No. That absolutely didnotjust happen.
I finally found my voice again, and not in a good way.
“What do you mean?” I shouted. “You’re not even a part of my team now! Did you really send the email?”
My voice was shrill enough that someone unloading equipment from their car a few spaces over turned to see what was going on.
“I thought I was helping,” my mom answered in the wounded tone that I was way too familiar with. “I was making thingseasieron you. What, did I do something wrongagain?”
I clenched my teeth together to keep from really freaking out, because that was what she wanted. Her goal was always to neg me nonstop until I was completely unbalanced, which would then allow her to tell me all the ways I was messy.
And yeah, I was knocked off my axis by my mom yet again. Itwas less common these days, but she still clung to the last bits of connective tissue between us using stunts like this one.
Deep breaths.
I convinced myself that it was fine. I could recover from her email. I’d have Mel follow up with the production team tomorrow and say there was a miscommunication. No big deal, mistakes happen. I might wind up looking unprofessional, but whatever, I’d blame my intense training schedule and they’d have to understand.
“No, it’s fine,” I finally answered, once I’d found my inner peace again. “I appreciate your help, but as we’ve discussed, it’s no longer necessary. In the future, my team can handle requests like the one you received. Do you need me to forward Mel’s contact info to you, so if something like this happens again you can send it her way?”
My mom made a strangled noise and rolled her eyes. “I obviously have Melanie’s contact info, why would you think I didn’t?”
I bit my tongue to keep from spewing a half dozen wise-ass answers.
“Okay, great. I appreciate your understanding.” I was now fully inhabiting apathetic customer service mode with the woman who gave birth to me.
We stared at each other silently, and I braced myself for the next hit. I could tell it was coming by the way she was narrowing her eyes at the screen, searching, calibrating.
“I don’t know why I let your father talk me out of getting that ear-pinning surgery for you.” She shook her head sadly, like not subjecting her adolescent daughter to plastic surgery was a tragedy. “When I see you from this angle your ears just aren’t proportional. Sweetie, I’m sorry we didn’t do it when you were younger. But it’s never too late...”
My looks were low-hanging fruit, because they were a major part of my brand that I’d had no part in cultivating. I looked how I looked, it just so happened that my features lined up in an aesthetically pleasing way. Every time someone compared me to a Disney princess, which was more frequently than I preferred, my mom was quick to mention that she’d once served as Miss Delaware, so she alone knew what it felt like to wear a crown.
If she could manage to stay out of my way for the next month and a half,I’dknow what it felt like to wear a gold medal.
Chapter Three
It didn’t matter that I was exhausted and achy after practice. Thanks to the countdown clock in my head, wrung out was my level set these days. Despite it, I still felt like I needed to log a few miles on the stationary bike in my converted guest room, listening to my long program song for the billionth time.
I used to get sick of my performance music, back when my opinion on it wasn’t part of the decision-making process. I liked classical music enough, but it didn’t get into my marrow the way my current songs did. It took some convincing to get my choreographer, Sarah, to agree to my song choices because, yeah, the message behind both of them was as obvious as a cartoon two-by-four to the head.
“Bulletproof”? It was right there in the title. The synth pop song was cheerfully defiant, a middle-finger-to-my-haters bop that kept me smiling the entire time I was on the ice. My short program piece to the song “Movement” was just as blatant in a totally different way.
Debuting my new direction at Worlds made a few commentators compare my stylistic changes to Disney teens who went full rumspringa once their restrictive contracts ended. It tracked,though. My evolution began after I quit skating and retired for a year post-Switzerland to live a real life. I’d figured out within a few months that I’d never feel okay about my skating career until I had a shot at making things happen on my own terms.
Cut to commentators calling my new programs “sultry” and “daring.”
News flash, the Swan could also be sexy.
I hated that I could trace the first inklings of my new direction to the one person who was getting harder and harder to avoid. There was no way I could let Ben into my life to help tell my story, even though he played a tiny part in waking me up to it.
If I was really honest with myself, I’d admit that he was the spark on the kindling that incinerated everything I’d hated about my old life.
I closed my eyes as the vocals in the song went softer.Thiswas the moment, the lead-up to what I hoped would be my flawless triple axel, where I gathered my power to leap up and twist three and a half times in the air before landing perfectly on the outside edge of my opposite blade. I visualized nailing the move, tensing my stomach and pulling my arms to my chest as if I were actually executing it on the ice.
I loved how the song went completely silent for the second I was weightless and spinning, followed by the rush of landingexactlyas the music exploded again. It was the ultimate feel-good moment, when I was in the homestretch of the program. I knew that going for a triple axel on performance-weary legs was an absolutely stupid idea, but how fucking phenomenal would it be when I landed it?
And then there was the 10 percent jump bonus I’d earn for even attempting it.
The song ended and I moved my arms into my final pose, eyeballing myself in the mirror across from the bike. Yes, I wanted to look as graceful as my fans remembered, but I also wanted to showcase my new strength. I loved the little extra definition on my delts and the hint of biceps.
