Go Figure [on hold]

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I was making myself a mug of coffee when my parents padded down the stairs. As usual, Mom was wearing a black pencil skirt and wrinkle-free, blouse. The bleached white of her shirt matched the smile that made her look like the perfect real estate agent that she was. And, Dad was wearing pajamas. When he wasn’t teaching history at Lake Tahoe Community College, where he’d been teaching at since I born, dressing for success involved something comfortable to watch the History Channel in.

“What are you doing up so early?” Mom asked incredulously. Her harsh tone made me flinch and I wasn’t sure how she would react to my revisit to the skating world.

“Erm…”

“Speak clearly.”

“I’m heading to the rink…”

My mother glared at me as if daring me to lie to her. “For what reason would you be at the rink?”

Dad, who hadn’t said anything so far, spoke up. “Is there a boy involved?” he inquired, only half jokingly.

“No, Dad.”

“Okay! In that case I’m going to head to the living room and enjoy an enlightening television program on the French Revolution!” I almost begged him not to leave me alone with Mom.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me Ana Michelle Belrose. Where are you actually going?”

“I’m not lying,” I sighed,”I saw Coach Anya last week and she asked me to come by today.”

She stared at me

“Fine. I believe you, but you better not be trying to fool me.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“The likely hood that you are going to start skating again is slim to none, and I know that, but I’ll leave this alone. Do not waste your time, mine, or your father’s and my money.” With that, she grabbed her keys and headed out the door, the sound of her heels clicking on the floor.

~*~

Coach Anya was already waiting for me by the ice when I arrived. She had an impatient look on her face as she directed me to the bench, silently telling me to put on my skates.

I awkwardly sat down and unzipped my skating bag, pulling out a pair of skates that had been barely used, since I bought them merely a week before the accident. The skates felt as awkward on me as the leotard had a week ago, but at the same time they felt like they belonged on my feet.

Staring at the ice, my pulse quickened and a wave of nausea passed over me. Taking a deep breath, I asked, ”Why exactly did you ask me to come?”

“Ze beginners skating lessons are at 8. Vun of ze volunteers broke hiz leg. I needed somevun to help.”

I nodded, secretly glad that I was being used as free labor because it meant this wasn’t some undisclosed ploy to get me to compete again.

“Isn’t it a bit early if the lessons start at 8?”

“Are you saying zat you can skate flawlessly avter a year and a haff of absolutely no practice?”

I shook my head dejectedly.

“Mmm. No more stalling. On ze ice, now.”

Slowly, I stood up and walked towards the glossy, freshly Zamboni-ed surface in front of me. I gingerly stepped on the ice as if it would shatter if I was too forceful.