“Yes.”
“What made you pick this role over one that's not on ice?”
“I don't have a choice,” I answer honestly. “I can't get a role on campus. My boss only lets me sing at his bar because I'm his longest-serving employee. If I want to make it, I’ve got to be open to any opportunity that comes my way. Not just the ones I think I’ll be best in.”
“That makes no sense,” Scotty says. “The minute you open your mouth and start singing, everyone should know you’re the best thing about this place.”
“Stop.”
“Stop, what?”
“Praising me like you get it.” My voice wavers, but I keep my chin up. “Singing isn't everything, Scotty. I haven't had a single successful audition since I got here. All the while, I have to smile and cheer for everyone else while they live my dream and pretend I’m not dying of embarrassment.”
He doesn’t flinch. “Other people's success doesn't make you a failure, Laura. You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But it's hard to see everyone else moving forward while I'm stuck in a mindset that keeps me there.”
I take a deep breath and force myself to meet his eyes. He’s quiet, but he’s not looking away. He’s watching me like he’s seeing every crack in my armor.
“I want more,” I say, my voice steadying. “And I promised myself I’d start saying yes. To opportunities. To chances. To things I’m scared of, instead of shutting them down before I even try.”
There’s a beat.
“So, does that mean if everything that happened between us happened now, I might have a chance?”
I take in a sharp breath just as Scotty winces.
“Sorry. Shouldn't have mentioned that. It's not why we're here.”
I look down at my skates, pretending the flush in my cheeks is from exertion and not from him possibly being right. Do I regret not hearing Scotty out?
The answer makes my stomach ache, so I push the thought aside, and vow to never tell him that.
“Is the audition booked?”
“Yup.” I scrunchmy nose, already feeling the anxiety rising. “I have twenty-eight days now.”
“And did you have to confirm your level of proficiency in skating?”
I nod, grimacing. “I lied. Obviously. They said I need to be able to skate independently.”
“Define ‘independently.’”
I rub my glove against my leg. “Forward and backward crossovers, one- and two-foot glides, a one-foot spin, swizzles, a sit spin, and mohawks.”
As I rattle off the list, I swear I see Scotty’s eye twitch.
“It's all things Noelle said I should be able to do within a month,” I add quickly.
“And was that before or after she saw you skating?”
“Before.”
I wait for it—the joke, the punchline, the confirmation that yes, I look like a baby seal trying to walk on stilts.
He doesn't say anything, though. He just squeezes my hands through our gloves. “Well, then, let's prove your sister right. We'll have to speed up the learning process…but we can do it.”
He lets go of one of my hands, and for a split second, I think I'm going to fall, but he moves around me and places the other hand on my hip.
