“So… any chance you think your skating talent will transfer through osmosis?” I joke, trying to break the tension.
“Judging by how terribly you tied your skates, I'm going with no.”
“Thanks for doing this,” I say quietly. “I know you're missing practice with your team, and it means a lot.”
She stands on her skates, placing her hands on her hips. “Are you kidding? I would have canceled a meeting with Tate Sorenson, the hottest baseball player of all time, for the chance to see my theater snob sister on ice skates.”
“I'mnota theater snob,” I protest.
Noelle just gives me a knowing look as she finishes lacing my skates. “Says the girl who spent all of Thanksgiving blocking out a full stage version ofThe Princess Bridelike you were directing it.’”
“Okay, fine, but that doesn't make me a snob. It makes me right.”
She laughs, and holds out her hand. “Come on, Stanislavski. Let's see what we're working with.”
I take her hand, feeling wobbly the instant I stand up. How do people balance on these tiny metal blades? It's like trying to stand on pencils.
“Take it slow,” Noelle advises, guiding me toward the rink entrance. “Small steps. Heel to toe.”
I follow her instructions, shuffling awkwardly across the rubber mats. Thankfully, there are only a couple of serious-looking older skaters doing drills at the far end of the rink, and a bored teenager working the rental counter.
There’s no one here from Covey U. No one who might recognize me…and laugh at me.
“Okay,” Noelle says, stepping onto the ice with confidence. “I'm going to hold your hand, and we'll just do a slow lap around the rink to start. Remember to keep your ankles straight and your weight centered.”
I nod, taking a deep breath.
I can do this. It's just ice skating. People learn to do it all the time.
Children learn it. How hard can it be?
The answer, as it turns out, is very hard.
The second my blade touches the ice, my foot shoots out in front of me like it has a mind of its own. Only Noelle's iron grip on my hand keeps me from face-planting.
“Whoa!” She steadies me, looking genuinely surprised. “Careful there.”
“Iambeing careful,” I hiss, clinging to her arm like a life preserver. “The ice is slippery.”
She covers a laugh with a cough. “That's… kind of the whole point of ice skating, Laura.”
I glare at her, but she's right.
God, I hate when she's right.
“Let's try again,” she says patiently. “Keep your feet under your body, shoulders relaxed, knees slightly bent.”
I try to follow her instructions, but my legs move quicker than I can keep up, and my arms splay out in different directions.
Fifteen minutes and half a rink later, Noelle's patience is starting to wear thin.
“It’s okay. You’re a little less progressed than I thought you’d be, but I think we’ve got this. You’ll be good.” Her voice pitches so high at the end, I know she doesn’t believe it.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Asking you to help me. I’m hopeless,” I groan, nearly falling, but Noelle catches me. It’s the fifth fall in as many minutes. There’s no way I’m going to be ready for the audition.
