muffled voice instructed her to enter. She let out an audible gasp as she slowly pushed the door open. Charlie’s office wasn’t just messy—it looked as if some wild animals had entered it and decided to throw themselves a party.
From what she could tell, the room was laid out in a manner similar to Jack’s office. It contained a desk, computer, printer, bookshelf, and two chairs for visitors. Every available inch of flat surface space was covered by binders, stacks of paper, books, coffee cups, boxes, and other assorted items. Crumpled balls of paper that had missed the recycle bin littered the floor. Framed images that might have otherwise hung on the wall were propped against the bookcase.
At least there aren’t any takeout containers on the desk, she thought.Coffee cups are bad enough.
Charlie jumped to his feet, sending the desk chair crashing into the wall behind him. His face was slowly turning a shade of candy-apple red. “Is it eight already?”
Frankie nodded, too transfixed by the state of the room to speak.
He walked around the side of his desk and tossed the jackets piled up on the visitor’s chair onto the printer. Thrown off balance, the items on top of it crashed to the ground. Charlie groaned.
She covered her mouth. Her body shook with laughter.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.” She clutched her stomach and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s just, this room is so messy.”
Charlie scratched the back of his head. “I know.”
“I know I’m here for the paperwork, but I can help you do a quick tidy-up first if you’d like,” Frankie offered, securing her hair into a casual bun.
“No,” he said a little too quickly. “It’s a pigsty, but it’s the only way I know where everything is.”
I find that hard to believe.A muscle in her forehead spasmed. She let out a deep breath. As much as she despised mess and working in a cluttered area, she had to remember this was Charlie’s space and not hers.
“Okay. In that case, where do you want to start?”
He gestured to the now-empty guest chair. “Have a seat.”
She caught the lingering scent of earth, cedar, and pine, transporting her back to her childhood and the first and only time she and her dad had camped near Lake Wakahanra.
So much had gone wrong during that trip. They’d neglected to bring sleeping mats, but perhaps more importantly, a liner for the tent. During the heavy rainfall during the night, the tent had collapsed upon them.
They ended up sleeping in the car that night. As cold and as miserable as they were, her dad made it up to her the next morning when they roasted marshmallows and made s’mores for breakfast. He tried so hard to do what “normal” families did. She never felt as if she’d missed out on anything.
She blinked a few times. Back in the present, she sat across from Charlie and rested her hands on the desktop. “So, um . . . how many people do you have testing? Are they all kids or do we have any adults?”
He sorted through the pile of papers under the computer monitor. “Twenty-five participants. All kids.”
“Do you mind if I write on this notepad?”
“Knock yourself out.”
She nodded and started scribbling the information down on a blank legal notepad she’d spied sitting under a thick manila folder. “Of those, how many are testing singles? Any ice dance tests?”
“Yes, to both of those. Two kids are doing the preliminary-level solo dances—the Dutch Waltz, Canasta Tango, and Rhythm Blues. Everybody else is doing their singles Moves in the Field or Free Skate tests.”
As Charlie spoke, she felt as if she were experiencing a refresher course on skate tests. There were three tracks in competitive ice skating—singles, pairs, and ice dance. Singles and pairs had two tests a skater needed to pass for each level, a Moves in the Field test and a Free Skate test.
For ice dance tests, each level had three compulsory dance patterns a skater needed to learn to music. All skaters started on the singles track. Once they reached the second level, they could begin taking pairs and ice dance tests.
Frankie added what Charlie told her to her notes. “Perfect.” She glanced up. “If I remember correctly, each participant is going to need a waiver and the corresponding judging form for the level.”
“That’s right.” He nodded. “Lower-level tests only need one judging form and one judge. Anything past the pre-juvenile level needs three forms and three judges.”
She tapped her pen against the desk. “Have your judges been able to change their dates to this week?”
“So far so good. I have two judges confirmed. There’s one I haven’t heard back from yet.” Charlie tapped his mouse to life. “All the forms we need are on the American Skating Union’s website.” He typed slowly with his pointer fingers, glancing from the keyboard to the screen every few keystrokes. A full minute passed. He groaned and rubbed his eyes.
Frankie chewed on her lips and drummed her fingers on the desktop. What could be taking so long? “Do you need some help?” she asked impatiently.
