I made it.
My vision goes blurry as the weight of it crashes down—not just the acceptance, but the name staring back at me. Easton. Not Popovich. I chose it deliberately when I submitted my audition. A precaution. A shield. Easier to explain to my grandmother if she ever saw it. Easier than questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Though it was a gamble. I’m known in the ballet community as Katerina Poppvich. But seeing Scottie’s last name attached to mine on an official callback sheet—accepted, no less—makes it feel terrifyingly real. Permanent. Mine. My hands shake as I take a screenshot and text it to Scottie without thinking. Then reality catches up with me. Morning skate. Coach Haynes. Phones locked in lockers. He won’t respond. My screen lights up immediately, anyway.
Incoming call: Scottie Easton
My breath disappears.
I answer.
“KitKat?” His voice is breathless, background noise clanging and echoing. “Tell me I’m reading this right.”
I can’t speak. A laugh breaks out of me instead—soft, cracked, overwhelmed now that I can hear him.
“I made it,” I whisper.
He whoops so loudly that someone yells at him on the other end. Luka’s distant “Shut the fuck up!” cuts through the call.
“You did it,” Scottie says, quieter now. Steadier. “Katerina… I’m so goddamn proud of you.” A beat. Then, gentler. “And… hey. I saw Easton on the callback sheet.” My heart stutters. “I know,” I say softly. “I did it as a precaution… just in case.” “I know why you did it,” he says, not interrupting—just anchoring me. “And just so you know… Easton is yours for as long as you want it.”
My hand presses to my chest, my heart stuttering. I hold back the question sitting right on my tongue, “What exactly are you offering me?” because I don’t have the courage to ask it yet. “I wish I could see you right now,” he adds. “Give you a big squeeze.”
“Me too,” I admit. “I wish you could squeeze me too.”
“Tonight,” he says. “After the game at Oakley’s. We’ll celebrate with Luka and everyone else.”
I nod even though he can’t see me.
“Tonight,” I say back.
I hang up shaking, dizzy with joy… but also with this tiny thing in my mind, the idea that I feel like I just got it all, and yet, I could lose it all too. I’m one step closer to getting a sponsorship renewal, and one larger step into cementing a life in Seattle that I never planned on, but now feels exciting. Like a fresh start.
Montana flashes through my mind like a reel: Anika saying he’s in love with me, the dance floor at the Roadhouse, the alley with his hands all over me, his mouth on my skin, the tenderness in his eyes. And then there’s his family: loving me like I’m one of them, the life I could have with him, a life I never thought someone like me could have with the expectations hanging over my head.
I’m falling in love with him.
And that terrifies me more than my father ever could. I can’t stop here, though. I owe it to myself and to Scottie to keep going until I reach the end of this. That’s what he sacrificed inmarrying a stranger to let me do. I need to secure this visa and make sure that my grandmother believes that the marriage is real, so that my father no longer has a pull on me to come back.
Hours later, nerves of excitement tingle as I walk into the stadium with the game about to start. It’s bigger than I imagined. Fans in teal and black fill every seat. The air vibrates with drums and chants.
I slip into Scottie’s season ticket seats, wearing the jersey he left out for me.
Fans nod at me. Smile and whisper. A few take pictures, but politely and mostly discreetly. I guess everyone knows who I am, or at least, who on the team I belong to, and that makes me feel a level of happiness I’ve never felt before. Like I found a spot outside of ballet where I fit—where I am welcome and accepted.
Luka skates out first, bangs on the glass where a bunch of kids are waiting to see their favorite players, and then shoots me a wink.
Then Scottie steps onto the ice.
He finds me instantly, and his face lights up.
He glides straight toward my section, taps his stick gently against the glass in front of me, then pulls a puck from his glove.
He tosses it over the glass.
I catch it against my chest.
I flip it over.
CONGRATULATIONS KITKATwritten in silver marker on duct tape.
