Walk on Water (18 page)

“No, G-mom. It’s fine. Really.” Lexa put down her fork. “I’m just worn out and need to rest. Choreography tomorrow—big day.”

“That’s right! Short program with Keiko Yamamoto! Are you excited?”

“To be choreographed by Keiko? How could I not be?” Keiko, a former champion herself, was the hottest young choreographer in pairs, in demand all over the world. Even Beth couldn’t pull that string; Weston had arranged it somehow. “That’s why I want to be at my best tomorrow.”

“Okay, kitten. Pleasant dreams.”

Lexa made her escape up the stairs wishing she had never mentioned the GED. Worse, she had stupidly revealed how much she missed Jenni and Bry, arguing that getting the certificate now might allow her to resume some sort of social life. Beth had vetoed an early test, though, ruling that Lexa would likely go to college someday and that continuing to study with Clara kept her options open. That should have ended the matter, but Beth had been hovering ever since, seeking reassurance from Lexa when what Lexa really needed was to be reassured herself.

Alone in her bedroom, she locked the door and retrieved the video of her parents’ second nationals win. The familiar footage filled her muted TV screen as she sank back into her pillows. Her parents stood at the boards, about to stroke onto the ice. Blake’s eyes found Kaitlin’s. Their smiles ignited. Her fists bumped down on his. His bumped over hers.

“Walk on water,” Lexa whispered, not needing the audio to know what they were saying.

Walker and Walker struck their opening pose with every eye in the house riveted to them. Lexa’s eyes were riveted too as the legendary pair skated the final program of their career, the last of her mother’s short life. There was no hint of the sadness to come. Blake was at the peak of his game. Kaitlin radiated joy. Somewhere in the audience, Lexa knew, her infant self sat in her grandmom’s lap, but she didn’t remember being there. Her memories were restricted to a lifetime of viewing the event on tape, wanting to be as beautiful, as fearless, and as loved as her mother.

Blake and Kaitlin finished their program and skated through a hail of thrown flowers and toys to join Weston in the kiss-and-cry. He congratulated his champions as they catapulted into his open arms and lifted him off his feet.

Lexa’s first tear spilled. She wanted to believe that someday she’d stand there too, lifting Weston as her parents had. She and Eric were a promising team. She liked him a lot. Better still, she trusted him. With Weston as their coach, Walker and Sinclair had a legitimate shot at becoming a top pair, maybe even Olympic champions. They had the skills. They had the drive.

But lying there watching her parents, Lexa felt the ache of something still missing. She had never wanted to just skate pairs. She wouldn’t be satisfied with even Olympic gold until she had what her heart yearned for.

She wanted to walk on water.

“That’s beautiful!” Keiko exclaimed. “Lovely arms, Lexa.”

“Stay smooth through this part,” Weston cautioned from the boards. “Soft knees, you two.”

Lexa and Eric skated with their bodies entwined, stepping carefully through footwork so new that there was an excellent chance of tripping each other. His edges stayed precise, though, his hold on her so sure that she gradually relaxed into his rhythm, skating more and more confidently. At the end of the sequence, they broke apart and hit side-by-side flying camels, spinning in near-perfect unison. Lexa felt her smile grow as they successfully reached the end of the material Keiko had just choreographed.

Keiko skated to the rail to confer with Weston. Lexa could tell by the way he talked with his hands that he liked how things were going so far.

“Only a minute left to fill,” she said. “I wonder how our ending will look?”

Eric’s messy curls gave him a mad-professor vibe that morning. “Like genius,” he predicted, grinning. “Genius with a backward inside death spiral and a category-five lift.”

Keiko skated back over. Their choreographer wore a baby blue tank with black yoga pants, her hair in a sleek ponytail that hung well down her back. “Are you happy with it so far?” she asked. “Anything that doesn’t feel right?”

“It’s all good from my standpoint,” Eric said. “I think it’s coming out great.”

“So do I,” Lexa agreed.

Keiko’s smile suggested relief, as if she were unaware of her own stellar reputation. “That’s all of us, then. Are you ready to tackle the last minute?”

“Load it up! Lexa will carry me through it,” Eric teased.

“Carrying people is your job,” Lexa said. “Lucky for you, I’m light as a feather.”

“Yep. Light as a hundred pound sack of feathers.”

His estimate of her weight was overly kind. She lifted one skate anyway, to remind him how much it hurt to be kicked by a toe pick.

The next two hours were intensely challenging. Keiko took Eric’s suggestion, packing every beat of the music with moves designed to earn maximum points. The required elements were all tweaked to the highest achievable level of difficulty and included a lift Lexa hadn’t even begun to master. Unison was choreographed down to finger positions and glances of their eyes. Lexa felt like panicking more than once, but Eric’s encouragement motivated her in a way Boyd’s criticism never had. She threw herself into every move, heedless of the danger, trusting Eric to catch her. When at last they reached their final pose, she knew they had achieved something special.

Running sweat as she came off the ice, she hugged Weston anyway, thrilled with the day’s progress. Their new short program was beautiful, everything she’d dreamed of, and no one was accusing her of holding back the team. Weston and Eric were as right for her as Candace and Boyd had been wrong.

Beth voiced the same opinion as they drove home that evening. “We’re on the right track now,” she said. “You and Eric are shaping up brilliantly.”

“I still wish we were competing at nationals this year. For the experience, if nothing else.”

“I know, kitten. But the main thing is the Olympics, right? And we’re bang on track for that. Weston knows how to build a team. Every move he makes has your best interest at heart.”

“It’s going to be weird, though, being at regionals next week and not skating. If I’d stayed in singles I had that bye, so I probably wouldn’t have skated anyway, but . . .”

Beth had taken her eyes off the road to give Lexa a puzzled look.

“What?” Lexa asked.

“I could have sworn you just said you were going to regionals.”

“Well . . . yeah. Not to skate, obviously, but a bunch of people from Ashtabula Ice are competing. It’s only a four-hour drive. I at least want to go cheer them on.”

Beth shook her head. “That’s a wasted day in driving alone, plus another three days to watch everyone compete. It doesn’t make sense to lose that much time from your own training.”

“Yes, but—”

“And you have to consider Eric. I’m sure he’s not going to regionals. Pairs don’t compete there, so why would he?”

“He has friends who skate singles too.”

“Ask him. I already know what Weston will say.”

Lexa slouched more deeply into the Mercedes’ leather seat. The only way her grandmother could know that was through yet another conversation Lexa hadn’t been part of. In contrast to her sporadic communication with Candace, Beth talked to Weston constantly. Sometimes Lexa felt like they were calling all the shots now and she was just along for the ride.

“I guess I don’t have to go,” she said reluctantly. “It’s just that I always do. And Bry really wanted me—”

“Good girl,” Beth said, settling the matter.

“I’ll see him skate at sectionals, I guess.”

“Sectionals?” Beth’s bob swung emphatically. “Definitely not sectionals, kitten. We’re not flying to New York for a competition you’re not even entering.”

“But pairs skate at sectionals! Shouldn’t we be going to size up the competition?”

“Next year,” Beth promised. “Next year you’ll not only be there, people will be going to watch
you
.”

Lexa was finishing a biology assignment when Bry’s first text hit her phone. She snatched it up eagerly, grateful for any distraction.

my suitcase = 2 small. mom’s extra bag = 2 small. car = 2 small. help!

Lexa’s smile was filled with angst. Everything in her longed to be packed into that small car too, traveling to regionals with Bry the next day. She and Eric would be training in Mentor, though, exactly as Beth had predicted.

how much room do you need 4 sk8s?
she texted back.

Bry:
2 costumes, backup costume, sk8s, backup sk8s, practice outfits, regular outfits, program CDs, lucky pillow, lucky undies, lucky snacks. my head may explode.

Lexa:
if it does, Blake’ll kill you. it’s only regionals—you got this! :-)

Two hours later, she was stepping out of the shower when her phone chirped again.
Jenni!
she thought hopefully. It was regionals, after all, and if Jenni was stressing too . . .

Wrapping herself in a towel, Lexa dashed into her room.

Bry again:
mom trying to make me carbo load. so 1980s!

She laughed. People forgot that men had to fit their costumes too.
guys with guts don’t get gold
, she texted back.

gold? can I make the cut first?

As if there were any chance he’d miss it. She couldn’t understand why he was so wound up about a competition he was certain to advance through, but she suspected it had something to do with being judged against Ian.

Trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep that night, Lexa attempted not to dwell on missing regionals. She was genuinely excited about her pairs future with Eric, but her thoughts kept creeping backward to Ashtabula Ice. Jenni would be skating too, and even though they probably would have ignored each other, Lexa really wanted to see those programs. Ian would be there, and Blake, and no matter how much sense it made to stay home, she still felt torn about not being there to support them.

Bry’s the only one who’ll even miss you,
she thought. That knowledge didn’t make her feel better.

The phone vibrated on her nightstand.

Bry:
can’t sleep. u pairs have it too easy!

Lexa:
can’t sleep either. someone keeps texting me.

Her phone was silent five minutes before it buzzed again. She grabbed it, wide awake now and losing her sense of humor. Bry needed to get a grip, and she was just the girl to tell him so. But this latest text wasn’t his.

Ian:
will u b there tomorrow?

Enough adrenaline flooded her veins to keep her awake for a week. Ian hadn’t texted in forever, long enough to make her think that whatever it was between them had ended as mysteriously as it had begun.

can’t
, she texted back.
have to train.

2 bad. hoped 2 c u.

She blinked and read his message again. Now she was
really
torn.
can’t miss 4 days. wish I could.

so
just come for freesk8s. u can miss 1 day.

Lexa chewed chapped lips. Ian Wilde, the only skater no one had ever accused of slacking, thought she should go to regionals. She wanted to go more than ever now. And it wasn’t as if she trained seven days a week. She and Eric and Weston could have worked something out, if Beth hadn’t been so opposed.

For the first time it occurred to Lexa to wonder if her grandmother had some other reason for wanting to keep her at home. The way she’d been taking over lately. . . .  

Did Beth have an agenda she wasn’t sharing?

Lexa leaned forward at the top the stands and lowered the program she’d been hiding behind to her lap. Bry was circling the ice mechanically, about to either skate his long program or meet his executioner—his expression made it hard to tell which. He struck his opening pose and wobbled there, his smile quivering, a visible bundle of nerves.

For Pete’s sake, it’s only regionals!
she thought.
He’s done this plenty of times!
That deer-in-the-headlights look said he’d forgotten all of them, though. The skate toed into the ice trembled as Bry waited for his music to start.

He and Ian had both done well enough in short program to be placed in the final free skate group, but Bry, with an unlucky fall, was currently in third place while Ian’s perfect performance had him in first. Worse, the random draw within their group had resulted in Bry being first in the skating order while Ian was skating last. Lexa had arrived only an hour before, selecting her seat for the men’s free skate with maximum invisibility in mind and watching the previous men compete through a slot between the top of her program and the brim of her cap. Sighing now, she filled her lungs and reluctantly gave herself up.

“Go, Bry!” she screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth. “We love you, Bry!”

Bry’s dull smile caught fire. His chin lifted. At the boards, Jenni’s head swiveled, then swiveled back before she risked making eye contact. Blake had clearly heard her too. Lexa saw his neck stiffen, but his eyes remained on Bry.

The music started and Bry pushed off, killing it from the very first beat. Lexa followed each move as intently as if she were skating the program herself. She’d seen him practice it so many times she
could
have skated it herself—with the exception of the triple axels. She’d landed a lucky triple in practice once, but rather than being happy, Blake had bawled her out for risking injury fooling around with a jump she’d probably never compete. Senior men, on the other hand, had to have that jump in their programs, more than once in long if they didn’t have a quad.

Bry didn’t have a quad yet.

Lexa held her breath as he stepped into his first triple axel. “Nailed it!” she exulted, whooping.

Bry’s landing edge drew a clean sure line as he glided backward out of the soaring jump. His smile flashed again. Then his expression became fierce as he entered his first footwork pass. His lack of height was an advantage here, one he had learned to exploit. His compact frame switched and turned with unbelievable speed, blurring his blades into streaks of steel. The audience gasped and cheered, impressed by an element that bored them when presented with less skill. Lexa found herself applauding with tears filling her eyes. Bry’s step sequence had been rechoreographed since the last time she’d watched it, and she saw more than the crowd did—her father’s skating signature was all over Bry’s new moves. Blake “Blades” Walker had passed the baton.