“Oh.” He perks up, his mouth opens wide so his tusk brush his upper lip. “Yes… you too…” He bows his head slightly. “Sorry,verytired.”
“Sure. I’m probably going to crash soon.”
Rémy comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around the both of us. “Come on, now. We’ve still got the exhibition skate tomorrow! Smile!”
Out of nowhere, a photographer snaps a photo of the three of us. I guess I’ll have to wait and see if I look deranged, tired, or a lovely combination of both.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I grumble once the photographer is out of earshot.
Rémy scoffs. “Sole seumdespite winning.”
Yuri nods. “Faire la tronche.”
Remy acknowledges his mother tongue with a hum.
“After this competition I’ve got finals,” I say, but I know that’s not the only reason I’m so crabby.
“School? I took a semester off.” He finally releases the both of us. “Too much training.”
Yuri’s eyes narrow with concern. “You work a lot.”
“I’m going up to my hotel room to sleep till the exhibition skate.”
As I walk away, Rémy shouts, “We have rehearsal at—”
Yuri tramples over his words. “Rest well!”
Maude catches me before the elevator, my gym bag slung over her shoulder. I take it and we wait for the elevator in silence, but she’s staring at me expectantly. I give in and glance her way.
“You’re welcome.” She nods at my bag.
“Sorry—I mean thanks.” I rub circles over my eye. “I’m such a lame winner.”
There’s a ding and the elevator door opens. “You seem to have a lot on your mind.”
“Exactly.” Once the doors close, it’s easier to unload. “I mean finals, school finals,” I clarify. “And now I’m second guessing changing up my program, and you know the media is going to want to put me up as the favorite to get Olympic gold now that I’ve beaten Aoba.”
Being the Olympic favorite is the kiss of death. It’s a wonder why—what with all the good wishes amassing into a mountain of expectation and all the casual figure skating fans suddenly becoming experts.
I sound so pathetic. “What do I do?”
Maude rubs my back. “Sleep. Eat a good meal. Call your friends.”
“Fuck.” I open the side pocket of my gym bag and grab my phone. “Terrence, you don’t have to text mefifty times.” I make the mistake of swiping open his texts.
THAT’S MY FUCKING BOI! ????
200 on em! ???? ????
69 69 69 69 69 ??????
Mr. Steele lmao
“That’s a lot of emojis,” Maude whispers.
I slide down the notifications, hit clear, and sigh with relief.
She squeezes my shoulder. “Proud of you. The hard part is over. We can talk this out more when you’re on winter break.”
