Alex leaves a wad of cash on the counter and grabs the garment bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “Dasvidaniya.” She makes a little kissy noise against my cheek. Pushing her sunglasses down, she steps back out into the streets of South Philly.
It takes Mims maybe fifteen minutes to finish up my measurements. I’d already given her some inspo photos so she and Maude give me the okay to go while she does some mock-up sketches. Sure enough, there’s a cute little cafe down the block and Alex has found a seat right at the window.
We greet each other again with a hug, but with less screaming this time around. We both open our mouths to speak but I get there first. “Russia? What happened?”
Alex gags and rolls her eyes. “They had me training with the junior girls.”
“Oh noooo,” I match her, rolling my eyes as hard as possible. “Not the thirteen-year-olds landing quads. How terrible.”
“Itwasterrible. They treated me like a junior too. Talked down to me, had me training ridiculous hours—” The corner of her lip snarls and her brows knit together. Finally she makes a gagging sound with her tongue out. “So not worth it.” She reaches across the table to touch my hand. “But that’s the past and we are all about the future. Milan. Are you excited?”
“I haven’t secured my spot yet.”
Her delicate hand balls into a fist, delivering a swift but soft punch to my shoulder. I rub my imaginary bruise while she scolds me. “You can’t think like that! You think when I was seventeen, I was thinking in ‘what ifs’?”
“No.” Like her parents would ever let her treat the Olympics as an option and not her future by divine right. “I am excited.” We finally sit down. “But you’ve got to give me some tips.”
“Have fun and be yourself?” She lifts a mug of black coffee to her lips. “Whatever you’re doing right now is working.” I must make a face because she sets down her mug and leans forward. “I’m serious! Something about your last two programs… It’s like watching you when we were kids.”
I lift a brow. “Are you saying my boyish charm is winning over the judges.”
“Ew, no. You don’t look boyish at all. Especially not with that dye job.” She takes a strand of my golden bangs before pushing them back. “What I mean is you have this new drive, that’s what the judges are responding too. Like when you did that program to some guitar solo forever ago.”
My first real competition—I’d just turned six and was elated I could land a toe loop. Not an impressive routine even for my age group. Without that routine, I wouldn’t be sitting here fifteen years later. I understand what Alex’s refers to in that baby routine, the first spark that builds into a blaze. Something is causing my embers to burn super bright.
“I want to go all the way,” I think aloud. “Olympics are the one thing normal people understand.”
Alex nods in silence. If I asked the barista what their favorite Grand Prix routine is, or even when this year’s Grand Prix even is, I’d get a blank stare. Sure, there are devoted skating fans, but this sport doesn’t offer fame and fortune like hockey or football. People only really care about it once every four years—and that has way more to do with national pride than athleticism.
“Not that I’m going to relax for the Grand Prix.”
“You got bronze last year, right?”
I throw my head back, “Don’t remind me.”
“Oh wah! Third out of hundreds of international skating stars.”
“Sorry, what did you place last year?”
Alexs hums, playing coy. “I don’t remember.”
“Bullshit—do you melt your medals down or something?”
Her nose scrunches. “Bronze isn’t worth much on the market.”
“Bronze is still—”
“Anyway, I don’tjust want to talk about skating.” She twirls her deep-red hair around her finger. “How’s life otherwise?”
“You think I have a life outside of skating? Please,” I place my elbows on the table, wringing my interlocked hands in desperation. “Teach me your ways, show me the path to a work-life balance.”
“Aren’t you getting a degree?”
I let my head fall to the table with a satisfying thunk.
Alex laughs. “Sorry I asked. I have a boyfriend now.”
I lift my head so my chin sits on the table’s edge.
