Seventeen-year-old Vera just wants to go to nationals, which she can't do without a coach. Struggling to afford private lessons, she takes a part-time job at her local skating rink. There, she crosses paths with Sloane, an arrogant Olympic-bound fig...
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"85 dollars an hour?" My mother peered at me through her glasses. "500 dollars a week?"
"Mom, how am I supposed to get better at skating if I keep taking these stupid group lessons at the ice rink? Plus she includes so many other things in her rate."
"Like?"
"Travel, costumes, ice skates maintenance, and all that stuff," I said. "She's amazing. Just one hour a day and I have a shot at going to nationals. Everybody that she trains wins a medal."
"Well, honey," my mom said, "I just don't think I can afford to pay for a private coach, no matter how good she is."
I groan.
"If you're not going to help me," I said, "then I'll find a way to pay for it myself."
"Honey, don't you think a private coach is a little excessive?" She asked. "Besides, your current lessons are going fine. You don't need to go to this extreme—"
"Mom, they suck!" I exclaimed. "The class is filled with actual children. It's bad enough that I have to take group lessons in the first place! I want to have a shot at going to nationals next year, not just qualifying for junior level."
My mother sighed. "I know you love this honey, but I don't think you should be taking your skating seriously this much."
"You don't think I can do it," I say.
My mother's expression softened, and she spoke in a gentler voice.
"It's not that I don't believe in you honey," she said. "It's that I think you need to understand how difficult and expensive it is to train. Mrs. Jenkins had to mortgage her house to pay for Katie's private coach and travel to competitions."
I groaned and turned away from her, walking toward the hallway.
"You're not gonna help me," I said.
My mother sighed, a sound that was quickly becoming an irritation to me.
"Honey," she said. "I can't just give you all that money. What if we can't afford the other bills this month?"
I rolled my eyes and opened my bedroom door.
"Fine," I said, "then I'll just find another way."
I closed the door and turned on the light.
"Oh god," I groaned as my room came into view. It was a disaster. Dirty laundry was strewn across the floor, along with pop cans and empty water bottles.
"Just great," I muttered. I swept my hand across a pile of books, causing them to scatter across the floor. The rest of the room wasn't any better. My bed was a mess, with the comforters folded into a nest at the foot of the bed, and the pillows had been tossed haphazardly in the opposite corner. My desk was in the same state, with papers and books spread across the surface, along with an empty bowl of cereal.
