“What the fuck Claire? Let the kid say hi” my brother scolds. I look down at him and give him a look, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize that he’s not just my brother, he’s someone most people idolize.
“Sorry, he’s actually gotta go. Bye bro.” I quickly hang up the phone, finally feeling like I can breathe before running upstairs and hiding in my room.
two
CLAIRE
The house is quiet, the rest of them are still sleeping. I like when things are peaceful, when I don’t have to worry about bothering anyone or anyone bothering me.
But as I sit at the kitchen island taking in the new house, I see a picture of the boys. It looks like they’re at a party or something. Miller has Davis in a headlock, both of them laughing. August has his eyes closed with his tongue sticking out and Lucas has Blair in his arms —bridal style— while Blair gives him a big kiss on the cheek.
I laugh, the photo perfectly encompasses all boys, but after the quick moment of entertainment I get from looking at it… I’m left feeling sad.
I’ve never had friends like that, the kind where you go to parties together and have fun, the kind where you’d do anything for them even if they annoy you beyond all means. Maybe we’ll grow to love each other, and then maybe I can finally feel like I’m part of a family.
My phone buzzes, and there’s a reminder that I have to leave for practice, so I grab my skating bag and head out the front door.
Crystal and Sharron are waiting for me at the entrance of the arena when I get there, both of which have massive smiles on their faces as I walk up to them.
When I moved out to Texas my old coaches couldn’t come with me, so they made some calls and asked if Crystal and Sharron would take over my training. The two of them said yesinstantly, and as soon as I got here we started practicing together. I love both of them, they’re supportive but also push me to be the best I can. I don’t know what I would do without them.
“Good morning beautiful” Crystal says, “ready to practice?”
“Of course she’s ready, she’s our champion” Sharron smiles brightly.
“What’s got you two in such good moods?” I ask as we walk through the front doors. Normally they’re not this happy, so every alarm bell possible is ringing inside my head.
“Well, if you must know, you’ve been invited to a private competition next week. They called us last night and specifically asked that you be there” Crystal claps.
I stop in my tracks and slowly turn around to face them. I examine their faces, trying to figure out whether or not this is a joke, but the unwavering grins on their faces is enough for me to know that they are dead serious. “Holy shit, no way!” I squeal.
“Yes way.” Sharron puts her arm around me and leads us towards the bench, “so let's get to work, we don’t want you embarrassing us.”
“I wouldnever.” They know me better than that, even if they are one-hundred percent confident in me, I wouldn’t go out on the ice without knowing I’m at my very best.
We start with the routine I’ve been practicing for the past month, it’s one of my most challenging. We were going to use it for sectionals but decided that we needed something a little more intense. I manage to get it perfect the first couple tries, but after an hour of practicing I can feel myself starting to lose steam.
My coaches have this rule that before I can leave I have to land each of the jumps in my routine back to back without any mistakes. It’s a kind of endurance training or some shit, but because I’m so tired I can’t do it, so I end up staying a half hour later than expected.
The entire walk back to my car the two of them lecture me about being perfect, and the moment I’m alone, I break down.
Champions don’t make mistakes
My mothers words echo in my head. Every rude, snarky, belittling thing she’s ever said to me pounds in my skull while I gasp for air. Anxiety floods my system and the world around me starts to fade at the edges.
I was diagnosed with a generalized anxiety disorder when I was twelve. At first my parents didn’t believe me, they said I was just making excuses for my mistakes, that I was beingdramatic. About two months after the panic attacks started, Chris finally took me to the doctor and they gave me my diagnoses. The doctors had my parents come in to discuss ways to help, but they weren’t having it. They still don’t believe it, even after multiple doctors have told them the same thing, over and over again.
I turn up my music as loud as it can go, trying to drown out the sound of my mother's voice inside my head. The entire drive home I’m begging for it to stop, to make the tears stop, to make her go away, but it doesn’t work. By the time I’m parked in my driveway I’m in full panic mode. My breathing is too quick, and my heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest.
I think I’m drowning.
Normally I can calm myself down, pressing my fingers to the pulse point in my neck and counting my heartbeats gives me something to distract myself with… except this time it doesn’t work, so I switch to plan B. Resting my head against the seat, I close my eyes and try to envision the tricks throughout my routine. I list them off, one by one, and eventually my breathing slows and I calm down enough to think straight.
I look in my rearview mirror, wiping the tears off of my face, trying to make myself look presentable. The last thing I need is to walk into the house looking like a fucking disaster.
August is cooking breakfast, Miller and Davis are sitting on the barstools next to the counter and Blair is halfway in the fridge. I toss my bag on the floor next to the barstools and take a seat.
“August” I sing.
