“Shoot.”
“When do you usually wake up on a competition day?”
“Six a.m.”
“What song do you listen to when you’re heading to training?” he asked, taking a photo of her gloved hands intertwined with the laces of her hockey skates.
“Something like ‘Airplane’ by Cleo Sol if I need to calm down, or an upbeat Tyla song like ‘SHAKE AH’ if I want to get myself hyped up.”
“And what stresses you out on game days?”
“The answer I would give to a journalist, or the answer I would give to a friend?” she asked, looking over at him as she tied her knot. Drew didn’t quite know where he stood on that spectrum.
“The answer you would give to your fake boyfriend.”
She smiled at that.
“My teammates. I love them, they’re like my sisters. But they stress me out just as much as my family does.” She looked out into the distance for a moment, noticing the way the early-morning sun gently shaded the sky with a lilac haze. The color dusted the snow-coated mountains. Drew swapped out his digital camera for his film, silently framed Ari on the left side of his viewfinder, then pressed the shutter. More focused on her than the photo he was trying to take.
“Do you ever get the feeling that you’re not cut out for the thing you always wanted?” Ari asked. “As if it’s all been placed at your feet but you have no idea what to do with it?”
“Is that how you feel about becoming captain?”
“Oh, I’m asking you. You’ve been tossing questions over all morning, so it’s my turn,” she said, relaxing against the bench. Drew had been crouched down on the ice to get a good photo, but his knees were getting tired, so he walked over, brushed some snow off the bench, and sat beside her.
“I felt that way all through college,” he admitted, thinking back to California. All the best photojournalists knew that one of the easiest ways to get someone to open up was to do the same, so he told her the truth. “Classic case of big fish small pond asa teenager in Wisconsin, you know? I got it into my head that I could go all the way and take photos like the greats. So, I applied to USC. And at first, I loved it.”
“But…” she nudged.
“I went to college in Los Angeles, where pretty much everyone is on their way to becoming somebody. My second-year roommate did an internship at CNN, a girl I met on the first day of my freshman year got a book deal at nineteen. Everyone I met at USC was extraordinary in some way and I was just… Drew.” He shrugged.
“But you still got in,” she reasoned.
“I did, but it felt like a fluke. And while I would ace an assignment every once in a while, or land a really good freelance gig from speaking to interesting people at parties, as time went on, I began to realize that I was average at best. So, it didn’t make sense to stick it out on the other side of the country if all I was ever going to be was just okay.” He shrugged.
“Drew, you’re working at the Olympics. You have to be more than just okay,” she said. Drew appreciated the compliment, but he knew it wasn’t true. It was just a case of being in the right place at the right time. Pure luck. But if he could get this photo diary right, he might be able to ride the wave a little longer.
As they sat there, he noticed the sky getting lighter, the purplish haze becoming a light blue streaked with wisps of rose and lavender. The bulb lights were still on, rivaling the sun with their brightness in a way that he knew would make for the perfect backdrop. So, he got up from the bench, walked into a thicket of snow, and took a photo of Ari looking out at the sky, theGBon the back of her jersey glowing as the sunlight touched the shimmery white fabric.
“Your last name, Shumba, what does that mean?” he askedas she stood up to let him get photos of her uniform against the snow. He made sure to capture the embroidery of the badges and the delicate silver-threaded outlines.
“The best translation is ‘lion.’ The women’s football team back home are called The Lionesses, and I loved watching them when I was younger. It’s the main reason I decided to keep his name instead of taking my mother’s,” she said. Drew opened his mouth to voice a question, then decided against it. But Ari must have sensed his curiosity.
“My dad’s not a bad guy, he’s just disappointing in the usual ways. Unfaithful husband, mostly absent father.” She shrugged like it was nothing, but for the first time since he’d spoken to her, she sounded detached. “It could have been worse.”
Drew knew a smarter journalist would have pushed. The unwritten rule was to press until you either got to the root of the story or your interviewee shut it down. But he wasn’t sure where he stood on the spectrum of photojournalist or friend. So, he tried to stay on the topic without digging too hard.
“So, is the rest of your family coming to St. Moritz for the Games?” he asked, thinking about how his grandparents had flown in for the occasion.
“They wish.” Ari smiled. “They wanted to, but I don’t let them come to games. I get distracted looking for them in the crowd, so the deal is they can only come if I make it to the quarters.”
“Well, I can be your cheerleader until then.”
“Only if you get a T-shirt with my face on it. A Team GB cap and jacket while you’re at it, too.”
“If I were your real boyfriend, I’d paint your initials on my face, dye my hair red, and learn the British national anthem,” he joked.
“But would you learn how to skate? I can’t imagine myself with a guy who slips on the ice,” she teased.
