I’d trained for the trials my whole life, even though I’d never really wanted to be in the Olympics. I enjoyed skating, but I’d never really enjoyed the competitive aspect of it. I’d told my mum, but she’d kept pushing—and I hadn’t stopped her. I’d wanted to stand up for myself, but instead of doing that, I’d just underperformed, enough to miss out. A few slips, a stumble.
I’d thought it would get her off my back, but instead her feedback had just got more and more overpowering.
I wished I had justtoldher.
“Do you have any regrets?” I asked Luca. He was silent for only a few moments before answering.
“Lots, but I don’t dwell on them. They’ve made me who I am today.”
“Are you happy today?”
“As happy as I can be.” That didn’t feel like an answer. “Do you…?” I looked over at him and raised a questioning eyebrow, and he continued, “Have any regrets?”
I paused, fingers stilling in the sand. “Sometimes…yeah.” The words were slow, almost reluctant. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t thrown the Olympic trials. I assumed that, with the Olympics out of the picture, I could start living my life the way I wanted, without my mother constantly living her lost dream through me. But now I feel like I’m in an equally stressful position.”
“Do you think the show is as hard as the Olympics?” he asked, brushing the sand off a shell and studyingit.
“In different ways. The Olympics would have been morephysically demanding. But being on the show is mentally draining; meeting new people and being switched-on all the time really takes it out ofme.”
“You seem so at ease speaking to people, though. You remember everyone’s name and life story. It seems like you were born to be a social butterfly.”
“I think that’s the problem.” I picked up a stone and gently tossed it across the sand. The words flowed more easily, and I found comfort in not voicing this vulnerability directly to his face. “Being like that doesn’t come naturally to me, but I’m so conscious of how I make others feel that I’ll work on overdrive to make them happy. And those things are all part of the show. You wouldn’t have that with the Olympics. You’re there for your skill only.”
“That doesn’t count as a regret.” I tipped my head back to search his face. There was a gentle rise at the corner of his mouth as he looked out at the sea. “You only regret that you didn’t choose a different career to please someone else?”
I paused, refocusing my gaze ahead.
“I regret people-pleasing for so long,” I started, voicing something I’d never said aloud. “And worry that now that I’ve done it for so many years, I don’t know who I am anymore.” He remained silent, letting me sort through my head. “And I worry that if I start making decisions based on what I want, the people in my life will leave because they don’t like who I really am, just who I project.” I laughed, but it lacked humor. “That a big enough regret for you?”
“I like who you are.”
Tenderness spread inside me at those words. “You’re an anomaly. Not everyone likes brutal honesty.”
“Have you given people the chance?”
“You sound like my old therapist.” The therapist that I’d been thinking more and more about revisiting, but couldn’t quite bring myself to call. I focused on the sensation of my hair curling aroundhis finger instead of the heavy beating of my heart. “But yeah, that’s my biggest regret. I’ve never told anyone, so don’t use it againstme.”
He tugged my head back gently, his gaze searching my face for something. Happy with whatever he found, he smiled.
“You should give it a try, Stevens. I think you’ll find people like you for who you are.”
Week two passed steadily, withpractice during the week, Friday takeout and tape reviews, early morning practice before Saturday’s show, then another Sunday morning surf before the results. It felt like we’d built a little routine together—and…I didn’t hate it.
After two weeks of playing it relatively safe, we decided that week three was the perfect time to take our routine to the next level—and introduce a more complex lift to differentiate ourselves from the other skaters. Although I’d have said we were “ahead” of most, Alice and Asha were easily matching us week on week in terms of difficulty and execution, with Noah and Sophia not far behind.
Training hadn’t gone perfectly that week, either; we’d had to book a session with the lift specialist to help us figure out where we were going wrong. Like during the weeks of our pre-show training, it was my hand placement that was tripping us up. It was either a mistimed grip during the entry, or slippage at the peak of the lift. But by Friday morning, we had managed to iron out any issues—and the lift looked fucking fantastic, if I did say so myself.
It was the Saturday night live show for Fantasy week, so Matildaand I were dressed like forest creatures. I wore mossy-green pants and a matching shirt (revealing too much skin, obviously), and Matilda wore a matching whimsical dress (also revealing too much skin, obviously). The tops of our arms and chests were decorated with small snippets of fake foliage.
Matilda was also sprinkled with a pretty layer of glitter, which made her glow even more than usual.
We made our way backstage, where I knelt to tie Matilda’s laces like I had the previous weeks. Feeling her stare, I glanced up to find her watching me with the softest smile. I dropped my gaze back to the skates, hoping to hide the smile tugging at my own lips.
Once we were both secured in our skates, we watched Noah and Sophia’s performance—Matilda and I wearing matching expressions. Tight-lipped, pressed into a forced smile.
They weregood. Better than they’d been the first two weeks. Although arguably not as technically difficult as the skate we were about to perform, their movements were fluid and synchronized. The judges wore faint smiles as they focused on Noah and Sophia’s effortless glides around theice.
The crowd roared in celebration as the final low notes of their music came to anend.
